Finding Blanche
Nothing stays the same.Archive for December, 2009
Parts of speech.
Do not even ask me why, but I was reading some very old blog posts of mine this week.
Redux from December 23, 2005 at 10:41 pm
Judging others is a dangerous hobby. Without all the facts (and you never have all the facts) it is impossible to understand someone’s decisions, motives, choices on all fronts. Now that doesn’t mean that we can’t relate to others’ issues, challenges, etc. Two things I’ve learned over the years come to mind:
1) You don’t know what happens in someone else’s house.
2) Never say “I never would…” in reference to someone else’s choices. You might one day when faced with the same situation.
I’ve been stewing about something that happened the other day. In order to let it go, I’ve decided to write about it. I drove some kids (including some of my own) to an after-school class. One of the kids was unable to carry his stuff in, so I dropped them all off, parked the car, and, sans coat, trekked across the parking lot to bring the kid his stuff. I was cold. I had a sick kid at home I wanted to get back to. My father had a procedure that day and I couldn’t go sit with my mom while she waited because of my kid at home who needed me. My work was behind schedule due to the same sick kid and the construction noise at the house was really getting to me and to that same sick kid, who cried about his head hurting for hours. You get the picture – the day was not a cake walk. (I always wanted to say cake walk – I hope I used it correctly!)
Walking into the school, I ran into a friend. Not a “hang out all the time” friend, but someone I like and socialize with occasionally. After saying hello, she took a hard look at me and said:
Balance is a verb.
It felt like a punch in the stomach. She has balance so never looks harried? I am unbalanced? I am incapable of managing my life? What exactly was this wisdom she was (unsolicited, I might add) presenting to me? She had no idea what I had done for the past month, let alone for the day. I was really irritated. How superior.
After a day I asked a close friend, who I respect tremendously, what she thought. She said:
Bitch is a verb too.
Happy Erev Chanukah. Merry Christmas Eve. I’m planning on a judgment-free holiday.
The 5 simple secrets to a perfect relationship.
Redux from December 20, 2005 at 5:10 pm
I just got this email from my sister. I was sure it was one of those motivational blah blah blah emails. But read on:
1. It’s important to have a partner who helps at home, who cooks from time to time, cleans up and has a job.
2. It’s important to have a partner who can make you laugh.
3. It’s important to have a partner who you can trust and who doesn’t lie to you.
4. It’s important to have a partner who is good in bed and who likes to be with you.
5. It’s very, very, very, important that these four persons don’t know each other.
Bedtime stories.
From the time our boys were teensy little boys, Andrew and I read them bedtime stories. We loved reading to them so much that we took turns so that neither missed the opportunity. (Though when Andrew was traveling, I got the honor to myself.)
Depending on the stages of the boys, we read to them separately or together. If they wanted the same book, we’d cuddle in all together but when they had different desires, we’d comply.
It was the highlight of the day.
Nothing made me happier than cuddling with my little guys and some books.
Some days, we’d read 10 or more. They never got enough. (If you know us IRL, I know you believe me.)
As they got older, the books got longer and more complex.
Until we got to some serious chapter books.
That is not so fun to read out loud – at least for me. While I love I Love You the Purplest and Seven Silly Eaters and Welcome to Dinsmore, The World’s Greatest Store and other sing-songy books, I’m not much of an out-loud reader of novels.
Just makes my throat dry.
But Andrew loves that stuff.
He read the whole Alex Rider series while the boys sat by silently listening. But we finished the series.
Fast forward to today.
And he’s on the third Clive Cussler novel. Corsair. It’s the third book we’ve heard about the Oregon, the ship sent out to save mankind from terrible people and…
Well, I don’t want to spoil it for you.
All I can say is that if you’d asked me when the kids were little if we’d still be cuddling in together reading outloud when the boys were 11, 12-1/2, and 14-1/2, I’d have told you ‘no way.’
