A fishy tale

For Drake's 9th birthday, we bought him a fish, the first pet to be welcomed into this household.  We took him to PetCo, and he picked out a lovely betta.  Drake nixed my name suggestion of Sir Glubby McSwimsalot, and went with Bluefin.  The boy has been very diligent in the care of his fish.  He is showing maturity and responsibility, which is delightful.

Blissfully unaware of what his name could have been

And now, the pet ownership flood gates have been opened.  Flynn has decided for his next birthday, he is getting a fish.  This fish won't be living inside the house.  He is going to build a pond in our backyard for said fish.  He reading books and drawing up plans for this habitat.  I have no idea where he is going to place the pond.  

Competition

Today* is Drake's first real foray into the world of competition. For the record, I do not consider playing sports at the Y actual competition.  Thus summer was the first time anyone officially kept score.  He has his first First LEGO League robotics match today. I am very excited for him.  He has worked so hard and has grown so much the past few months.  As a self-proclaimed trophy whore, I hope his team walks away with something. Because, how freaking exciting would that be: a rookie team of all 3rd graders taking home hardware against veteran teams.  Realistically, this is probably not going to happen.  And, you know what, he doesn't seem to care.  That is the greatest thing to hear.  This team knows the odds are not in their favor, but they know they have learned so much, accomplished something as a team, and, I'm not just saying this because he's my kid, they produced a better product than many of the other teams out there.

I'm proud of you, kiddo.  Break a leg and have a blast!

*December 13, 2015.  Don't know why it wasn't uploaded sooner.

UPDATE: The team did bring home some hardware: the Judges' Award.  They weren't the best team, but they held their own against 8th graders and veteran teams.

Old notes

Not sure if reading old letters is the best activity the night before a major holiday.  But, that was the path I chose for the evening.  The musty odor.  The yellowing pages.   The questionable handwriting. I reread the words, scouring over notes, letters, and cards collected years ago. I read courtships developing and love affairs crumbling. I was surprised with whom I kept correspondence so many years ago. I didn't recall exchanging letters with certain people, but the evidence is there  I was transported to my younger self: the one who had the whole world ahead of her, who was still emotionally fragile and unsure, and in whom, according to the words on several pages, people wanted to confide. 

What I learned from the exercise:
-I miss writing and receiving letters. All I receive in the mail now is bills.  Electronic communication is good, but it isn't the same.
-The males in my life have all had really poor handwriting.  Reading hieroglyphics would be easier at times.
-There's nothing wrong with holding on to scraps from the past.  Work that memory every now and again.
-I hope my children have friends like I've had throughout my life.  Or, if nothing else, they finally learn how to write a note.

I apologize for being so judgmental

I get it now.

The dead grass in the "yard".  Piles of trash in the corner of the lot.  The abandoned-looking car on the curb.  Piles of clutter.  Weeds taking over.  Paint peeling.  Shingles sliding off the roof.  Temporary solutions that have become permanent.  Rotting deck.  Baby books started when the child is 16.  Piles of dishes in the sink.

I get it now.

My house and yard have become what I once mocked.  I would think, "Why don't those people just mow their yard?"  "Can't they get a can of paint and fix that?"  The truth is: time, money, ability, access, know how.  All of those barriers to taking care of everything in the second paragraph.  Some of the uncompleted projects are missing all five aspects.  Lately, the first two have been missing.   Piles of large object that need to go to the dump are in my shed; my car isn't big enough to haul them and they are too trashed to donate.  The siding on the house is rotting away because I don't have the money to pay a contractor to fix it.  The deck is full of splinters and rotting wood because I don't have the time to repair it.  The garden is barren.  The weeds have thrived.  I don't even know where to start with the gutter drainage problem.

So, I get it now.  I will no longer condemn those whose homes look less than stellar.  I will no longer judge those whose to do lists are never completed.  I will forgive myself for not finishing everything I "need" to finish.  I could have spent the morning hacking back blackberry brambles.  Instead, I went on a long bike ride with my sons.  And in the end, isn't that what they are going to remember more?  Will they remember our yard being immaculate, or will they remember me taking some time to be with them?

Still technically not a baker

[I meant to post this a month ago, when we actually did this.  Such is life.]

I have made one pie in my life, and that one doesn't really count.  The crust was the frozen, ready-made kind, and the filling came from a can.  I decided, since it was a holiday weekend and I  (to my joy and surprise) had no work obligations, the boys and I would make a dessert together.  I brought down The Joy of Cooking.  The three of us huddled on the couch, flipping through the pages, rejecting all the fruit pies.  As much as those two love fruit, I thought surely they would want one.  Then the cream pies came along.  And there it was: chocolate mousse pie.

Yes, I used the good chocolate chips.

Every baking related dish was dirtied in this endeavor.  I finally used the kick-ass Kitchenmaid stand mixer I acquired when Maria passed. And may I say, that thing is AWESOME! 

Here's the mousse part, next to the important part of the fridge: booze.

 The crust was made of Oreo cookies, so made died for the greater good. 

The bowl of Oreo innards.  Yes, this was eaten eventually.

And the final product.  It took two days, but by golly, I did it, with some help from my children.

It looks better with whipped cream.  And on a fork.  And in my stomach.

Turning 41

April was a brutal month: three weeks of camps, multiple parties and events, all-school field trips.  The month finally won, and I've been sick for the past week.  Thankfully, the weekend was lovely, and a great way to start my 41st year.  The morning started with present giving.  I got the LEGO Mini Cooper set, complete with a brick picnic set and red and white checkered blanket.  (Someday, I will have a life-sized Mini. I'm working my way up to it.)  Flynn gave me a present, too.  He boxed up Stitches, his teddy bear and lovey he has had forever.  He said he didn't use it any more and he wanted me to have him.  Of course, I cried.  Such a sweet gesture.  Tim and Drake had a work event most of the day (Saturday).  Flynn and I were able to have some quality time together, complete with a carb-filled lunch and a trip to the bookstore.  (I even bought him a new book: How to Speak Cat.  I figure, if he is going to act like a cat, he might as well be fluent in the language.)  Sunday, Drake completed his First Communion.  About a half hour before going to church, he mentioned that his stomach was upset.  Based on our conversation, I thought it was just nerves.  Sadly, this was not the case.  Partway through mass, he had to quickly excuse himself to throw up.  He was able to complete the sacrament incident-free, but was very pale and shaky.  We already had plans to go to brunch after mass with the family.  He was able to go along, but disappointed he couldn't eat anything.  "I've been looking forward to this all week," he told me with tears in his eyes.  Brunch was filled with carbs and shrimp and mimosas.  So fabulous.  Drake and I napped together after returning home.  The four of us settled in on the couch and watched "E.T."  Drake went into his room about 1/4 of the way in and fell asleep with a 100-degree fever.  Flynn enjoyed the film, worried about E.T. and excited at the chase in the end.

Tomorrow, I need to go back to reality and back to being a business owner and mother to a sick child.  As for now, I am basking in the love of family and friends, and will close out the weekend with the Mother of Dragons.  Bring on Game of Thrones.

Number of blog posts

2010- 152
2011- 56
2012- 43
2013- 23
2014- 18
2015- 3


Am I running out of things to say, or am I forgetting to say those things?  Am I still a writer if I don't write?  Am I OK with letting go of the title of "writer" and choose to refer to myself as a "occasional writing hobbyist"?