Nostalgia for The Immediate Past

Well, it didn't turn out to be such a shabby month of blog posts. I tell you though, halfway through the month, I would click back to last November's 30 posts, over there in the left sidebar, and think, "People should just read these again. There were some good ones in there." The time Matt tried to fix the toilets, the time Hank said the f-word, no the other f-word, the time I fixed the garbage disposal, the post about my health insurance, all worth reading again. IN MY HUMBLE OPINION.

But this month was fun too, blog-wise. It had its moments. I don't know, it's too soon. I'm sure in three weeks, I'll be all, remember that stuffed swan I bought in Tennessee! Golden Age! What was it Sir Philip Sidney said in his 1579 Defense of Poesy? Something about how the world is brazen, but bloggers make it golden. That was it, I think.

It is a golden age, truly. And in this particular golden age, Matt and I just ended the day by spending fully twenty minutes discussing how we both, at different times and unbeknownst to each other, heard a woodpecker tapping on our front door frame. It tapped exactly as if it were trying to gain entry into the house, but didn't know quite how knocking or doors work, being a bird. Yes, we had a lot to say about this experience. What we each heard, what we thought when we heard it, what we did next, how we noticed the bird--obviously this was a rich vein that needed mining, and it made excellent pillow talk.

In my recounting of events, I finally opened the door and the bird said, "What the FRACK. I've been knocking for HOURS."

Thank you for reading so diligently these thirty days. Looking forward to more golden times for all of us.
xoxo

Lady Time

Today was a whole, whole lot of lady socializing and a complete disaster eating-wise but at least I managed to not volunteer for anything. As I will explain.

This morning my tennis team had a match at our home court (I brought a mixed baby greens salad with mandarin oranges, goat cheese, and walnuts, which is not exactly cutting edge but it completely disappeared). I was planning on going and having lunch with Matt after, but my partner T and I didn't get to start playing until 11, and then it took us three hours and three sets to finally lose to these tall, friendly women who made very few mistakes. It's kind of surprising that we took one set, actually.

Anyway, so I didn't get to go eat with Matt, and instead spent nearly all darn day with my morning tennis team. Everybody on my team lost their matches. Those girls were just really good. And as we were leaving, their captain said, "Well you guys definitely get the award for the nicest team in the league." I said, "Well, thank you, that might be some consolation." They also praised our hostessing. Sometimes I think we should disband as a tennis team and start a catering business, because our bench is really deep in that area.

Then Hank had his lesson up there after school and so it was lather, rinse, repeat with some of the same characters. By this point we had all half-changed our clothes.

Then, a mere two hours later, I went to a get-together and bunco night for my Sunday tennis team, to celebrate our semi-successful fall season. I took cut up apples and chocolate dip, because I was tired. This was at our captain's house. I like her house, because while her taste is not really the same as mine, she doesn't have a lot of stuff in there. There are empty spaces, and it feels very clean and spacious that way. I could swap out some of her things in a jiff and be happy with 90% of her stuff. (What a nice compliment that would be to give her! "I would be happy with 90% of your stuff!" I can be an ass sometimes, on the inside.)

This, again, was much of the same cast of characters as the morning, with some new additions. By now, everyone was fully showered, blown out, and wearing their boots. There was sangria.

Pretty Neighbor and I recalled that, at our last tennis bunco night, which was in June and therefore fell into the blogging lacuna, I had volunteered the two of us to decorate the club house for the 4th of July and oversee the 4th of July bike parade. Our tennis friend, and the neighborhood social director, was complaining about how her kids aren't even little anymore and she needs someone to take on more of the kid activities in the neighborhood, and somehow it possessed me to gesture toward PN and say, "This seems like something you would be really good at." I know! And then, perhaps because the sangria and my tight jeans were making me dizzy, I didn't see the death glare Pretty Neighbor was giving me and wound up basically committing the two of us.

