This morning I woke to a gorgeous, crisp spring morning. A dark 5:30, still early enough to be that cozy, blue half-awake time, tucked in under a nice fat blanket with the bedroom window open and twenty more minutes to sleep before the mandatory wake-up and hustle. The world was fresh, peaceful, and willing to wait a few more minutes. I snuggled in to savor it. Birds were chirping. Mostly one bird. Chirping and chirping and chirping. Just singing his chipper little avian song out into the world, to no one in particular, without need for response, right outside my window. Chirp! As if he was chirping inside the very bedroom, perched on the night stand, chirping away. Look here! Chirpchirpchirp! I am awake! I am going to try to find a worm later! I'm thinking about making a nest! My @bird friend said chirp cheep -- hilarious! Chirp! I'm going to shit on your windshield in a bit! Chirp chirp!
I am learning to twitter. I am tweeting. Trying to figure out what it is and why it's appealing. Trying to care enough to keep up with it. Trying to figure out how and why the Tennessee Aquarium is following me. It's all work-related: somebody needs to know how to do it if we're going to be buzzing the buzz words of marketing, I suppose. Chirpbuzz.
20 March 2009
16 March 2009
LOOKOUT, I just posted yesterday
And now again today, what is up with that??
If you know me in real life, you know I'm a big menu planning/ grocery shopping/ budgeting nerd. I just used my very last menu/ grocery worksheet (I made 52 copies this time last year, so that's about right, I reckon) and now face the task of creating an updated version. So when I came across this post today, I squealed with glee, pushed my dork-glasses back up on my nose, and adjusted my pocket protector. I am inspired to create a prettier, bad-ass-er version of my tried-and-true system, and more than anything, happy to know I'm not alone when I spread out my cookbooks and tattered recipes on a Friday night and start mapping out my grocery run, aisle by aisle.
Anyway, if you know me in real life, you know I am a clumsy human, both socially and physically. On the physical side of things, I regularly discover small bruises in unexpected places and never think twice about it, as it would be an all-day activity to try to recall the many things I've bumped into, tripped over, or smacked against in the last few days. But in the last week, I have discovered four bruises on the front of my upper thigh, all in a cluster, and I'm now on a fairly passive hunt to find the offending table corner or piece of furniture and move it out of my path once and for all. I will let you know how that goes.
Also, I am going to sew something. Soon. I also need some black flats, because the birthday shoes I loved in July are feeling all clompy and stompish. And I just ate a salad with too much red onion for most people, but exactly enough red onion for me.
*Edited to add:
Also found this post about using Google Calendar to menu plan. It blew my mind. I don't think I'm ready, but I'm intrigued.
If you know me in real life, you know I'm a big menu planning/ grocery shopping/ budgeting nerd. I just used my very last menu/ grocery worksheet (I made 52 copies this time last year, so that's about right, I reckon) and now face the task of creating an updated version. So when I came across this post today, I squealed with glee, pushed my dork-glasses back up on my nose, and adjusted my pocket protector. I am inspired to create a prettier, bad-ass-er version of my tried-and-true system, and more than anything, happy to know I'm not alone when I spread out my cookbooks and tattered recipes on a Friday night and start mapping out my grocery run, aisle by aisle.
Anyway, if you know me in real life, you know I am a clumsy human, both socially and physically. On the physical side of things, I regularly discover small bruises in unexpected places and never think twice about it, as it would be an all-day activity to try to recall the many things I've bumped into, tripped over, or smacked against in the last few days. But in the last week, I have discovered four bruises on the front of my upper thigh, all in a cluster, and I'm now on a fairly passive hunt to find the offending table corner or piece of furniture and move it out of my path once and for all. I will let you know how that goes.
Also, I am going to sew something. Soon. I also need some black flats, because the birthday shoes I loved in July are feeling all clompy and stompish. And I just ate a salad with too much red onion for most people, but exactly enough red onion for me.
*Edited to add:
Also found this post about using Google Calendar to menu plan. It blew my mind. I don't think I'm ready, but I'm intrigued.
15 March 2009
Oh, hello, it is March, I am still here
Lyrics to the song Bird sang to me this weekend, with gusto (and wild hand gestures):
I am going to the DOCTORRRRR
And I am bringing my PURRRRRSE!
And in my PURRRRSE
I have some doctor STUUUUUUFFFF!
My brother in law and his fiance visited this weekend, lovely time, etc.
Took Bird to the "Slumber Party" at daycare (Parents' night out, WOOT!) and finally made it out to this place, which was delightful, and then on to other places closer to home where I ordered additional fine beverages crafted by the first place. We saw friends, we shouted over the crowd, we spent some money. We were OUT and ABOUT, dammit.
