My Leg Is Haunted

Lorelai: It's bad enough being sick, but anybody can have a cold.  I mean I’d like to have a good illness, something different or impressive. Just once I’d like to be able to say, 'Yeah I’m not feeling so good, my leg is haunted.'

Winter's going out, Spring's coming in, and we've been hit with a final round of seasonal joy: fevers, head-colds, coughs, sore throats, what-have-you.  My apologies if this post makes zilch sense; I'm having trouble thinking today.  Also, this was not the post I had intended to write.  That should count for something.

I've been locked up in my apartment for the better part of two weeks now, zombie-like.  It took the usual route: First Isaac got it (and there was no sleep to be had), then I got it (and there was no sleep to be had), and then Tim got it (he can sleep anyway; personally, I don't think he's really sick).

And now we're all sick together.

Oddly enough, no matter how many times this has happened to us in the past four years, I somehow always forget that I eventually get sick too.  I like to imagine myself Super Woman - Invincible to All Viral Illnesses.  Guess my body didn't get the memo (or maybe I just forgot to wear my lucky underwear that week).  You'd think it might prompt me to quit drinking juice out of my sickly child's plastic cup; but no, I couldn't possibly learn from that mistake.  Plus it would completely ruin our lunch routine: I make one serving of food; he eats; then I eat whatever he didn't finish.  Less cooking, less dishes, and we're both fed.  It's a win-win if you don't factor in the sick thing.

As you can imagine, we've been just hunky-dory, hacking up lungs and such.  I have spent a great deal of time sitting on the sofa, staring at the wall in an utterly fever-ridden daze.  Speaking of, there are thirteen little dents in the drywall that need to be re-puttied and painted.  I know.  I counted four times while drowning myself in endless cups of hot lemon water.

I don't like hot lemon water.

This morning I missed my run, which has put me in a bit of a funk because I hate missing my daily work-out routines.  But the fact of the matter is, I can hardly walk a straight line let alone run five miles.  Also there's a decent chance I'd just end up taking a nap on the sidewalk, which might cause my neighbors undue concern.

Also I wouldn't want to miss Tim's sick-induced operatic performances.  He's been doing his best Barry White impersonation all morning, after which he said, "I wish I was always this sick so my voice would always be this low."  (Thank heavens he's a fairly healthy person and will probably recover before I do, otherwise I might just put my head through the wall.)

Also I am very busy doing Things I Should Not Do While Sick.  For example:

1) De-junk my closet.  Many many things have been thrown out that I probably should've kept, but after I lugged them out of the closet I was too tired to actually sort them so I just . . . threw . . . them . . . in the trash?

2) Trim my kid's hair.  See, he has this problem wherein the hair on the back of his head grows twice as fast and twice as thick as all the rest of the hair on his head combined.  In other words, left alone his hair naturally grows in Bowl-Cut fashion, with a big bird's nest in the back.  Like a good mama, I periodically trim it up so he doesn't embarrass me (what else).  But since I was sick (yes, I am using this as my excuse), he just ended up looking exactly like Mike Score from Flock of Seagulls.  The only way to fix it was to buzz it, so he now has a buzzed head.  Fortunately he seems to like it, or so I gather from the excessive posing in front of the bathroom mirror.

3) Turn in Danish homework.  Yesterday's assignment was to write a dialogue between myself and a friend at a cafe during lunch hour (we've been learning about menus and things).  Of course I made up a hilarious conversation between Tim and myself, in which he says something like, "I biked a whole mile today, so I'm only going to order dessert for lunch.  Waiter person, I'd like cake and pie and ice cream and an apple fritter.  As for a drink, I'll have sugar with some tea in it."  I thought it turned out quite hilarious but Tim may take great offense, especially since we have the same teacher and she's sure to mention it in his class.  I so wish I could be there.

4)  Read a novel.  I have no idea what happened in the last forty-seven pages and a half, so now I am going to have to re-read it all.

And, naturally, since I'm feeling especially pathetic today, I'm going shopping for new tennis shoes.  (My previous argument stands: I hate shopping; Whenever I go shopping, I will feel crappy; I already feel crappy; Might as well not ruin two days.)

But first things first, I'm going to the library.  They've been closed due to renovations for the past few weeks, and, according to the sign on the door, they should be reopening the children's wing today!!  I am simply ecstatic.  I can deposit myself in an exhausted heap on the little pink couch while my kid creates merry havoc with the books and things, because, as we all know, librarians make excellent babysitters.  (Don't tell them I said that, please.)  If they got rid of the pink couch during renovations I may just cry.

Happy Tuesday.  Or whatever day it is.

Addendum: I am not going shoe shopping today after all.  I had difficulty walking to the door so I figured the bus stop would be out of the question.  Also the library apparently doesn't open until tomorrow.  Bummer.