And THEN, though she did not bring this up tonight because she is too good a friend, I planned an impromptu trip to D.C. for the 4th, leaving Pretty Neighbor to be the master of ceremonies all by herself.

BEST FRIEND EVAR. I apologized profusely when I realized what I was about to do. Or as much as I could apologize through my hysterical laughter of shame. But we did the flags and everything before I left and then PN oversaw the bike parade and all was well. Okay, why am I telling you about something that happened in June? Because tonight, back at the scene of the crime, Pretty Neighbor said, "Just keep your mouth shut." And I did!

So then there was lots of lady hollering and chatting, and Normal Neighbor unveiled this cheese dip she had baked in the middle of a loaf of bread, and I only had eyes for that thing, and then I had a conversation about the fifty shades books, and then I didn't win any prizes, and we were home by 9:30.

Now it is 11:30 and I am IN BED, which, 11:30 in my house is like still the shank of the evening, but I need to sing with the larks. I hope you have enjoyed this impressionistic journey through my lady socializing. You basically now know what it was like to be there. xoxo

We Builded That

Y'all, today I paused while smearing a thin layer of Aquaphor all over my face to think, "I really need that dang blogroll back." Remember how over on the right I used to have a long list of blogs? Somehow, during the GoDaddy debacle and domain loss, that went away. I have no idea why. Like, a magic donkey stopped turning a wheel and that list vanished into thin air.

As a result, I am a really bad blog friend. If I don't see your link on facebook or twitter, I am missing things. This came home to me tonight when I spied a picture on Beth's instagram feed that said she'd given herself a gel manicure at home and had blogged about it, and I was like, wha? I need this information RIGHT NOW INSTANTLY. Then I went over there and there was stuff all about a cute spider web she made from an embroidery hoop, and I had not noticed it before Halloween because no blog roll! So many missed opportunities.

So, if you used to be listed over there OR if you hang around here and want to be listed over there please let me know in the comments! We can rebuild her! Then I'll go back to being basically on top of everyone's developments and I will be a better blog friend. Okay? And if your blog isn't obvious from your little blogger profile, leave a link! Let's get this barn raised!

And if you see me and I am glistening all over, it is the petroleum products. xoxo

Probably Not Worth It

The other day, I sorted through a massive amount of Laura's outgrown clothing, and separated them into three piles: Donate, Consign, Ebay. Actually there were two ebay piles, one for spring/summer and one for now. I've kept a lot of this stuff around for too long because I thought I could sell some of her outfits and make more money than I would from consignment, but as you may know, selling clothes on ebay is kind of a pain, because it involves a whole lot of washing and neatening and photographing for pretty small amounts of money. She has some of the cutest things, though, and some still with tags or never worn.

Back in the day--even a few years ago--you could do pretty well with better children's clothes in very good condition. Or "excellent used condition (EUC)," in the ebay lingo. I happily dressed Laura in a lot of of gymbo and Hanna, then resold it, and I remember it seems like you could get up to half of what you'd paid for the things new. It was a nice biz. Dressing her was a hobby, and ebay was too. Then I took a long break from reselling anything. Laura stopped wanting to dress in matching outfits. I started a blog. The world moved along.

So lately I've stuck a toe back into ebay and it looks like that market--children's clothing both new and used--has gotten super saturated. Like, lots of auctions ending without bids or with only an opening bid. I think there's just so many people reselling, and retail stores are basically giving things away in the first place. I did manage to sell a bunch of Hanna thick cotton tights--like seven pairs--for thirty-something bucks, so I thought I would list a few more things, but it's not looking too good.

