In which we are still cold
If you are wondering how our February is going, weatherwise, this is pretty much all the information you need. Eliza comes home and stretches out atop the radiator covers, and good luck getting her off. When it’s dark out, and she’s lying on there in her dark blue and tan school uniform, she blends in to such an extent that I am wandering around the house looking for my enormous first-born to no avail. It’s only when I spy the irritated cats awaiting their turn in the warm spot that I realize she’s at it again.
As you can also see, that girl is enormous. She is 4 foot 7 or something insane like that, and she has always been all limbs, but her likeness to an octopus increases daily. Albeit a pointy one, as I’ve mentioned. She has no padding at all, so when she drapes herself on me for cuddling, there are a lot of bony parts poking out.
My boss has a meeting on her work calendar with my daughter for next week, because the two of them have been emailing vis-a-vis Girl Scout Cookies. Our administrative assistant was asked to help set it up. That’s my girl, mugging people for cookie money via official channels. I couldn’t be prouder, really.
Bring Your Bambi-eyes-of-doom Moppet to Work Day
The little one came to work with me for the first time since her infancy last week. I gave her a “brown donut” to sweeten the deal, but I needn’t have worried. She was happy to be there anyway. (Protip: keep totally different toys and books at your work than you have at home. Also, get co-workers to commission drawings. Between those two strategies and some judiciously-applied I’m-ignoring-you-now Mmm-hmm-ing, I got a surprising amount done.)
Here is the brown donut, being eaten:
She made a drawing for my boss, whom she refers to as “Ponytail Girl,” and had an extensive conversation with a co-worker who is “Orange lady with a hat” about Ariel the princess, and now, apparently, next time she comes to work with me, she is going to need to wear her Ariel costume because Orange Lady needs to see it. I told Orange Lady, who really was just hoping for a picture but is now thrilled at the prospect of Moppet Dress-up.
This is what happens to the moppet after spending all afternoon socializing with adults who are powerless to resist Tiny Persons with Bambi Eyes of Doom:
That is some quality Passing Out in the Car, right there.
2 weekends ago Eliza was sick and before giving it to me, I felt bad for her — she was so under the weather that she didn’t even bat an eye about missing her school dance (dozens of gangly, pointy-elbowed children dancing to Katy Perry and Pitbull! Oh, it is such a sadness that she missed it, and by extension, that we did not get to see her crazy-haired, loose-limbed excitement when we picked her up.)
In an attempt to make her feel better I let her pick the meal and she asked for cheeseburger casserole, which I had made once in her life before and was NOT anticipating. It is horrible: Brown some ground beef and onions, toss in cheddar soup and mushroom soup, shredded cheese, top with fries, bake. I attempted to mitigate the horror by adding corn, and then destroyed whatever gains I had just made by topping the whole mess with bacon.
Jim seemed honestly afraid he would expire of a heart attack the moment he put it in his mouth. Lucy was deeply suspicious of the whole thing and only picked the bacon off the top.
We took the whole family to a winter carnival about 40 minutes north of here. It was a dud for us because there wasn’t much to do that hit both the Oooh-shiny attention span of the 2-year-old AND the elevated tastes of the 8-year-old, but at least the chillun got their faces painted. Are you totally shocked that Lucy got a purple heart?
The next weekend we took everyone to a carnival happening in our town, which was much better because there was a dude selling horchata, there were demos of Cuban dancing and curling, several of us attempted to learn how to juggle (I can do two balls, poorly, now!), and there was an armadillo to pet. Also, this happened:
That is me, throwing a skillet. I did not do very well. My facebook friends will know that I did not even beat Jim, but also, he threw a 2-pound pan, and I threw a 4-pound pan. In case you are wondering, throwing a skillet is very satisfying regardless of how far you throw it.
This semester is a bad-idea blur of terrible short-cut food (see above) and dude, take it back out of the hamper because I do not have time to wash it tonight. Karate is suffering, and so is the fit of my pants. It’s being done with an end-game in mind, but in the meantime, I have definitely bitten off more than I can chew. I hope it pays off.