Tonight, my daughter's future became painfully, embarrassingly clear. She is going to be a groupie. There is no room for doubt.
Sasha has always had a love for music, but we had not yet learned the wild heights of abandon to which song can rocket her. You see, Matt just gave me "Karaoke Revolution," volumes 1 and 3, as an early gift. We began playing while she was napping this afternoon. Matt woke her up with his forceful rendition of "New York, New York," (and cranky about it she was, indeed; Sinatra is so over).
A little later, during my own performance of "Killing Me Softly," she started getting into the groove and dancing. Then, during "Kiss Me," she really got into the spirit of the song and gave her daddy a few spontaneous kisses.
But it was when Matt's turn came back around that she fell into a full-on ecstatic swoon of toddler joy. During "Against All Odds," she stood in front of him dancing, huge smile upon her face. She kept flinging her arms around him for hugs all through "Someday." And when he sang "You're the One That I Want," holy cow, you'd think he'd turned into John Travolta and she was the head of Scientology. She glowed with baby love, recklessly hurling herself at him and showering him with kisses.
So now that the truth about my child is known to God and the Internet, I guess my only course of action is to make sure that she's the kind of groupie who gets lots of alimony and writes white-hot tell-all novels, and not the kind who sneaks out at fifteen, puts on too much make-up, and gets knocked up by the bassist.
I mean, we all want the best for our children, don't we?
My kitchen is: Um. You know, I'm... I'm not sure. I haven't visited in a while.
It all began innocently enough.
I just replaced a light bulb in my kitchen. And then another one.
We've got track lighting in our kitchen, and as the bulbs dropped, one by one, it grew markedly darker. Not so dark that you couldn't see what you were cooking, but something in me yearns for a starkly bright kitchen to work in. So... after a period of complaining about it, we went out and bought the appropriate bulbs, and I replaced them.
A warm feeling of accomplishment filled my heart when I went to bed that night. The next morning, I sprang up cheery and energetic, and possessed by Toyouke, the God of Industry. I stained the stair bainsters we had installed, unfinished, not quite three years ago.
Then I bounded up the stairs and painted the laundry room! Then, not yet finished with this saga of colorization, I painted my nails.
The next morning, I sealed the banisters with poly-coat; visited the hardware store; replaced our smoke detectors; and hung SHELVES in the laundry room. By myself. From the wall. Using a LEVEL! And a stud-finder*! And also a power drill!
And even the next morning, I applied more poly-coat to the banisters, so now they should be done, and drilled and hung plants from the ceiling, and scraped all the paint off of the windows in the laundry room! And also folded some laundry! And cleaned my office!
I do not know if this spirit of organization and home improvement will be with me long; it does tend to come and go. But man, have I ever capitalized on it this go around.
My final plans for the laundry room involve putting my new jade plant in there, and also hanging up the beautiful pressed trillium I got for my birthday. My theory is that if my newly remodeled laundry room is so bright and beautiful, then I should more thoroughly enjoy spending time in there, say, folding. Or possibly meditating.
Alas, I may have run short on home construction projects for the near future.. at least ones that don't require an additional outlay of cash. In this case, almost all of the materials had been purchased months and months ago, and been knocking around in the house ever since.
My kitchen is: Surprisingly, in good shape. The dishes have piled up a bit, but I'm going to get to them now. Funny how many balls I can keep in the air when this particular mood comes upon me. I swear it is not amphetamines.
* It should be noted that the above-mentioned stud-sensor was quite possibly the poorest purchase I have ever made, on accuont of being a no-good LYING LIAR. I mapped out and marked no less than five beams, and when I drilled through, only one of them actually had actual wood behind it. I proceeded to hang the shelves anyway, because I believe I have the screws through two layers of drywall (what threw off the sensor) and because how heavy is folded laundry, people? There will never be anything on those shelves too heavy for me to lift over my own shoulders!
Matt: I think uncle wanted **** for Chanukkah.
Me, noncommital: Hm.
Matt: Sasha, what do you want more than anything in the WHOLE WORLD?
Sasha: Tuna.
Matt: So you want tuna for Chanukkah?
Sasha: Yeah.
My kitchen is: Savory and garlicky, and soon to be festooned with the love that is "Savory Cheddar Thyme Biscotti." THANK YOU, AMATEUR GOURMET!
It's OVER, ALL OVER!
I have survived MailCom Anaheim 2004, I have completed work on the RS/6000 of Suffering, I have almost had enough sleep in the last week!
To celebrate these wondrous milestones, I took a long bath and then enjoyed a bit of eggnog. Yes, with RUM IN IT. Yes, on a school night! I am so wild and crazy, you know you wish you were like me.
Tomorrow, I have to begin making amends for all of the sucky things that happened while I was thusly embroiled in my despair, to wit:
So I pretty much have my work cut out for me. Fortunately, the baby is in good health aside from a bit of a runny nose, and the house is recoverable, thanks in no small part to the efforts of my husband, the unsung hero of the can-and-bottle-returning.
Thank you, Internet, and good night.
Here I am, back from the dead. The last weeks have been filled with stress and travel, some noteworthy and some not. The wedding? Fabulous. The trade show? Not so much.
I'd fill in the blanks, but that's going to have to wait. As I see it, I've been averaging a scant five hours of sleep a night since last Saturday. I got my hair cut today, and my stylist tells me that even my *hair* is jetlagged.
This, then, is not the big catch-up post you're all waiting for; this is just a little love song to my husband, who watched Sasha all by his lonesome while I was visiting Mouse Country. And not only did he dress her and feed her and medicate her and provide for her continued survival... he went far, far above and beyond the call of duty. He cleaned up! He vacuumed! He unpacked luggage and cut wide swathes of table space clear!
He did... All. The. Laundry.
And folded it.
And put it away! ALL. OF. IT.
This is a staggering act of heroism, and I am far too tired to come up with appropriate words. But does he not rule? Is that not the greatest thing ever? I'll have to find a good way to express my truly pathetic gratitude when I am less addle-brained. Any thoughts?
My kitchen is: It just is. The kitchen and I have not yet made the time to become reacquainted.