Little Chefs! - A Guide to Cooking with your Kids

Little Chefs! - A Guide to Cooking with your Kids

Guest post by Rose Brownlie

Kids love cooking. Of course they would, because when they help out it usually becomes a messy affair, and there’s not much in life that a kid loves more than mess. Whilst that may not sound like the strongest argument for involving your children when you cook, if you don’t mind having to clean up a little afterwards, it can be a very rewarding, enriching and enjoyable experience.

Most kids love to feel like they’re helping you out, often from an early age. But they tend not to have any sense of what they can't do, and can end up trying to help with everything from decorating a room to wanting to talk on the phone for you as you're negotiating the best credit card balance transfer. It’s easy to try and dissuade them from getting involved, as their input will usually make a chore take twice as long, but it’s great if you can help facilitate their innate desire to help. When children hit their teen years, you can pretty much say goodbye to their voluntary support, so the more you encourage it whilst they’re young the better!

Think Small

Some kids will want to help you with things that are way too complicated for their abilities. With cooking, for example, they might want to help you chop the vegetables, but handing the knife over to them is too dangerous if they’re small. However, you can encourage them to help out in different ways, like instead of chopping they can help you stir the pot or take the vegetable peelings to the trash. It’s pretty amazing what kids are willing to do to have some input. It makes them feel useful, it helps build their self-esteem, and it teaches them about their capabilities. It’s also a great way to teach responsibility, that chores around the home aren’t just for mom and dad; it’s for the family as a whole.

It’s all about the Journey

When cooking with kids there has to be some element of not expecting or requiring the food to end up being perfect. That’s not what it’s about. It’s about the process of cooking, creating, bonding and learning. And of course when you’re cooking together, your child won’t only be learning about food, they’ll also be learning a whole range of other skills, such as coordination, team work, even hygiene – skills that will benefit them hugely in later life.

To get you started…

Here are some totally simple recipes that are great fun to make with your kids (and tasty too!):

Cinnamon Oaties

200g soft butter or margarine
200g sugar (or for a sugar-free alternative try 7 dessertspoons of Agave Syrup)
85g plain flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 – 2 teaspoon ground cinnamon (according to your preference)
250g oats
150g California raisins
3 tablespoons milk

1. Melt the butter and sugar together gently in a saucepan, and then add the oats, flour, baking powder, cinnamon, milk and raisins. Mix well.
2. Divide the mixture into small balls and flatten each one onto a greased and lined baking tray.
3. Bake at 190C/370F/Gas mark 5 until they turn golden brown (around 15 – 20 mins).
4. Let them cool on a wire rack. Although they do taste good when they’re still warm!

Banana Loaf

125g butter or margarine
125g sugar
2 eggs, beaten
500g mashed bananas (about 3 medium sized)
250g self-raising flour
½ teaspoon bicarbonate of soda

1. Cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy.
2. Mix in the beaten eggs, and then the bananas.
3. Sift the flour and soda together into the bowl, and fold into the mixture.
4. Pour the mixture into a greased and lined loaf tin, or cake tin, and bake at 180C/350F/Gas mark 4 for 1hr 15mins.
5. Allow to cool on a wire rack.

Tips:

If you’re using a fan oven, you may need to cover the banana loaf tin with aluminium foil after about half an hour, otherwise the outside can burn a little.

If you’re feeling naughty, try adding some chunks of milk chocolate into the cake mixture!

Macaroni Cheese (Serves 4)

250g macaroni pasta
40g butter
40g plain flour
600ml milk
250g grated cheddar cheese
50g grated parmesan

1. Boil the macaroni in a large saucepan of salted water for 8 – 10 minutes. Drain and set aside.
2. Melt the butter in a saucepan on a medium heat in a saucepan slightly larger than used for the macaroni. Add the flour and stir to form a paste, cooking for a few minutes.
3. Gradually whisk in the milk, a little at a time. Cook for 10 – 15 minutes until you have a thick, smooth sauce.
4. Preheat the grill to hot.
5. Remove the sauce from the hob, add 175g of the cheese and stir until the cheese has melted.
6. Add the macaroni to the sauce and mix well. Transfer the mixture to an appropriately sized ovenproof dish.
7. Sprinkle the remaining cheese over the top and place the dish under the hot grill. Cook until the cheese is browned and bubbling, and serve.

Bon appetite!

- by Rose Brownlie

 

Clementines

... Saturday Morning ...

A nice cloudy overcast kind of day.

Look, my bottle collection grew.

I need more blues.

Me falling asleep on the table after my morning run.

Some much needed caffeine.

Coffee for Tim, tea for me (!), cocoa for Isaac.

Tim and Isaac wrestling on the couch.

Isaac laughing hysterically about ... something.