The other day I sold a Gymboree velour jacket and yoga pants set, size 10. It was barely worn, and it sold for $7.49. I remember selling a similar set for $20 a few years ago, but okay. It's better than the zero dollars it was earning sitting in a basket. So I shipped it out last week. Tonight I got this message from the buyer via the little automated ebay messaging system:

Was a little disappointed to find out the pants are a size 12 and not a size 10 to match the coat, but they both look to be in EUC. Hodge Podge sizes are hard to resale :( 

Okay, whoops! I did sometimes buy L different sizes in bottoms and tops because she's always been so tall. I'd looked at the size tag in the jacket and not thought to check the pants. My fault, but I was a little annoyed by this note, though, because there is no question or request about it, it's just a complaint. It is unclear what would make her happy. And yes I know it is in EUC, I said it was. Also, I was surprised she was buying it to resell again and not for a child to wear. But I dunno. And the little frownie face. Please. So I sent back, "Hi, I'm sorry, my daughter must have worn those at the same time and I forgot there was a size discrepancy. Do you want to return?"

Returning something that you paid seven dollars for is a super duper PITA, so I am guessing she will say no, she'll keep it. Which then, am I supposed to apologize some more? Give her a partial refund? I have always shunned the way of the partial refund, and it's never really been an issue before. But that's what I think her message is angling for. She didn't say, "Your listing was wrong, I'm sending it back." She said she was "disappointed," to which I'm supposed to say...? Gah!

I know it is not cool to sell something as one size and have it turn out to be another, but this is my blog and I'm complaining to you anyway. Argle bargle! Details! I think my lifeforce may be too drained by the whole ebay enterprise, and given that the bottom has fallen out of the market, I'm going to take it all to consignment.

Anyway, 99 problems. Any of y'all still doing the ebay thing?

Frugivore

This guy, Hank! 2 years old.

Hank loves fruit. I mean, he loves fruit, he always has. I sometimes find apple cores or banana peels upstairs because he has sneaked up there to eat his fruit in private. Maybe it is tastier if it's clandestine. As though I have ever denied the child fruit.

This afternoon, right after school, he asked for a "regular banana and also a banana cut up with little dabs of peanut butter." I clarifed that he wanted to eat a whole banana, and then have a banana with peanut butter. He means for me to pipe the PB out of a baggie like I do. I said, sure, eat the banana and then you can have one with peanut butter. He protested that he wanted them together, but I was firm. So he ate a banana. Then he said, and I kid you not, "Mom, now let's move on to the little dabs of peanut butter." Oh, indeed. Let's move on. So I cut another banana into little circles and then piped the peanut butter onto them and he will never move out of the house or marry.

A bit later, his little friend from around the corner was visiting. Hank led him into the kitchen and said, "Would you like a tangerine, which is a small orange?"

If facebook hadn't existed it would have sprung fully into being at that moment, that's how fast I updated my status. I had to share my pride in both his politeness and his considerate desire to explain completely. I mean, what if his buddy had been put off by the exotic citrus terminology? "Do not be dismayed, friend, by 'tangerine,' it will be familiar to you as an orange, though somewhat smaller and less acidic."

And for some reason, as I sit to write to you, before I go to bed, that is the moment from the day that I wanted to tell you about.

I hope you found something memorable in your day. xoxo

Just Try Not To Look Weird

Do I not have any puffier clothing in which to be photographed?

We are back home in Atlanta tonight, somewhat grudgingly. It was such a good relaxed time up in the mountains, I kind of didn't want to leave. I mean, it's basically ideal--I'm almost embarrassed--because whenever we're up there with a grandparent, we're minimally responsible for the custodial care of our children. Grandparents are up early, they're making breakfast, they're dispensing pearls of wisdom. Everyone is happy and I can keep to my preferred sleep hours, 2-10am.

6:15 is gonna come early tomorrow morning.

This morning before we all went our separate ways, I herded the family outside for Andy to take our picture. I need something to put on Christmas cards. When we had first awakened this morning, I said to Matt, "I need to get a picture for Christmas cards," and he goes, "We don't have a picture?" And I'm like, no. And he's all, I don't believe you? And I'm like, it's complicated but just put on pants. I mean, Reader, is there anything less rewarding than explaining to a man why you need a certain picture of the family at a certain time in a certain way? But we got some good shots, and then tonight I was messing with different xmas card layouts, and I showed one to Matt, and he goes, "Well I look like a sad troll, but sure." So I picked a different picture even though I looked fractionally hotter in the sad troll one. Compromise!

