Thursday, February 14, 2013

Valentine Shenanigans and... Cary Grant's Kisser.

Well, it's Valentine's Day again.  It keeps on coming, every year.  John's in town, but he says Valentine's Day doesn't start until this weekend.  We are getting away.  Last year, we went to Philadelphia;  this year we're going to... wait for it... Syracuse!  Because we have a two night free stay at a nice hotel.  You know what we're going to be doing a lot of, right?  Sleeping.  A lot of sleeping.

Also, John's getting me a new washer/ dryer combo.  The gift is actually contingent upon me selling our old washer/ dryer on Craigslist. I'll bet your chocolate and flowers didn't come with a contingency.  Sheesh.

Yesterday all four of my children wrote out Valentines for their classmates.

"This is a good time to practice letter formation," one letter from a teacher said.  I don't know about that.  I do know that I spent a lot of time yelling "Write smaller!" and "How many different ways are there to spell Micaylah?"  and "Don't put the stickers on the wall!  Those go on the Valentine's!"  I was feeling a little tense because earlier, unbeknownst to me, Ella had commandeered John's Kindle and ordered Shape Magazine, China Daily, and the novel Safe Haven by Nicholas Sparks.  I've already thought of a way to punish her.  I'm going to make her read the Nicholas Sparks novel.

I'm running out of Cary Grant kissing videos on YouTube.  I may have to pick a different movie icon next year.  I was thinking Jimmy Stewart, thanks to those great kisses in Rear Window and It's a Wonderful Life, but Jimmy isn't, well... you know.  He's Jimmy Stewart.  And then I thought Clark Gable, but I read somewhere that Vivien Leigh complained of Gable's horrible bad breath during the filming of Gone With the Wind, and that's kind of ruined Clark Gable for me.  I'll think of someone.

In the meantime, here's Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint in yet another Hitchcock film, North by Northwest, which has a great soundtrack.  Everyone should watch Hitchcock if only to understand more jokes on The Simpsons.

The set up: Cary Grant is suffering from a severe case of mistaken identity, and Eva Marie Saint is hiding him in her train car.  They do some smooching.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Round Brush

Ella likes to brush my hair, and I let her.  I’d let anyone brush my hair.  If a strange man approached me on the street and offered to brush my hair, I’d seriously consider it. 

I’m really just writing this post as a warning.  I’m full of warnings this week: warnings against Ambien, and now warnings against allowing your child to brush your hair with a round hairbrush.  You probably would NEVER allow your child to brush your hair with a round hairbrush, but I, so delighted by the prospect of getting my hair brushed at all, chose to ignore the cylindrical shape.  Never ignore the cylindrical shape. 

Ella got the brush stuck in my hair, right near the top of my head.  She was initially unconcerned.

“I get it out,” she said, as she yanked on my head.  It really hurt.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it out,”  I said.  I spent a good ten minutes and it wouldn’t budge.  This was especially a problem because Caleb’s very first band concert was in one hour.  I called John.

“Are you on your way home?”

“I’m just leaving.  Why?”

“Well, hurry up.  I need your help.  I have a round brush stuck in my hair.”

“You have a what?”

“A round brush stuck in my hair.  Ella did it.”


“A round.  Brush. Stuck.  In. My.  Hair.  What about this is so hard to understand?”

“Go to the doctor,” Ella suggested.  I called my hairdresser.

“I just wanted to give you the heads up in case you have to surgically remove it,” I said. 

“You have to admit this is sort of comical,” she replied.  I would admit no such thing.

I headed upstairs to get my spray-in conditioner.  I bumped into Caleb.

“Caleb, I have bad news.  I have a brush stuck in my hair.”  I showed him the back of my head.  He looked very upset.

“Are you going to go to my concert like that?”

I promised him I would skip the concert if said brush would not come out of my head.  He seemed relieved.  I sat on my bed and slowly, one strand at a time, extricated the thing from my rather long hair.  I called my hairdresser friend back.  I think she was a tiny bit disappointed that I wouldn’t be getting a new short haircut.

Ella was so relieved.

We all went to the concert, where Caleb and the one other baritone rocked out to “Skip to the Lou.”  It was awesome.

This story has a happy ending; however,  I urge you to never allow your five-year old to brush your hair with a round brush, no matter how relaxing it feels.  Your story may end terribly, like with a buzz cut.  And I assure you, your ten-year old does not want you to attend his very first band concert with a buzz cut.

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Little White Pill

I have a rather debilitating case of insomnia.  For the past few years, I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time either staring at the sticky glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling or watching Love it or List It on HGTV, which is why I’m somewhat of an expert on Toronto real estate.   After discussing my malady with the doctor, I was prescribed a certain sleeping pill that, for the most part, works like a charm.  Twenty minutes before I want to be asleep, I simply place the pill on my tongue, flush it down the throat with water, and voila!  Sleepy-go-night-night.

The other night I took my pill and continued to read a really interesting political article on the internet that expanded my views on global economics.  (It was some mommy blog.)  I don’t remember what happened after that.  When I opened the computer the next day, it indicated that I had been watching cute puppy videos on YouTube.  Who knows.

My husband says I went upstairs at a reasonable hour, dove headfirst into bed, and then did the craziest thing.  I professed my undying love.  To my husband.  How embarrassing.  Apparently, there was a lot of giggling and cuddling.  At some point, I drifted off to sleep, and not surprisingly, slept like a rock.

I do not remember this, which is disconcerting.  Who knows what else I’ve been doing when I thought I was sleeping?  Raiding the fridge?  Taking the dog for a walk?  Online shopping?  Professing my undying love to Timothy Olyphant on his Facebook page?  If I’m capable of professing my undying love to my husband, well.  Anything’s possible.

The whole incident left me completely unnerved, so this evening, I decreased the dosage by half, which is why it’s 1:00am and I’m sitting here writing this post. 

I may have to give up my little white pill of happiness.  I’m not cool with my giggly subconscious running things.  Next step?  Warm milk and a Benadryl because Ambien, well.  It’s a helluva drug.