But then again, I remember when Davis was in kindergarten. He’d hold a book that I’d never read him and go through it apparently as if reading. When I’d ask him about it, he told me that he couldn’t read it. He needed me to read it. Long story short, I figured out that he could, indeed, read quite well. He was just afraid I wouldn’t read to him anymore once I knew he could read for himself.
I promised him that I, that we, would read to him as long as he’d let us.
And here we are.
It’s a jungle out there.
Jungle tree roots 2 by andres_ol via sxc.hu
Until a few weeks ago, I had 2 houseplants – an aloe plant that my sister gave me to replace the aloe plant that died an unfortunate drowning death and a Christmas cactus that my sister-in-law gave me. The cactus flowered a bit the first year and since then, after years of my loving care, hasn’t grown, bloomed, or even perked up.
Yes. It’s true. I have the magic touch.
What some of you many know is that we are selling our house.
Well, trying to sell our house.
The home of my dreams came on the market and we’ve put a contingent contract on it.
(So if you know anyone looking for a nice home in Howard County, MD with amazing schools – Clarksville Elem & Middle, River Hill HS – and a lovely neighborhood with super-de-duper neighbors, let me know!)
Anyway, I’m off track again.
The stager came into my home to help me get it ready to sell. She was impressed by how clean, how organized, how market-ready the house was.
Of course, she had some suggestions.
Nothing big. Easy as pie. Except….
She wanted me to get houseplants for just about every room in the house.
I am not kidding.
So, she’s the expert, right? I’d like to think that if I told her how to do social media research, she wouldn’t push back and say, “but I really don’t like numbers so I’m just going to do it without that part, okay?”
So, I went to Home Depot. And I bought plants.
As it turns out, that was the easy part.
Because you know what?
Now I have to go from room to room every couple days and water those $%&*! plants.
I’m not kidding.
Did you know that about plants? Evidently, I didn’t. Or else I would not have killed hundreds of perfectly innocent plants over the years.
But I’m watering.
And watering.
And trimming.
And while I am not enjoying this one teeny little bit, I have to admit….
They look pretty good.
Cayenne Spiced Chocolate Cupcakes
Honestly can’t remember where I found this but it’s not original. These are amazingly good!
~Wendy
Cayenne Spiced Chocolate Cupcakes
Makes 24 cupcakes
Ingredients:
2-1/2 cups flour
1-1/4 cups cocoa powder
2 cups granulated sugar
3-1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1-1/4 teaspoons baking powder
1-1/4 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper or to taste
2 large eggs plus 1 large egg yolk
1-3/4 cups lowfat milk
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
1-1/4 cups warm water
Frosting:
1 pound semi-sweet chocolate, finely chopped
6 tablespoons cocoa powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper or to taste
6 tablespoons boiling water
1-1/2 cups unsalted butter, softened at room temperature
1/2 cup confectioners’ sugar
Pinch of salt
Directions:
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line 2 muffin tins with paper liners.
2. Combine flour, cocoa, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, salt, and cayenne in a bowl. Beat eggs, yolk, milk, oil, vanilla and water into flour mixture until fully combined.
3. Pour batter into prepared muffin tins and bake 20 to 25 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean. Let cupcakes cool completely on a wire rack before frosting.
4. To make frosting, heat chocolate over a double boiler until fully melted. Set aside to let cool slightly. Meanwhile, stir together cocoa powder, baking soda, cayenne, and boiling water.
5. In a separate bowl, beat butter with sugar and salt until fluffy. Beat in melted chocolate and cocoa mixture until fully combined. Spread frosting onto cooled cupcakes.
Midwest Clinic.
Just had to post this photo of Reed at the exhibition at the Midwest Clinic.
More later! ~W
I’m really sorry.
When I was in 7th grade, I did something awful.
Really awful.
So bad, in fact, that I still think about it today. And every once in a while, I think about finding the object of my bad behavior and apologizing. I’ve tried, you know. But no luck. It wouldn’t matter anyway. I can’t undo 7th grade angst.
Can’t be done.