Little Feverkins playing with his toys.

Clementines.

(Isaac's ball of choice.  He has a good arm.  

He clocked Tim with one right in the kisser this morning.)

Much of the weekend will be spent doing those lists of things ... you know, the things you say you're going to do all week long, so you don't have to do them on the weekend?  

Best intentions.  Sigh.

And, at some point, we will heat up the leftover dumplings and veggies and crepes we all made last night, at our Chinese dinner party (oh so good).  And read some novels.  And if we're really lucky, figure out what's wrong with Amazon Instant Video so we can finally watch Hugo.  

Sometime Next November

I am completely useless between the hours of 10-12.  Or sometime next November.

This morning started out late, again, because Poor Little Feverkins was up at 2 a.m., feeling quite awful, and desperately wanting to be entertained.  We pulled out our usual midnight Buffet of Amenities: juice, cheerios, movies, cold compress, benadryl, endless cups of water, a pot in case he threw up, and a flashlight because ... well I have no idea why, actually.  That was his thing.

We got very little sleep.

I spent this morning cleaning my disgusting apartment for the Chinese dinner-party we are having tonight (with authentic Chinese food, no less!), and doing a nice long series of workout videos.  Then the door bell rang.

So there I was, covered in dust and grime and sweat and desperately wishing I could take a shower before answering the door.  Instead I pulled on a sweatshirt, fiddled with the keys (the landlord left us thirty multi-colored keys when we moved in and no, I am not exaggerating.  I still haven't figured them out), and opened the door to a strange man.

Insert Danish explanation here.

"Uh, I'm sorry?" I said.  "I don't understand."  I've ceased to explain that I don't speak Danish (despite the Danish class I am probably failing), because, well, it's obvious.  Also, after years of thinking I had no accent whatsoever (compliments of yankeehood), since moving to Denmark I have discovered I speak distinct American.  Whatever that means.

"Oh, of course," he said.  "It's just, I need to deal with the pipes so you cannot use the water.  For two hours."

I spent the next five minutes trying to explain that my response, a loud and resounding "Ha" actually meant, "Okay, certainly."  Or possibly "a jig is forthcoming."

And then the drilling began.

And let me just say, I'm loving these new neighbors of mine more and more every day.  I think we're going to be best friends.

At any rate, I can't clean myself or run errands or make the appetizers or finish the load of laundry or let my kid use the toilet despite the fact that he is doing a weird little dance right about now and it's making me nervous.  Lucky for the men downstairs, I have an immense amount of experience living through waterless-and-electricityless hurricanes in the Northeast Georgia mountains, so I suppose I can survive a couple of hours.

... Except for the fact that their little experiment down there is keeping me from the happy happy coffee.  Le sigh.

Stuff Your Head Inside A Novel and Hum, Loudly

It's one of those mornings.

For whatever reason, my body has recently decided to kick its insomnia in favor of something akin to mono.  I think it's trying to make up for the last four sleep-deprived months by forcing me to doze off at  regular three-hour intervals throughout the day, leading up to the grand finale of a 7 p.m. bedtime (before Isaac goes to bed, even).  And, rather than jumping out of bed bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 4 a.m. every morning, I'm having trouble dragging myself out of bed at 7.  Go figure.

(By the way, what does 'bright-eyed and bushy-tailed' mean, exactly?  Who comes up with this stuff?  A family of literary rabbits, perhaps?)

But this morning, the morning of all mornings, I was awaken at what felt like 3 a.m. but may have been 5, by a forlorn fever-ridden toddler, hacking up his lungs and whispering incessantly in my ear.

"Mommy?  Water?  Mommy?  I Isaac.  Isaac sick.  Mommy?  Moooooommmmyy?  Wauren?  Tim?  Bob?  I Isaac!  I sick!"

When 'mommy' fails to work, he quickly moves onto 'Lauren' only he says it more like 'Wauren.'  Also there seems to be some confusion as to whether his daddy's name is Tim or Bob.  This may be my fault.  I'm trying to get him to answer the question, "Who are your parents?" - a fairly standard question to ask any four-year-old, not to mention a good thing to know if he ever gets lost - and he seems to be having difficulty in remembering the name Tim. 

So I tried a new tactic.  It went something like this: "Well, is your daddy Larry?  No?  Is it Fred?  No?  Is it, let's see, Bob, maybe?"  As we don't know any Larry's or Fred's or Bob's, it seemed okay to use these names.  Naturally I was expecting him to issue a loud resounding "NO!" after each query, until finally reaching the finale: "Well, is it Tim?  YES!"  But unfortunately it backfired and he said 'yes' after Bob and now he alternates between calling Tim 'daddy,' 'mommy' (don't ask), 'Tim,' and 'Bob.'

... Not to mention he only refers to himself in the third person since learning his name is Isaac.

