Archive for the ‘J’ Category

pajamas and wine

there is nothing like a rainy night and clean sheets to say “let’s open a bottle of wine”.

there is nothing like my man having not shaved his face in three days.

i love the scruff, even if he’s gone gray. I think it is sexy, rugged mountain man-type, or in our case, the sleepy frazzled musician type.

So, that scruffy man, I am dreaming about because he’s playing piano up north again and will be home tomorrow. So it is me, alone, with the kids.

After school we went to a bookstore and I let them pick out a few new books. Roald Dahl’s books. Paddington Bear chapter books. And “Where the Red Fern Grows.”

Then we went to dinner.

And then, gasp…the school play.

I admit, when my kids are in fifth grade and doing the school play, I will be excited and awake and might even change my clothes for it, but honestly, going to a school play where my kids are NOT in it, it pretty much pure torture.

The happiness of my own children beside me, enjoying seeing the older kids on stage, and looking around and seeing their friends, at night, in school, in the audience, is priceless.

My rule of not drinking alone has been broken. Just one glass, it’s the bottom of the bottle J and I drank from the other night.

Holymotherofgawd, I can hardly move. And my list of to do items is still sitting here. I have sooooo much to do. SO MUCH TO DO. (hear me?)

I’m in my new pajamas bottoms from Target.

I love them.


(no, that’s not me, my stomach is not that flat)


I don’t even know where to begin

Sometimes big things happen, sometimes small, I just want to be sure I don’t miss anything.

Lately, I’ve been sitting here at home with the kids, looking at them, thinking, “How on earth did they get so grown up?”

I mean, it’s to a point where I feel like I can’t remember being home with them 24-7 when they were babies, I barely remember what it was like to have their little bodies snuggled up to mine when they nursed. I mean, I don’t remember alot, I remember it was good, but there are so many details that feel so far away. Some of them, almost ten years way back.

So, Red, who is 9, needed something like a trainer bra.

Yes, that’s what I said, and I can’t believe it.

Maybe not even so much a trainer bra, as a tank top underneath her tshirts. Something with a built in, extra layer. I am glad she surprised me by being excited about it and not embarrassed by the thought of something like that.

We went to Target and along with buying some new clothes for the girls for Spring, I told her we would get her some tank tops/bralettes for little girls.

Well, she led me to the rack with big padded bras and pointed “I want those”.

Holy Mother of GOD.

I stifled an amused giggle, and told her that in a few years, yes. But for now, we got cotton, UNPADDED (but cute, they make these things cute now) bralettes.

She is terribly cute, putting them on every day.

On a larger level, I just got home from signing a very large check as well as a purchase and sale for our business.

There is so much more to do and still a big negotiating thing to work out on the lease of the space, that could be a deal breaker, but we really hope not. We hope this works out, but if it doesn’t, we know another place will come to light, and all that we are doing is educating ourselves to be ready for the next thing.

But still.

I signed on the line. And I handed over some big money.


sick in the house

(scarf making on a sick day)

Have you ever experienced that moment, RIGHT after one of your kids throw up, and you think, “HOLY SHIT I KISSED HER ON THE LIPS JUST FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO!!!”

Happens to me all the time.

So, after the hurricane, the next night, Blue got sick and lost her dinner in the middle of the night, in her bed…um, in her hair…everywhere…

Nothing wrong with a bed change, pillow change or a bath at midnight, right? Nope.

Doing it again at 3 am, that’s pushing it.

She woke up Saturday morning feeling decent, Red had a little cold, so we stayed in and literally watched TV all day, made scarves and did Pixos and ate toast and omelets and cuddled. It was a peaceful day with no more puking and everyone getting better as opposed to getting worse. And so far, the rest of us have refrained from getting the stomach bug.

I set my alarm for the wrong time this morning, so I jumped out of bed fifteen minutes late to get on the road to Boston to pick up the girls from their overnight with their dad and bring them back to school. I literally threw on my clothes and ran out the door.

It’s a non-bra day.

It’s a non-everything day, in fact.

The drive sucked. Traffic, slush, ice, rain, accidents, but somehow I got the girls to school right as the bell rang.  Secretly, I wished it was another holiday or snow day and we could all stay home together.

J and I are sitting in our pajamas drinking coffee, doing more restaurant planning work. Oh my, how frickin’ slow this shit is. Meetings, phone calls, making notes, keeping things on the calendar of when they need to be done (liquor license meetings, etc).

We’ll have a better idea this week how things are panning out. Keep your fingers crossed, I know we are.

We were out last night listening to some live music, actually, we were having dinner and drinks at the place that we are working on buying.

I was ordering my wine with my dinner and J started to laugh.

“What?” I said.

“Um, if we’re going to be owning and running a restaurant and bar, you really need to learn how to pronounce ‘Pinot Noir’.”

The Make Up Shirt

So, things aren’t always sweet as sugar, smelling like roses, tasting like chocolate.

J came home last Saturday night, on Valentine’s Eve, after his gig up north. He was home around midnight, the same time I walked in the door from being out and about with my friend, Alice, to have dinner and go see some live music in town.