When we got back at 11:30, the floor of the daycare was dark and lumpy with sleeping children. And my Bird was the only kid standing up on her mat in her sad little mismatched jammies, watching the door for us to come back. Ouch.
And today, my dear sweet husband has alternated between writhing around in cold sweats and sleeping like a rock. I gave him a mild level of shit about it (attributing his illness to his sinful livin') until I realized he was burning up with fever and probably dealing with actual illness. Since then I have been really, really nice. And Bird has been even nicer, stroking his hair and bringing him saltines and using every giant plastic tool in her doctor kit. I can't wait to see which one of us will be the next victim of the sudden puking fever illness!
I have no idea how old I was, but I remember very vividly one night when my brother and I were left in the care of a high school-aged babysitter, staying up (!!) until my parents got home, which probably really peeved the babysitter who, I'm sure, would have preferred to yap on the phone to her BFF or watch one of our four luxurious television channels, or any of the things high school kids did before texting and reality TV and the internet. But we were up. And I remember mom and dad walking in the front door, surprised to see us, and me hugging my mom through her taupe-colored trench coat, and her clothes smelling like smoke because they'd been to a bar. Which I didn't understand at the time. But I knew when I hugged her this was no church meeting they'd been to-- that they were out having some kind of fun that did not involve me in any way, in a place I had never seen or visited, and I felt a little "WTF" about the whole thing, clearly, because I remember it now, in my mid-30s. Mostly I was just happy they were home, and a little weirded out about this secret life of theirs. Which is probably how Bird felt when I zipped up her jacket and put on her shoes and she said, "Mama, what did you do?"
In other news, I am trying to complete the paperwork on a refinance, because DAMN interest rates are low. But I can't fight the feeling that I'm signing over permissions I don't understand, like maybe mistakenly joining a cult, or the circus, or becoming an exchange student, or donating my live body to dangerous scientific testing. When they come to collect me and put me in the experimental colony under the volcano, you'll hear me wailing all the way down the block about how I thought I was dropping a whole point.
I am going to the DOCTORRRRR
And I am bringing my PURRRRRSE!
And in my PURRRRSE
I have some doctor STUUUUUUFFFF!
My brother in law and his fiance visited this weekend, lovely time, etc.
Took Bird to the "Slumber Party" at daycare (Parents' night out, WOOT!) and finally made it out to this place, which was delightful, and then on to other places closer to home where I ordered additional fine beverages crafted by the first place. We saw friends, we shouted over the crowd, we spent some money. We were OUT and ABOUT, dammit.
When we got back at 11:30, the floor of the daycare was dark and lumpy with sleeping children. And my Bird was the only kid standing up on her mat in her sad little mismatched jammies, watching the door for us to come back. Ouch.
And today, my dear sweet husband has alternated between writhing around in cold sweats and sleeping like a rock. I gave him a mild level of shit about it (attributing his illness to his sinful livin') until I realized he was burning up with fever and probably dealing with actual illness. Since then I have been really, really nice. And Bird has been even nicer, stroking his hair and bringing him saltines and using every giant plastic tool in her doctor kit. I can't wait to see which one of us will be the next victim of the sudden puking fever illness!
I have no idea how old I was, but I remember very vividly one night when my brother and I were left in the care of a high school-aged babysitter, staying up (!!) until my parents got home, which probably really peeved the babysitter who, I'm sure, would have preferred to yap on the phone to her BFF or watch one of our four luxurious television channels, or any of the things high school kids did before texting and reality TV and the internet. But we were up. And I remember mom and dad walking in the front door, surprised to see us, and me hugging my mom through her taupe-colored trench coat, and her clothes smelling like smoke because they'd been to a bar. Which I didn't understand at the time. But I knew when I hugged her this was no church meeting they'd been to-- that they were out having some kind of fun that did not involve me in any way, in a place I had never seen or visited, and I felt a little "WTF" about the whole thing, clearly, because I remember it now, in my mid-30s. Mostly I was just happy they were home, and a little weirded out about this secret life of theirs. Which is probably how Bird felt when I zipped up her jacket and put on her shoes and she said, "Mama, what did you do?"
In other news, I am trying to complete the paperwork on a refinance, because DAMN interest rates are low. But I can't fight the feeling that I'm signing over permissions I don't understand, like maybe mistakenly joining a cult, or the circus, or becoming an exchange student, or donating my live body to dangerous scientific testing. When they come to collect me and put me in the experimental colony under the volcano, you'll hear me wailing all the way down the block about how I thought I was dropping a whole point.
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