I suck at this homeschooling thing.

At any rate, for the next hour or so, my head and back became a trampoline, a matchbox race-car track, a pillow, a snot rag, and a launchpad from which he energetically flung himself onto Bob.  I mean Tim.

I much prefer it when he comes in on Saturday mornings, kisses my cheek, rubs my back, and then runs out again.  (This has happened once or twice.)

He turned the TV on full volume around 6 a.m., and then the house was filled with the fragrant aroma of broccoli and sauteed mushrooms.  Tim, cooking.  As much as I love it that Tim cooks, mushroom is not a nice morning smell.  Also it completely changes the way coffee tastes.  Try it.

Then the drilling began.  A new couple has recently purchased the empty flat on the first floor, and they are now in the process of gutting it.  Basically what this means is that from dawn till dusk, there is this loud incessant drilling noise that, despite being three floors down, sounds like it is happening inside my head.  I have ceased to think logically since their arrival.

To make matters slightly worse, I opened my computer, as is my habit first thing in the morning, only to discover that I just received a rejection letter from my favorite literary agency.  So there I was, standing in my kitchen, surrounded by laundry and dishes and a snot-faced kid and a trail of little plastic toys, reading The Worst Email in the World, absently trying to repair a misunderstood work project, listening to my apartment building being demolished, and feeling just plain ... crappy.  You know, those kinds of mornings.

I'm sure you've had them too, so I really needn't explain what they feel like.  The fact of the matter is, there will always be mornings in which you wake up on the wrong side of the bed and wonder what on earth you are doing in life and why nothing seems to be going according to plan (I blame the literary rabbits, personally).  Mornings when even your favorite cup of mushroom-flavored coffee (blech) cannot stop you from feeling like something of a flop.  They're usually Monday Mornings, but what can I say, sometimes they arrive on Thursday.

And, if you're me, you do one of five things: 1) Sit on the floor and cry; 2) Sit on the floor and laugh hysterically; 3) Frantically clean the house and work-out and get on with it; 4) Stuff your head inside a novel and hum, loudly; or 5) Write a stupid blog post.

Guess which one I did.

Not to worry, I haven't given up hope yet.  Yesterday I had a conversation with a dear friend and she said, point blank, "Even the little accomplishments count."  So, in honor of this horrid Thursday, let me just make a little list:

We're all alive.
We're safe and clothed and fed.
We're working, slowly but surely, towards something.
Not to mention the mushroom smell has finally cleared and I can now go make a second pot of coffee.

Cheers.

P.S.  This is my 500th blog post. I'd meant for it to be somewhat more celebratory, but just the same: Hoorah! 

Wednesday Amenities Post 18

This Week's Practical Link-List

... have fun ...

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10 Foods That Belong On Your Face

(a healthy approach to better skin)

13 Foods That Fight Pain

The Best and Worst Foods for Flab Abs

Project Lunch-Box: 30 Day Challenge to Pack Healthier Lunches

(with recipes! - plus, you get to link-up your own ideas)

Food Gawker

A terrific assortment of recipes with mouth-watering photos.

On second thought, don't go here.

50 Body-Weight Exercises You Can Do Anywhere

Angela Parker Free, Five-Minute Toning Videos (sans equipment):

Core  |  Legs  |  Abs  |  Arms  |  Butt

I like to do reps of these videos on the days I'm not running because they require little time, no equipment, and next to no space. 

For more information on Body Inspired Health and Fitness, visit Angela's website and blog.  The idea behind Body-Inspired Fitness is staying fit without boot-camp routines or whistles and gyms, and is specifically designed for people who do not have much time to devote to exercise.

Flight Attendant Packing Tips

How to pack for a 10-day trip using only a standard carry-on.

A life-saver.

Blog Services Inc. - Hooks up bloggers with in-post link-ads. 

I'm getting my first paycheck this week - wahoo!

Homeschool Resources: Neo K12 Education Videos, Lessons, and Games

My current favorite is the Phonics and ASL Alphabet Video - 

Isaac has already learned how to sign the alphabet!

Sarah Ainsworth Photography: Lens Tutorial

500px - Like Pinterest, only for all you photographers specifically.

(Thanks for recommending this, you).

Adorable No-Sew Drape Skirt Tutorial.  Must make this for at beach.

Chloe Loves Charlie Boutique. 

Actually, don't go here either.

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One last thought, before I go:

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Starting Your Freelance Writing Journey

Starting Your Freelance Writing Journey 

- A Guest Post by Rose Brownlie -

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“Words are knowledge and knowledge is power.”

