The Holy Shroud
When I put the girls down for bed last night, I realized to my horror that Darcy’s security blanket was missing. The last time I had seen it was that evening when we were all walking around in the dunes. I remembered she dropped it and then I put it on my shoulder…and couldn’t remember what happened to it after that. Just when I was debating with myself whether to call Miss C over to babysit so I could head out with a flashlight (fat chance–the damned thing is precisely SAND colored), I found it buried in one of their new plastic wagons. Whew. Crisis averted.
She selected it herself out of my closet as soon as she could walk. It’s an old work sweater of mine–rayon, I think, and very soft. Darcy, like her father, has a thing about soft objects. Indeed she is so attached to it that it’s rare I can even sneak it off to wash it. I gave up the idea of ever being able to wear it again long ago, and sure enough, now it’s extremely tattered and has holes in it. But it is a holy holey shroud. If it ever gets lost I am screwed.
The girls are on the verge of saying phrases now, and at almost 23 months old are still wee tykes compared to other toddlers their age. But one thing has not changed: they are still sickeningly cute. Especially when I dress them in the same outfits, which I regard as my divine right as twinmom-who-never-sleeps, just so the public can choke on all that cuteness. Anyway, Saige continues to be very helpful when she can, and Darcy has discovered a new pastime: torturing her sister. We previously thought it would be Saige doing this, but no, it is the younger twin who has discovered the fantastic fun in tormenting a sibling any way she can (toy stealing, poking, slapping, and MORE toy stealing). My daily role is now UN diplomat, trying to keep the warring factions in this house from killing each other.
Thanksgiving at Miss C’s - Have you ever tried to eat at a table with two chimpanzees? The girls certainly kept us from overeating.
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I never thought of our new coffeemaker as particularly complicated. Three times Bruce has had trouble with it and made the thing spread coffee diarrhea all over the kitchen. The third time he got really mad, and refused to touch it and said if I wanted any then it was up to me to deal with the fucking thing. And I thought to myself, it’s JUST A COFFEMAKER, for God’s sake. This isn’t like programming the VCR; what’s so damned hard? And I thought he was being kind of lame and unfairly blaming the coffeemaker. So, to show him just how easy it was, I began setting it up for a fresh pot. I got everything all cleaned and put back together, and then hit the GO button. Then I noticed an essential part sitting on the counter. Oops. So I stopped it, cleaned up the dribbles, and put it back in. Hit GO. Then I noticed in my haste to do it right, another, different part was now sitting on the counter. Arrrrgh! Really pissed off now, I shut it off again and did everything all over with fresh beans. 20 minutes later we finally had some damned coffee.
So the husband is right, the new coffeemaker is not so easy. Perhaps it would be better to set it up the night before when we’re actually awake, rather then first thing in the morning.
On the bizness end, I got me a little blurb in the paper the other day. It was quite thrilling, but no phone calls yet. I’ve installed Quickbooks (the Idiot, trial version because ironically I don’t have the $$ to buy it right now) and a mailing list program. Miss C is trying to get her massage therapy business off the ground too, so we’ve been making trips out to hand out our flyers and peddle our wares once or twice a week. Having the twins with us is a great way to get people to slow down and talk to us. I keep thinking how neither of us has the slightest idea what we’re doing. Neither of us has any business or marketing sense—we’re just handing out business cards, postcards and flyers everywhere and hoping for the best.
The husband informed me yesterday that we’re out of funds for any more holiday shopping—in fact, we’re really pretty much out of cash period—so it would really cheer me up to hear that business line ring. Sigh.
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Links! Links!
Richard has an updated list of sloggers (Slo bloggers—get it?)
My oldest, now 7, was decent enough to develop a fixation on Orca, a small beanie red whale. So we bought about 7-8 orcas, and she’s always been fine with their constant rotation through the washing machine (though she does prefer the ones that have been washed less). Now she’s older she often carries two of them to bed with her, and would have all of them if we let her.
Once, we lost an Orca in the South of France, dropped on the street in some town. My wife’s parents were down in the same area a year or so later, and bought an Orca on a flea market, so we got it back!
My youngest, Didi, soon to be 4, was less considerate and has a green blanket, one of a kind, so we can’t lose that one.