In transition

Well, today’s the day. Ivy and I are ready to formally announce our latest project.

We’ve put together a website: www.home-ec101.com

Check it out and let me know what you think.

It was the baby that just sent my husband out for an oreo milkshake.

Honest.

Hey, it’s my last one, I have to milk it a little.

I know this will come as great relief to everyone, the cookies have been located! I’ve been patiently waiting for my Thin Mints to arrive, as other troops delivered and pawned off their extras.

I don’t know the little girl I ordered from. I’ve seen her zipping around here on a golf cart, but she seemed to be my only neighborhood source. As she didn’t have change, I let her keep the extra money when I placed my order.

Last night the doorbell rang shortly before we sat down to dinner. It was my neighbor, a dignified older man, and he was carrying a sack full of girl scout cookies.

“Did you order girl scout cookies?” he asked.

“Yes I did, how did you end up with them?” His children have long since grown and moved away.

“My wife found them on the front porch with a note thanking us for the order. We didn’t order any, so I’ve been going house to house trying to find out who did.”

In my neighborhood front porches are only for visitors and salesmen. Friends and family use the side door. Who knows how long my poor cookies were abandoned and unloved.

She is so fired.

I have not fallen off the face of the earth. The kids are fine, the husband is fine.

I’m just working on something with Ivy.

There will be details soon.

Until I’m far enough along to actually feel flutters and kicks, I don’t think there is any sound so reassuring as the beating of the baby’s heart.

The heart rate was 140bpm.

Place your bets.

I just left a message with the pediatrician and accidentally left my best friend’s phone number instead of my own.

No, I’m not distracted or anything.

I don’t have children, I have petri dishes. I took Aidan to the doctor today, expecting him to test positive for Strep, since we’ve been exposed every other day for the past month or so, and to go on our merry way. The rapid test was negative, we were told it was most likely a virus and that he’d feel better in four or five days. That’s perfectly fine, we’re tough, we can deal with it. He hasn’t been too miserable.

Two hours later the nurse called.

The strep test was negative, but the test for influenza came back positive. The doctor was kind enough to call in a prescription for Tami-flu, which is a whole post in itself.

Mark started looking glassy eyed this afternoon. I felt his forehead at dinner and sure enough, he is spiking a fever, too.

Those who have children know that real germs laugh at handwashing. They simply default to the “sneeze on your parent’s face” or “unexpected slobbery kiss” route.

Oh, have I mentioned tomorrow is my first meeting since I started freelance blogging for the paper? Well, it is. I’m supposed to meet a bunch of people and we’ll discuss blogging for an hour. The meeting is at 2pm. I have to fight the germs off until 3:45pm.

My head hurts.

My house smells like tacos.

Saturday I made Malia’s most excellent Black Bean Soup. I became distracted during the process and my youngest weaseled into the spice cabinet. Yes, I was probably reading blogs, that’s not the point. Long story short he opened the cumin and spread it gleefully around before I saw what he was up to.

Like the genius I can be, I quickly vacuumed up the mess.

I’ve emptied it twice, but each time* I turn it on, the house is perfumed with Tex-Mexy potpourri.

*with two dogs and two boys I turn it on a lot.

I hate how no one answers their phone anymore. I feel like a pest when there is only voicemail to speak to. I wonder if the other person is screening their calls, putting off returning mine until the last minute, rolling their eyes when they see my number pop up.

Insecure?

You bet.

When hand-crushing tomatoes because that’s how Tyler Florence says it should be done, watch where you are aiming. Or say to heck with it and buy the crushed tomatoes.

Signed,
Spent Nap Time Mopping