I’ve heard many variations of that quote from a number of different sources, but I first remember it coming from my secondary school, English teacher. She was a wonderful lady who, I think, was looked down upon somewhat by her peers because she dressed like a hippie and lived in a renovated caravan. Her billowing skirts and alternative lifestyle were irrelevant to me though. What mattered was her ability to excite and inspire young minds, and inspire mine she definitely did. I can’t truthfully say that those seven little words alone cemented my desire to become a freelance writer or that it was them that spurred me on to study English at university, but they have certainly stuck with me and first opened my eyes to the powerful and unharnessed nature of the written word.

I’ve always loved to read and write. From a very early age I began collecting books and now (even after the recent purchase of my Kindle) my bookshelves are bowing. Perhaps it was my love of reading that made me want to write a book myself; the idea of seeing my thoughts out there in print for other people to engage with has always given me a heady thrill. As I grew up and began thinking about my career, writing seemed a logical choice for me – for no reason more extraordinary than, like most people, I wanted to make a living from doing something I loved.

It hasn’t been easy, and now at the ripe old age of 29 I still have a long way to go. About five years ago I got my first ‘paid’ freelancing job which was a massive achievement for me, but it took me a long time and a lot of effort to get here. I’ve written voluntary, unpaid pieces for a number of outlets over the years including book review websites, student magazines, blogs, my local newspaper and even a promotional article on a new type of sofa bed! This has helped me broaden my knowledge, hone my writing skills to fit in with different publications, enhance my CV and prove to prospective employers that I’m seriously trying to gain experience within the writing and media world.

At first I still had a 9-5 office job which was my primary source of income and sadly had nothing remotely to do with writing or the creative arts. At first freelancing was more of an ‘added extra’ for me than anything else. With the birth of my first baby, I took a break from my ‘day job’ and hoped that, between changing nappies and night feeds, I’d have some time to focus on my writing career a little more.

Despite my initial trepidation, I now know many writers who also make full time incomes (and good ones at that) from copywriting, blogging, social media, creating written content for websites, editing and selling both fiction and non-fiction material to publications (and indeed getting published in their own right). Freelancing can definitely be a very lucrative business if you can build your client base up.

I’ve certainly found that social media is a great way to gain information and discover opportunities within the writing world. If you consider all of the written information that appears in websites, leaflets, magazines, advertisements, books and so on you can start to get a feel for the prospective market available for freelance writers. Most businesses have a Twitter account now, and by following publishing houses, marketing companies and other freelancers you will definitely get to learn more about their businesses and perhaps be one of the first to learn about any upcoming opportunities.

Needless to say there are also lots of vacancies to be found via a simple Google search with websites such as Craigslist regularly updating freelance writing and editing jobs. You can also advertise yourself as a freelance writer in your local newspaper or on websites such as Gumtree so that potential clients can approach you, but remember that an existing portfolio and proof of experience will help increase your credibility. And when things start to get serious, look into getting a client – they will increase your chances of getting bigger gigs with the more established firms and clients - a list of literary agents can be found in The Writers & Artists Yearbook.

One piece of advice that I’d give to aspiring freelancers though is to remember that you have to remain dedicated. Freelancing requires a lot of self motivation, initiative and discipline. You have to manage your own workload, set (and stick to) your own working hours, control your own finances and engage in a lot of personal research. So if you’re someone who finds it easier to work productively under another person rather than being your own boss then you may struggle with freelancing.

As for me, I’m going to keep pursuing my dream step by step. I’m already on the first rung of what seems like a long ladder, but I hope to continue climbing until I achieve my ultimate ambition of become a published novelist. So remember my name and hopefully one day mine will be one of the books weighing down your bookshelf.

by Rose Brownlie

Up To My Ears In Yens

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2012 In FB Status Updates, So Far

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This morning when he left for work, Tim said, "Du er min skat," and naturally I said, "I'm a mean cat?" and he replied, "You're my treasure. Or my tax. It means both."

What I read in my Danish textbook today: Danskerne drikker meget kaffe. Vi drikker morgenkaffe, formiddagskaffe, eftermiddagskaffe, aftenkaffe, og så er der selvfølgelig kaffepauserne... I Danmark drikker vi ca. 20 millioner kopper kaffe om dagen. Det svarer til, at hver indbygger drikker 4 kopper om dagen. Danmark er den tredje mest kaffedrikkende nation i verden, kun overgået af Finland og Sverige.  Rough translation for my fellow American coffee lovers: Denmark is the third most coffee drinking nation in the world. Danes drink approx. 20 million cups of coffee a day (about 4 cups a day per inhabitant!) This includes morning, afternoon, and evening coffee, as well as coffee breaks. Did I move to the right country or what.

Isaac has commandeered my laundry basket and is using it as a sailboat with a spatula sticking out the side for the mast. (And by laundry basket I do mean cardboard box, because the actual laundry basket wouldn't fit in the linen closet).

