My dear husband lives with a shrew. (I’ll not mention any names for politeness sake) Said shrew complained about her husband not getting home from the gym in time to get to the grocery store before dinner. (In the shrew’s defense, she’s been in bed for the last two days (sick don’t ya know) and awoke to a home that looked as if, well…as if she’d been in bed for two days instead of running the ship)
Anyway, the husband in this story (are you still paying attention?) pulled up something quite miraculous.
Duh duh duh….INSTACART!
The next thing the shrew knew Instacart was connected to the Whole Foods just down the way and items she knows and loves where being added to the shopping cart. Organic Fuji Apples, 6 please. Ground Allegro Breakfast Blend Coffee, mmmm yes. A fresh piece of salmon from the fish counter, why the heck not?
Two hours later a super nice woman carried the bags of groceries into the kitchen and like a fairy godmother, disappeared into the night. The bags by the way, are all reusable.
And then, to put some icing on the cake, we got an email later in the evening telling us that the dates we ordered had been out of stock (credit) and the broccoli had weighed just under 2 lbs (credit). So not only did we not have to ever leave the house, but the service rocked.
*it should be noted that said husband is telling me that grocery delivery services have existed for ages and i’m no better than a country bumpkin (uh oh, I think I hear that shrew back again)
For 2.5 years I’ve lived without a tiny, metal tube to hold my toilet paper. Both of my children learned how to use a potty without this magical tube. My husband says he never even noticed we didn’t have one.
And then, just a few months ago…we got one. My toilet paper holder is fantastic. It’s silver, stream-lined and conveniently located right next to my toilet. No more searching about for where someone has put the roll. No more fishing it out of the toilet bowl when one of the little ones has slippery fingers. Best of all, it lifts upward so I can slide a new roll of toilet paper right on without messing about with springs and holes. I’ve never felt so happy as I do these days, ripping off a piece of toilet paper from my magical toilet paper holder.
My husband still hasn’t figured out how to use it since I’ve often come across an empty roll on the holder, but that’s a whole other blog.
Sam and I hauled the kids up to Big Bear on Sunday for a little spring sledding. My poor children have never seen snow (ah, life of a child from Southern California). Ridden with guilt over their deprived upbringings, we packed up the snow clothes and set on our way. For $100, Snow Valley resort will put you on a chairlift, carry you to the top of a bunny run, lend you a sled, and….weeeeee! It was awesome. The kids were shell-shocked. That is what sledding is?! Who knew?
But then after the third time down, my daughter wanted to know when we could stop sledding and get on to the skiing part. Talk about transient pleasure. We explained that skiing involved rentals and a different lift ticket. She explaining that sledding was fun and all, but next time, she wanted to ski.
After an arduous (and I mean arduous) drive home, we had Sunday Night Movie Night and went to bed. This morning I asked my daughter if she was excited to tell her friends at school about her adventure. She looked at me and cocked her head, “What adventure, Mama?” The sledding adventure, I told her, surprised that she had forgotten. “Oh yeah, sure.” she agreed in a tone that sounded like, whatever. I couldn’t believe it. After all that work to get them to see some snow. To be in the outdoors. To wear snow clothes and whiz down a mountain. My city kids were showing their true colors.
Spring Sledding – a lasting impression.for all.
Rain. Rain! It’s raining in Los Angeles.
All winter we’ve worn our summer dresses, our sunblock, and our shades. All winter we’ve quietly wondered to ourselves if this is the beginning of the end. If global climate change had decided to make her fist move. If summertime in the winter is what all those scientists were talking about. Los Angeles winters of 85 degrees. If perhaps we should’ve gotten a new Prius after all. If our kids were going to think California and the equator were pretty much the same. If the constant sunshine was making us all batty.
But now. Now!
It started to rain in the wee hours of the night and to my great pleasure, I can still hear it coming down. A hard dripping sound on the plastic of the air conditioner outside the window. A soft, wet, swishy drip onto the leaves of the plants that are abundantly growing thanks to the never-ending sunshine. A splatter drip washing the terracotta tiles of our front porch. And then the warm, cozy drip on the roof that feels like cotton balls in my ears. I am enveloped in the womb of rain.
Thank you. Whoever you are. Thank you.
In my living room we have a small oriental rug. Sam and I purchased it at a bazaar years ago. It was one of our first big buys and it was exciting. The rug is from Afghanistan and we are definitely not the first owners. The color scheme is red and creme and two shades of blue and because the rug is positively ancient, the whole thing is faded six-ways to Sunday. Plus, I have small children and a dog so the poor rug has been put to the test. All of which of course, just makes it more beautiful.
Anyway, around the edges of the rug lies a complicated border. The border, I have been told, is lava. I first found out this startling news when I stepped on it and was told, “Mommy! You’re burning in lava!” Naturally, I jumped out of the border as fast as I could. Soon, talk of the lava had reached far and wide and everyone began carefully stepping over the dangerous terrain. What’s most alarming is that the lava flows around and around the border with no way to curtail its deadly path. The poor dog is forever getting burnt to a crisp and even I have been known to walk right through it unawares. How could I be so careless?
Little did Sam and I know when bought this rug that it would be such an important part of our family. We knew we’d probably have it forever. We didn’t know it would sprout its own lava train.
So be careful if you stop by, because the lava will burn you.
Valentine’s came and went this year with all the usual fanfare. The kids showed great enthusiasm for ye old day o’ love, which was sweet. Sam treated me royally, which was also sweet. And I didn’t get another ticket from Officer Friendly, which was super sweet. Oh…did I not tell you about that?
Earlier last week, my 1.5 year-old caught his sister’s cold. When Master Princeling catches a cold, sailors beware. I drove to school on Monday morning amidst high decibel whining and shouting. And by shouting, I mean the repeated screaming of a single word until I lose my mind. Examples include, “Down!” (he wants the window down), “Aqua!” (he’s dropped his water and wants me to climb back and get it for him while I’m driving), and “Mine” (usually refers to an object that he was holding, but has now lost to his sister). It’s exhausting.
Quickly I pulled up to school in the yellow zone and handed off my daughter to some hapless parent who was walking in at the same time. My darling older child gave me a hug and a kiss and marched in for all the world a woman of her own. Yes, I nodded to myself, that one’s going to be just fine. And then like a whirling dervish, I was off again. The backseat was noisy. Master Princeling wanted home. I drove like the wind. My one coherent thought in the insane chaos was simple: get baby to bed, get baby to bed. And then Officer Friendly joined the circus.
Of course, the flashing lights and strobe party quieted the Princeling right down. Please, Officer Friendly, I begged – a warning will suffice. The Princeling has me losing my mind and I need to get home to take my tonic. Two shots of wart hog makes the medicine go down, Guinness is brown, put that gun on the ground…
Officer Friendly was not swayed by the crazy in my eyes nor my melodious singing voice. I am now the proud owner of my very own traffic citation. Whoo Hoo!
It’s hard out there for a pimp.