Lots going on this week. A couple get-togethers with friends, for which I need to bring food, and a tennis match, for which I need to bring food. And several things I'm forgetting right now. And tomorrow Hank has to bring a Christmas stocking and "24 like items" to school. I think the teacher is giving them little goodies every day in December? I have a bunch of Smencils to send, which used to be cool. In 2011 they were the new silly bandz. Don't know if they still are.

Good luck with your reentry. Right now I must to bed. Sad trombone!

Shopping Small

Nichol's House Antiques in Sylva, NC, where more is more.

Betty with wildlife

Today we went in different directions. Matt took the kids to see Wreck-it Ralph, their second viewing, and Betty and I drifted down to Sylva's Main Street to stimulate the local economy. Actually I spent zero dollars, but I offered crucial moral support as Betty navigated through the purchase of a set of coasters, a dish cloth, and a vintage lace tablecloth. We were digging through an entire sideboard full of table linens, with the proprietress helping us, and we kept finding things that were pretty but not quite right. Of one, a little oblong linen piece with french knot embroidery, I said, "Betty, you could put this on your piano." Betty thought and said, "There is a fine line between pretty and little old lady." Then she and the other lady laughed and high fived each other in generational solidarity.

This store is set up in an old house, with each room containing its proper things: bed linens in the bedroom, more masculine stuff in the study, etc. Lots to wander around and look at, and I always appreciate their maximalist approach to Christmas decorating. There is a unified sensibility to the place that makes it feel almost like someone's actual house.

I was sort of looking for things for my nieces, but I don't think that tween girls have the proper appreciation for a punch bowl resting on a pedestal made of antlers.

I blame Taylor Swift?

We remain here in the Thanksgiving mountain citadel. All of the leftovers are almost gone, so we might have to move on soon. You? 

  

Constitutional

At Deep Creek.

We didn't do much today and we didn't start that until after lunch. It was gray and wintry-looking here, without actually being very chilly. Matt and the kids and I headed to Deep Creek, our favorite summer tubing spot, to walk in the woods. I like this time of year for a hike; with no leaves you can see so far through the woods. You can see the shapes of the ridge tops and hills. When we got down to the river, we kept marveling at how different it all looked with bare trees. Or different-yet-familiar, like it had been remodeled. Let's just open up this space here and get some more light in.

As I snapped this picture, Hank was reaching into his pocket for a little bag of skittles he'd saved from the movie the other day and brought along. We laughed remembering that the last time he'd walked this trail, he was about two-and-a-half, and he'd had candy in his hand then too. It was February, and he'd been given a little Snoopy Valentine that contained exactly three pieces of chocolate. Even though he was a toddler, he made the journey carrying that heart box in his hand, and he rationed the candy as he went. While we all stood around with no snack and no candy, he would pause, sit carefully down on the ground, and have a chocolate. He had one at the beginning, one in the middle, and one at the end. I remember that he was so little, he was still wearing a one-piece outfit that snapped up the legs. He was potty-trained then, but just barely, and I remember several breaks to "go pee pee like a bear." Today he said he remembered that day, but I think he just remembers our recitations of it.

As we walked today, the kids wanted to do riddles and puzzles, so we dredged up every one we could think of. Laura solved the Riddle of the Sphinx but was completely stumped by, "What state is tall in the middle and round on both ends?"

Then there was leftover-eating and hot tubbing. Another highlight: I took the pie tin containing the last piece of pumpkin pie into the sun room with Betty, closed the door to children, and and had a long catch-up session on the entire extended family. As we talked, I finished my piece and ate every remaining morsel of pie, mashing the crumbs with my index finger. When I was fully up to speed on all goings-on, the plate was clean. All's right with the world, but we are sad to see that pie go.

What is up in your domestic citadel? Are you still in holiday isolation? I have not even bought anything online. Asceticism! xoxo