It is only noon and Isaac is already wearing his fifth outfit of the day. Let's see, there was The Pee Incident; The Peanut Butter Incident; The Play-Dough Incident; and my favorite: The Chopstick and Tomato Incident (it was a huge hit, and to think I never once considered eating tomatoes with chopsticks before). Guess I have to do laundry or he'll have nothing to wear after his daily Milk Incident.

I got waved at several times while out running this morning. I didn't recognize any of them. If I do happen to know you, belated hi. Also, my apologies for glowering at you. I'd been running in the wind for 45 minutes and had lost all control of my facial muscles. To all eleven pre-teen bean-pole boys who ran past me at a breakneck speed: I hate you. You're making me feel inadequate.

I think I have discovered The Secret to Nap Time (on Thursday the 1st, at 1:50 PM). Build a fort over the bed - and WALA! He laid down, pointed to his cheek, said "want kiss," and then said "get out." After all these years, if only I'd known the solution was so simple.

I seem to have been bombarded by spam overnight. "Please cash this check for me or my wicked step-mother will steal my inheritance!" "Dating local Arab men, now available in your area!" "We offer you sexual happiness for really cheap." (I am literally quoting these subject lines.)

If a seagull flew into your bathroom, what would you do about it?

We bought some heart-shaped balloons for Isaac yesterday. This morning he ran into the bedroom with a pink one and said, "Mama! look! boobies!" (Which, incidentally, is exactly what the top of a heart-shaped balloon looks like, nipples and all.)

On A Thursday: To anyone who receives my blog emails, yes I did write Happy Wednesday in my post this morning. That's the kind of morning I'm having.

I ran my first half-marathon this morning.  My feet hurt.

I cannot for the life of me get Isaac to answer the question "What's your name" with "Isaac." He knows it's his name; he responds when called; I've heard him say it as clear as day. But the last two times I asked him the question he said "Mike" and then "Bob." The little stinker.

He took his clothes off an hour ago and refuses to put them back on. At least he makes an adorable little nudist, if a stubborn one at that.

Tim: where's our child?
Me: Crawling on the floor under the blanket like A Mammoth Slug.  (Where Else?)

Isaac got a styrofoam sword today. That's it. He has a sword now. And then we had a mid-afternoon sword fight, and he figured out that THE SPATULA IS BETTER THAN THE SWORD! ... My life is now over.

I really wish I had a cat.

Tim is now playing "Whiskey Lullaby" on his guitar.  I may have to drink to deal with this.

It's snowing. :( I'm on Pinterest, pinning photos of beach houses.

Well I've decided. Danish candy is disgusting. I think I just ate a urinal cake.

Searching through my friends list to find a last name for a literary character. My apologies if I pick you because this character turns out to be a sleezeball.

Alone in her room with her principles

Us in our mustaches (insert photo of my siblings and me wearing fake mustaches). 

P.S.  Yes, for those of you who receive my email updates, I did originally title this "2011 in Status Updates, So Far" - Clearly I forgot what year it was. 

Better Shape Up

A couple weeks ago I borrowed a bunch of random movies from the Roskilde Bibliotek and thought I’d write up a little review.  Bear in mind that I only watch movies after I’ve finished all my work, the house is cleaned up, the kiddo put down for the night, and I am slumped on the sofa in a state of useless exhaustion (in other words: I may or may not have been half asleep during the viewing of this film).  As this also happens to be the time when I usually write and pre-schedule blog posts, please take everything I say with a grain of salt.

The first movie in my selection was Grease.  

This is one of those movies Tim was always proud to say he never watched.  Unfortunately for him, since we got married I’ve been rapidly depleting that happy little list.  Most of them have been musicals, but after forcing him to sit through Newsies and Grease I think I may have broken his will to live.  He didn’t even muster the smallest objection when I informed him that our next feature presentation will be The Sound of Music (either that or he did object, I just couldn’t hear him because I was too busy singing all the songs in his ear.  Loudly, in rapid succession.  Including the parts of the yodeling girl in the pale pink coat – lay-ee-odel-lay-ee-odel-lay-hee-hoo).  

(Side rant: WHO has never seen The Sound of Music?!  I mean really!  It’s a cultural icon.  How else did “these are a few of my favorite things” get to be the most overused lyric in the history of mankind?)

But back to Grease.  It was better than I thought it would be, based on the none-too-promising film cover and one early Christmas morning in which someone (I won’t say who) performed the entire soundtrack into a hairbrush microphone (a somewhat hilarious wake-up call, I might add).  It was definitely one of those films I’d chalk up to a tremendous cultural experience, although which cultural experience I’m supposed to have been viewing is still a mystery to me.  To clarify: the movie may be set in the summer of ’58, but it is an overpoweringly 70’s kind of film.  