Let me step back a second and say that I was not a mean girl.
I was not in the most ‘popular’ crowd.
But clearly, I was pliable.
Because when the mean girls wanted me to do this deed, I did.
Did I know it was wrong? Was I extremely uncomfortable? Did I almost throw up?
Yes to all. But I did it just the same.
And I’m ashamed.
I wrote a love letter to a really not popular (but extremely smart) guy, perfumed it, and put it in his locker – through the slots.
Signed….Anonymous.
Nice, huh?
It still haunts me.
How could I have been so stupid? So insensitive?
So…. twelve!?
And yet, I was.
I bet this guy is a rocket scientist or an NIH researcher on the verge of a major discovery or a professor at Stanford.
And I bet his braces are off and his haircut is better and his clothes? Well, I hope he’s dressing better. That’s all I’m going to say.
But I never got to know him. He was probably a really nice guy. I’d imagine he worried about the same things I did.
Grades. Friends. Not embarrassing myself.
We probably had a ton in common.
But I did that thing.
That awful thing.
And I’m sorry.
The saving grace? I learned from that. It made me so sick afterward that I never was mean like that again. NEVER. (And if you know me IRL, you believe me I’m sure.) I never want to feel that regret. That guilt. That…self-disgust…. that I felt after I saw his face after he found the letter.
He was elated. Someone cared about him.
But I knew it was false.
Crap. I feel nauseous all over again.
Chicago.
Chicago skyline at dusk by arts007
When I was in college, I worked at several bars. It was hard work, late into the night. But the money was awesome and I met some great people. (Truth be told, I had a lot of fun, too. Just don’t tell my mom.)
One of the bouncers at Hababa’s (an old beer dive on Grace Street near VCU which has probably been gone since the 80′s) was a big, seriously-mean-looking guy named Dennis. He was a pussy cat if you got to know him, but he was tough as nails with those drunk guys – particularly those drunk guys that bothered the girls who worked there. But anyway.
Dennis. He had a nickname for everyone. (Come to think of it, no one had a nickname for him!)
Dennis called me Chicago.
He’d never tell me why.
I fancied myself a bit more… ahem….sophisticated than the regular crowd and employees. (Fine. Call me a snob.) Dennis was super nice to me. Always. Maybe because I was dating the DJ, but maybe just because I was always nice to him and asked him questions and treated him like a regular guy and not like a townie in a college-laced area.
Just sayin’
I liked the nickname. Chicago, that is. I’d never had a nickname I’d liked before.
In fact, I’d never had much of one at all. My dad called me Wen-Wen. Now that’s a name you can’t grow old with. Right? My friend Laurie called me Wendall. Though I love Laurie, I never loved the name. (Sorry, Laurie.)
There was one guy who called me, Wendy Sue Fay Rae Constantinople, and even though he said it in a very sweet sing-songy way, I never quite got the reference. He was awfully cute so I let it slide.
But Chicago. That had a ring to it.
My boys – Reed and Andrew – left for Chicago today. They’re headed to the Midwest Clinic. Reed’s middle school band has the honor of performing there. The trip is action-packed. The kids are really excited. The parents? Well…
TWELVE hours on the bus. Each way. Rules. Lots of rules. Guess you gotta do that to keep 60+ kids safe, right? When Andrew volunteered to chaperone, I thought, wow, that’s great. Not something I was looking to do, frankly. So….
They’ll be gone for 3 days. It’ll be weird around here.
I have the food thing figured out. I’m sure we’ll be okay. Don’t worry. I can make pasta. And eggs. Seriously. Don’t worry. (Did I say that already?)
Secretly, I’m looking forward to the bed to myself for 3 nights.
Heaven.
(Andrew, if you’re reading this? I’m just saying that for my readers. I wish you were here. I miss you something awful.)
And the nickname? Chicago?
As I graduated, Dennis finally told me why he’d called me that all those years.
Chicago is the WINDY city.