He walked in, tired, weary, and we decided to open some beer.

So, we sat there having beer and talking about this and that until about two.

At that point, I was ready for a shower and bed and he goes, “Go ahead, I will meet you in there.” Eventually, he showed up, we showered together, bantered about the temperature (I like it hot, he likes it lukewarm), made out a little, and got out to get dry. He slapped my butt as I walked out of the bathroom in a towel and there in front of me sat a huge bouquet of flowers, and a gorgeous box of chocolates.  Oh yeeeees, did I expect that? Nope. I expected we’d likely go out to lunch or dinner for Valentine’s Day, I didn’t expect to start it at 2am in the morning.

I kissed him and gave him my card along with a bunch of writing I have done over the last two years, about me and him, about us.

On our way up the stairs, he goes, “So, since it’s Valentine’s Day, we might as well get naked.”

The next morning, we woke up late and he rolled over and said, “So, since it’s Valentine’s Day, we might as well go out to brunch.”

And then, because it was Valentine’s Day, we might as well have ordered Bloody Mary’s at the bar after breakfast and rented movies for bed in the afternoon.

And “Well, since it’s Valentine’s Day, we might as well do IT again.”

At any rate, the day was perfect. It was relaxing and filled with rest, food, drinks, chocolate and nakedness.

Could it get any better?

Flash foward to yesterday, nearly a week later. We’ve been up north together with his mom and family, he was up late gigging, we’re a little stressed about the upcoming hopeful probable restaurant deal and everything that needs doing. We’ll know more next week if we can work out some details so the deal can continue to progress.

We got in this little argument, one where he raised his voice and got upset and I was left sitting there next to him in silence, thinking “what? what just happened?” In actuality, I don’t remember what happened, but I was asking questions and he didn’t want to explain something, merely for the sake of saving the energy he didn’t feel he had to go into detail on something I didn’t understand. It was minor, yet uncalled for and upsetting, because this simply does not happen with us.

And I totally cried. It sucked, and looking at him, I saw some of that in his eyes too. That sucked too.

At any rate, it was resolved, we talked over some Rooibos Tea, and connected again. We made up quickly, and we made up with an understanding of how each other was feeling as well as ideas of how to NOT have that happen again.

A few hours later, we’d had a business meeting near a clothing shop and afterwards, he said “you want to go in that shop?” because I had been eyeing some clothes, on sale, in the boutique window.

We went in and I immediately found something I liked.  He was standing next to the saleslady and he goes (in front of all the people in the store) “If you want that, I will buy it for you, to make up for what I did this morning.”

Laughter filtered through the store and I grinned. “Oh really?”

The saleslady says, through laughing tears, “I won’t even ask!”

When we stood at the cash register, she looked at me and goes, “what he did, must have been pretty bad.”

So, today, I wore my new favorite shirt, it will always be my “make up shirt.”

On the Bedside Table

I grew up reading avidly.

We weren’t allowed to watch tv except Little House on the Prairie, so I think I felt a bit deprived at the time, especially while all my other friends spent their Saturday mornings watching cartoons.

The tradeoff though, was an appreciation and excitement for books, for reading. On Fridays, we’d stop at the library and I’d check out the maximum limit of ten books, go home, get in the bathtub, and read a novel front to back, pausing only to add hot water. We’d get in bed at night at 7 and read until Mom yelled at us to turn out the light, hours later. And I recall waking up before sunrise often enough to keep reading before having to get up for school. Saturdays were a dream, where I could sit on the beach and read in between volleyball games, or in the cooler months, stay inside and read by the fire.

Now, in our house, we’ve promoted this sort of habit with the girls. Both J and I read, currently, it is more marketing and restaurant books. Sometimes inspirational or self help books. But the other day I was at the book store with the kids and bought myself “The School of Essential Ingredients.” I even started it last night and I can’t remember the last time I actually read a book that wasn’t teaching me more than what the story was telling me.

The girls have a reward system chart on the fridge. Their goals for each day are to a) keep their room clean b) respect each other (which is a nice way to say “don’t fight, hit, scream at your sister”) and c) listen to Mommy and J. At the end of each day, they get a sticker for each accomplishment and when they reach 25 stickers, they get a reward.

Last time it was a trip to Chuck-e Cheese.

This time, it was a choice to take a trip to the bookstore.

Oh and what a treat that was. To have kids who beg to read, who beg for new books, who beg for the library, who beg to trade books with each other, how did I get so lucky?

They each picked a book. Blue got this gorgeous Pippi Longstocking book.

Red chose a Roald Dahl book, which I found amazing, considering she seems to have already read about ten of them, it is hard to believe there are more out there!

The girls both have reading homework every night, and I found myself, in the beginning, begging them to read after school, but they weren’t interested since they were busy doing other homework, resting, playing, studying, doing flashcards. I thought back to my own childhood and the new plan was easy. For the last few years, the girls have been getting in bed at night and reading for 45 minutes, sometimes longer, in their beds. In the mornings, they no longer come traipsing in to wake us up, but I go pull them from their beds and their books to get them ready for school on time.