To my surprise, I knew all the songs despite having never seen the movie before.  Talk about a cultural icon.   I’ve had “Better Shape Up” stuck in my head ever since, although the version I hear (compliments of those little voices in my head, you know) is Angus and Julia Stone, which is infinitely better.

Some things I don’t understand that you could maybe clear up for me:

The Premise.  I practically grew up on musicals and was never once bothered by the many characters bursting into song and dance at every possible opportunity.  Alas, I think Grease may have destroyed the illusion for me, whatever that illusion may have been.  Am I supposed to assume that the characters are actually having a song and dance conversation, in real life, or that this is merely the director’s artistic interpretation of teenage discussions (and if so, what’s wrong with his kids)?  Don’t get me wrong, I’m aware that he couldn’t very well just have Sandy walk up to Danny and say, “Hey birdbrain, you better shape up or else,” and have Danny reply with, “Groovy baby, let’s boogie woogie and wail,” but my mind just can’t make that leap.  I mean, should I just accept that this behavior is perfectly normal, or choose to believe no one else in the cast can actually hear or see them?   Oh, I know Sandy’s belting her heart out into the middle of the night about how she’s “hopelessly devoted” to Danny, but it’s simply too much of a stretch for me to believe she didn’t wake the entire neighborhood and horribly embarrass herself (and me, for that matter), unless she’s really just thinking about how hopeless she is.

Secondly, who acts like this?  I’m not even talking about the hair (oh the crazy hair), or the costumes (heh heh heh), but the movements!  The hip-shaking, head-popping, shuffling and sliding and popping (yes, they popped!)?  So my question is, did the kids at this time really move like this and think it cool?  Or did they do it because they wanted to look ridiculous?  Or is the movie a satire?  Of course, the director is making fun of the 1950’s (and/or ‘70’s)!  Or is he?  I don’t get it.  Who in their right mind has ever strutted around like John Travolta in the role of Danny, other than those unfortunate adult victims of fashion who (for some reason I will never understand) buy their pants in the kid’s department, and yet not feel ridiculous?  Even more, think that they’re the coolest?  Downtown Coolsville, the population: the cast of Grease (and the director’s offspring, apparently).

Last but not least, I’m a bit confused about their respective ages.  Let’s face it, these actors simply cannot pass as high school students.  Why wasn’t this film set in college?  Or grad school, for that matter?

… And yet, despite it all, I’d probably watch this movie again.

Onto the next film.  Marley & Me.  I hate it when I watch movies and then can’t for the life of me decide if I liked them or not.

It has its promising aspects.  Cute married couple living in sunny Florida raising a family, what’s not to love?  But, as much as I adore the fact that this movie actually begins with the wedding (rather than ending with it, like so many Hollywood films), they really went out of their way to hit the nail on the head about the Realities of Married Life, didn’t they?  The movie begins so light-heartedly (with me screaming about how I NEED TO LIVE ON A BEACH AND WEAR MY SUMMER CLOTHES, TOO!), and then directly spirals into an all-too-realistic middle-class fiasco with the rapid succession of three unexpected children, a fixer-upper home and (probable) debt, constant arguments, and no sleep (while I’m sinking lower and lower onto the couch, feeling incredibly stressed out and exhausted for them).  

And then, to make matters infinitely worse, there’s this stupid Labrador peeing on all the furniture.  (I refuse to watch this movie for the dog.  I hate animal films.  You know, those movies in which some overrated creature, usually a horse, must heroically overcome the odds of [insert plot here] after which it must needlessly and tragically die.  Come to think of it, this may be why I can’t decide if I like this movie or not.)  At this point in the film, I just want to start screaming, “WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS TO THEMSELVES?  WHY? WHY? WHY?”  Needless to say, I blame Jennifer Aniston for this mid-week breakdown.  She’s the whole reason I checked the stupid movie out anyway.

… And then, after an hour or so of nothing happening, the dog finally dies and the movie ends, leaving me tragically bawling into a pillow – something that I find rather confusing considering I was the one rooting for them to shoot the stupid animal in the first place.

So, that was pretty much my take on it.

The next film was The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (a much better book than movie, but what else is new).  I also checked this out for the lead female role, because you can never have too much Zooey Deschanel.  But I’m not going to give a review of this film because it was really late and I fell asleep sometime after the president lost his extra head, but before it was discovered that the mice were the master criminal minds behind everything.  Although I must add that I just simply adore the idea of a chronically depressed robot.  You can’t beat that.  Must finish watching.

By the way, what is the question that elicits an answer of 42?  Is it, by any chance, 7 x 6?

And now, onto my final film: On Golden Pond.  (You’re probably wondering what possessed me to check out four such incredibly different types of movies.  Well, let me tell you, it was Friday evening and the movies still available were slim pickings).  

