Good Enough Griswold

Time to get into the family truckster and head to the Rocky Mountains. I will check in from time to time but frequently will be offline. Praise be.

Brits v. Yanks, Part I

Okay, so I found a little romantic comedy on Netflix instant play called I'll Be There. It was set in Wales, which is perfect since I'm becoming a regular visitor there.

But it got me thinking.

Why do British people, as a rule, carry so much disdain for Americans? I mean, I suppose I could ask the same question about Europeans in general, but I was thinking about the Brit v. Yank question since many Americans really like Britain and the Brits. Or perhaps it's just that we think they seem distinguished and smart because of the accents. In return, the Brits seem to think we are losers who talk through our noses. Perhaps we do talk through our noses, but why are we perceived to be losers?*

I mean, really, what's up?

*And I won't even go into the whole who-won-the-war issue.

High and Dry

Kids are in bed (have been for a while). Hubby is out with the guys. Alas, I have no chick flick.

Who Needs Mommy

So, most of the day today, my daughter was very "mommyish." She wanted Mommy for everything-- she didn't want Mommy to take a shower, she wanted to cuddle with Mommy, she wanted Mommy to play Barbies and read stories. Finally, I untangled myself from her so I could run errands while my husband took both kids over to their cousin's house (the cousin is just a few months younger than my daughter, who is four).

So, about an hour ago (~7:00p.m.), my husband calls me from his brother's house and says, "The girl wants to ask you something."

Girl (speaking very clearly and sounding about 11 or 12): Hello, Mommy.

Me: Hello, Sweetie.

Girl: Mommy, Can we have a sleepover?

Me (after a pause): You want to sleep over there?

Girl: Yes.

Me: Did you ask Daddy?

Girl: He said it was okay.

Me: Are you and the boy going to sleep there without Daddy?

Girl: Just for a few days.

I can hear my husband start to laugh in the background since I doubt he (or his brother) had agreed to the "few days" part. So much for being Mommyish.

The Details, in Brief

So we think the boy broke his leg/ankle when he was jumping on hotel beds in Berkeley. Yes, we allow our kids to go crazy on hotel beds. I think I was in a meeting when it happened (edit/they weren't alone in the hotel room; their father was present), and everyone's a little fuzzy on the details anyway. But there seems to be a vague memory of the boy saying, "Owww!" after one of the jumps. There was a little swelling later, but it went down quickly, so we thought he just twisted it a little. The swelling (which was just a tiny circle of fluid on the little bone that sticks out from the ankle) came back about a month or two later. Then went away. Then came back. Then went away. Then came back and stuck around. Then, we went to the doctor. She said it was a cyst and sent us to get x-rays to determine whether or not it watch attached to any ligaments or anything.

Not a cyst!

The biggest moment was when the boy found out that he needed a cast and that he wasn't going to be able to swim*. He was crying in the doctor's office. The girl was watching him so somberly, clearly tuned into his grief. Then he said, "I don't want [the girl] to swim if I can't because I don't want to have to watch her" (he was referencing our upcoming hotel stays, which usually include swimming as well as bed jumping). The girl, who loves to swim, without pause and with a very serious and earnest face said quickly, "I don't like swimming."

It was so sweet.


*We have since learned that there are water sock things kids can wear that will allow them to swim with a cast.

Broken, Broken, Broken

Apparently, my son's ankle is broken. Apparently, it's been broken since the end of February when we went on a trip to Berkeley. Apparently, I am a terrible mother.

Details to follow soon.

Fiskers and Ginghers and Rippers, Oh My!

So I went through a box marked "sewing" and a canvas bag that had some unfinished knitting projects (from about 15 years ago) in it*. I wanted to take stock of the sewing gear I already have on hand. I found my nice Ginghers scissors that are still in their nice little box*. I found a good pair of Fiskars. I found at least one seam ripper, quite a few needles, several colors of thread, two fabric cutters, one little plastic measuring grid thing, some white two-sided craft tape stuff, a crochet needle, a yarn needle, a needle threader, some supplementary "feet" for the sewing machine (that I don't know how to use), and a bunch of erasers.

I am proud of myself for currently knowing the location of all of this gear. Now I just need to re-learn how to thread the machine. I have the User's Guide, so I should be good.

Also, I thought I might mention that I have recently started to feel a little silly about this getting-back-to-basics blog topic since I'm realizing that so many people I know already do all of this stuff that I'm trying to work on. My garden is fledging and smaller than all of my friends' gardens. My canning mentor has already put up dozens of jars of preserved fruit. The more I talk about this stuff, the more I feel like everyone is thinking, "Oh, you are way behind. Everyone has chickens now, and we've all been making our own mayonnaise and our own clothes for years. Plus, we've all purged our clutter and none of us have plastic toys in the house."

But the thing is that, for me, my focus on home and hearth is quite new. So I suppose I'm blogging the journey of a bookish, disorganized, take-out ordering, working mom who hopes to create a home that is a lot less cluttered while also learning some skills that make me feel a bit more like Caroline Ingalls. Just a bit.

*In the bag, there was a finished back to an unfinished sweater that I worked on during the summer of 1994. Yesterday, I gave it to my daughter as an afghan for her dolls. It was strangely satisfying to see it being used in that way.

*Scissors--singular or plural?