Admittedly, it was kind of a let down. I thought it was something exotic or cool. But it was just a bad play on words.
Oh well.
I am not what you’d call laid back, I suppose.
Photo from The American Terry Co. where you can purchase this lovely robe for $70. Makes a great Christmas gift.
I know I’m a fairly intense person. I work hard. I expect a lot. I’m a perfectionist in many ways. Some say that even when I’m relaxed, I’m not all that relaxed.
I beg to differ.
I KNOW HOW TO RELAX.
Sorry ’bout that. Let me start again.
It’s true that people don’t consider me to be a laid-back girl. But that’s okay. I pride myself on getting things done. Being ahead of the game. Leaping tall buildings in a single bound.
But no one would say that I’m a prima donna about how I look. Yes, I try to wear clean clothes. (I almost always have clean underwear on. Well, almost always.) It’s true that I pull my hair back into a ponytail on those days when I can’t blow dry it. And it’s always true (yikes) that some days, I don’t change out of my gym clothes until after lunch even though I work out long before breakfast.
And it’s true that some days, I don’t ever put real shoes on and just wear my fuzzy L.L. Bean slippers. It makes me happy.
And one more thing. I don’t bother with makeup very often. Some days, I’ll quick use some tinted moisturizer and mascara and maybe, just maybe, some blush. But most days? Nothing. Nada.
But (aside from that one time that I think I’d be best not to discuss here), I never leave the house except in clothes. They might be crappy sweats, but they are socially accepted clothes. Not pajamas. But real, honest-to-goodness, clothes. And usually shoes. (Okay, fine. Sometimes slippers.)
So please don’t get me wrong as you read on. I’m not criticizing these women. I am insanely jealous.
There are tons and tons of school busstops around here. Tons, I say.
Of course, mothers are only allowed to go to the stop in elementary school. By middle school & high school, my sons (and children around the world) would rather crawl under a rock (with a scorpion or worse) than have their mother stand with them at the busstop.
Seriously. If you’re doing that now, stop. For the love of Pete…. (who is Pete?)
But I digress….
Elementary school busstops. Aren’t they just the cutest thing ever?
There are 6 ore more in my neighborhood alone. And tons more on my way to the gym and the store, etc. And, after extensive… I mean EXTENSIVE primary research studies, I am here to tell you that there is one – ONE – busstop where the moms come in their bathrobes. Every. Single. Day.
Every other stop in the zip code has dressed mothers.
But this one? Bathrobes. Slippers. Coffee.
At first, I’d drive past and smirk. How could these women go outside like this and humiliate their children. How long would it take, for goodness sakes, for them to throw on a pair of jeans and sneakers?
But little by little, I realized that these were the luckiest women in the world.
They didn’t care what anyone thought.
They were cuddly as all get-out.
They were a team.
I mean, if one mom got dressed, the others would look kind of….undressed. Don’t you think?
But they stick together in their state of cuddliness and, at least today, I am extraordinarily jealous that I can’t be that laid back. Well, that is if I was allowed at the stop anymore anyway.
So I guess it’s a moot point.
But that’s what I’ve been thinking.
Monday morning you sure look fine
Everything was looking rosy this morning. Well, mostly everything.
And then it didn’t.
Sometimes I handle work stress really well. And sometimes I don’t.
Kind of like Mounds/Almond Joy… you know what I mean.
But now, it’s Monday night.
The boys are in bed. Andrew is out watching the Ravens get slammed by Green Bay. Well, slammed might be a bit harsh.
Anyway….
I was looking through some things in the basement. There I saw my 45 collection. I couldn’t help but smile.
Billy Don’t Be a Hero (The Legend of Billy Jack. Remember?)
The Night Chicago Died (I never understood it)
Popcorn (catchy)
Half Breed (yikes, I bought that?)
Seasons in the Sun (my first kiss)
Lots and lots of records.
And my all-time favorite. I know all the words: Life is a Rock, But the Radio Rolled Me.
What’s your favorite from back in the day?