I love On Golden Pond.  I have watched this movie something akin to one hundred times.  The first time I watched it for Jane Fonda (noticing a trend with me?) because I love Jane Fonda.  After that I watched it for the hilarious interaction between Katharine Hepburn and Henry Fonda’s characters (also I love it that Henry and Jane are playing the parts of father and daughter).  True, the movie is a bit slow-paced and the soundtrack a bit too dramatic, but the script!  The script is just perfect.  

For example:

Norman: That’s her name.  Ethel Thayer.  It sounds like I'm lisping, doesn't it?  Almost kept her from marrying me.  Wanted me to change my last name to hers.
Billy Ray: What was it?
Norman: I don’t remember.

Billy Ray: A canoe! Just like the Indians used.
Norman: Actually, the Indians used a different grade of aluminum.

Chelsea: It just seems like we’ve been mad at each other for so long.
Norman: I didn’t think we were mad.  I just thought we didn’t like each other.

Ethel (to Norman): Don’t be such an old poop!

One of my favorite scenes of the entire movie occurs in the beginning, when Norman and Ethel return to their summer cabin and Norman picks up a frame on an end table and says, “Who’s that?  Ethel?  Who the hell is in this picture?”  It cracks me up every time.

I hope Tim and I end up being just like Norman and Ethel when we’re ancients.  Although there’s a decent chance I’ll be more like Norman, which makes him Ethel.  ;)

Okay, I’m out.  Hope I didn’t turn you off anything you want to see and/or already love.  Also, go watch On Golden Pond if you haven’t yet.  Happy Thursday!

P.S. You did know, before beginning this post, that I am a hopeless critic at heart, didn’t you?

You Had Me At Coffee

photo source

* He makes me coffee on Saturday mornings.  * He crushes up ice cubes for me because he knows I like them that way.  * He tirelessly tells me that my front teeth are not overlapping (my worst fear.  I wake up in the morning, look in the mirror, and realize I have a snaggle tooth).  * He writes me post-it notes and hides them in my books.  The last one was a picture of a shoulder bag, entitled “leather satchel.”  No idea.  * He dyes my hair for me and then tirelessly re-dyes it when I don’t like the color.  (This has happened at least four times.)  * He buys me clothing articles and then consoles me when I find out that I hate them.  * He offers me piggy-back rides when my feet hurt because I wore the cute boots with the absurd heel, even though he told me they’d make my feet hurt before we left.  * He lets me wear his scarf when I’ve forgotten mine.  * He doesn't mind when I make him look at all my pinterest boards, pin by pin by pin by pin.  * He massages my hands every morning because I have this unconscious habit of sleeping with my hands balled up into fists, so they always hurt when I wake up.  * He takes Isaac out for long walks when he sees I will pull my hair out otherwise.  * He says he'll live in Florida with me, if that's what I really want, even though he hates Florida.  * He knows my favorite drinks are coffee, screw-drivers, white wine, and grateful dead's, in that order, and that I'll take grapefruit juice over soda any day.  * He patiently listens to me read dozens of really crappy novels out loud to him, and a few really good ones, and he doesn’t make fun of me for mispronouncing the occasional word (hazards of having been homeschooled).  * He puts up with my tidal wave mood swings, and desperately tries to keep up.  * He lets me take up ¾’s of the bed even though I’m 5’3” short and only weigh 105 lbs and really don’t need it.  * He wakes up with me at 4 AM because I have that kind of insomnia wherein you wake up too early.  * He watches the Gilmore Girls with me. To the point where when I wake up at midnight and say, “I had a scary dream about monsters,” he says, “Oh, you know that Gilmore Girl episode in which Rory shoplifts a box of starch?  Well, I just had a dream about all the different kinds of starch in the world.”  (He has tremendously boring dreams, I think.  Either that or "very important thickening needs.") * He humors me when I finish my toning workouts, flex, and then say, “Look, babe, I’m getting the big guns.   Pretty soon I’ll be able to take you.”  * He is aware that my favorite kind of date is in a coffeehouse with a novel wherein the person you are dating is essentially ignored.  * He reads the sales ads every week so we can save on groceries, and he is excessively bothered when we thought we got a good deal on wine glasses and got ripped off instead.  * He dictates directions for me so I don’t get lost, walks me through them step-by-step with Google street view, draws maps, and then stays on the phone with me after I get lost anyway.  * He finds my extreme stubbornness charming (this may be a lie).  *  He doesn't mind when I beat him at bowling or ping pong and then dance around him pointing and laughing (those are the only things I can beat him at).  * He doesn't turn me in when we're playing a really long board game with other people, and he knows I'm cheating because I'm so bored.  * He likes to cook things. *

... And just for the record, I did not write this post because I feel sorry for yesterday's.  Yesterday's post was brilliant and I'm sticking to everything I said  :)