We got a good thing going and I have even had to make the “no reading at the dinner table” rule. (along with the “no Nintendo DS at the dinner table rule.”

Lastly, on J’s bedside table is a book I ordered for him a while ago. He has read most of it but I find he has been holding onto it and picking it up and re-reading pieces of it. He alternates this with Macworld magazine and restaurant books on cutting costs, employee satisfaction, and advertising. The book is “Soul Proprietorship”. And oh man, is it good. (I know this only because I read over his shoulder sometimes when he isn’t looking. I’m still waiting for my turn with it and considering my own copy.

McGuyver fixed my frother

I’ve mentioned before, J is a bit like McGuyver.

He has fixed things with duct tape, with sheets, with wire, with shim.

We have this frother we use to froth hot milk in a pan every morning for our coffee. It makes for a great latte and he tends to make it for me, because, well, I think he likes it. It’s like magic in a way. And we are reminded how cheap it is compared to a latte down the road at the coffee shop for $4.50.

Anyway, I have been through three frothers in the last year and a half. They tend to drop and break, stop working, or pretty much fall apart in our hands sometimes. I have tried cheap brands, expensive brands, but frankly, the hand held frother is just plain fragile.

Anyway, last week, J dropped it and it fell completely apart. COMPLETELY.

After a few days of using just hot milk in our coffee, he sat down to try and repair it, because I wasn’t about to drive down to the mall (half an hour away) to find a frother at Target. Because when I am in Target for just one thing, I end up with 20 things I didn’t really need right now, and alot lighter in the pocketbook.

That’s not to say, I didn’t go to Bed Bath and Beyond and buy a wine aerator the following week.

Anyway, I was thinking how J seems to find solutions for alot of things that make me feel helpless, even making decisions sometimes. I am pretty good at making decisions, but he is really good and finding a solution for things I am stumped on or just don’t take the time to resolve and I sort of put up with annoyances.

Our TV is not the newest kind. It isn’t flat screened, it sits in a cabinet that I love and the speakers are kind of on the side. For some reason, when we watch a DVD, we turn it way up and I still can’t understand what people are saying. I can hear it, the clarity just sucks. The background noise is louder than the voices. My struggle is due to my hearing loss and often, at 9 o’clock at night, I just don’t want to wear my hearing aids to watch a movie in my pajamas.

So, since last summer, J started putting on the subtitles for me. And I will tell you, I catch things even I wouldn’t catch if I could hear it clearly.

J even started to like it.

And I think back to my frustration FOR YEARS before J came along, with this TV and how I had a hard time hearing the dvds.

In my previous post, I mentioned Chuckee Cheese and how I admitted to my daughter that it wasn’t as bad as I remembered.

Well, I am retracting that statement.

I took the kids back there last night for Blue’s postponed reward for her incentive chart. J and I had the salad bar and we got the girls a pizza. And we ordered some wings.

BIG mistake.

I woke up last night feeling disgusting.

And it doesn’t help that one of the platters originally arrived with a huge long black hair draped over it and the celery on the wings plate had an, um, short hair on it, which I didn’t see until AFTER we finished.


This was not something McGuyver could fix.


I was pouring my third (small) bowl of this sweet and cheesy popcorn my mom gave me as a present. It’s one of those things that happen where you never really know when to say “enough”.

But I actually said it out loud, to my silent kitchen, to the bowl of sweet and cheesy popcorn. I even poured it back into the bag and made myself a cup of tea.

I received an email from a friend yesterday after I sent out a quick artwork related email. He said:

“I thought of you the other day after getting an email notice that your sister had updated her Linked-in account. It’s funny to see that, or your emails about your art stuff. In my mind’s eye, you’re still the same age as I last saw you, not a full fledge grown up. If I admit my friends have gotten older, then my own youth illusion is shattered. I can’t possibly be old already.”

It made me think how I don’t mind my age of almost 38 or how I look. Sure, if I got more or better sleep these days, I wouldn’t have circles under my eyes. If I laid off the triple chocolate bread pudding (since I know how to make it now) I might be able to lose the 8 pounds that make my pants too tight. But that is all. Regarding the age thing, I like where I am in my life and I wouldn’t trade this time in my life for any other moment in my past, quite honestly.

Anyway, it just boils down to this fear that we all have, to some degree (whether it be in a work environment, in a gaggle of girls, or a relationship/marriage) the same insecurities, which on some level reflect that we feel we aren’t “enough” in that situation.

I’m occasionally afraid I won’t be enough for J, and if I get a little insecure-wonky on him (um, usually around “that time of the month”), he gives me this “look”, which makes me settle down…I know he is sitting here next to me because he wants to be, even if he has to put up with “my crazy”.

And sometimes, when he comes home and finds me in bed watching MTV and eating tamales and olives, he still arrives and still slides in next to me, he is still there in the morning with his leg flung over me, his face against my back and his hand holding mine, I look at him and just can’t believe it.