December 13, 2001

• Well, I'm crying again this morning.  Over absolutely nothing.  I looked at the stupid Christmas tree and thought how beautiful it was and the next thing I know - my face is wet.  I don't like this - whatever - space I'm in right now.  I prefer to save my tears for really meaningful moments - like my own impending death.  Now there's a scene that I can imagine would be worthy of a shed tear.  Or my child receiving a Nobel prize for something.  Any category he wants, my standards are rather loose in that regard.  I think a tear would be appropriate.

  
  

  But over the past week I've cried over the Christmas tree, the cat being cute, Christmas cards, email greetings, my husband smiling at me, and my clean countertops.  (The countertops were clean because a couple of teenagers were here watching my kids while I ran an errand.  One of the occupied the boys and the other cleaned my kitchen.)  I have NOT cried over sentimental commercials.  I'm afraid to turn on the TV.   Wouldn't that just be the lowest blow?  To cry over the manipulative sentimentalism orchestrated by Madison avenue?

  
  

  My whole day isn't spent crying.  My kids keep me laughing a lot.  Yesterday, we received a package from my best friend, and they very carefully placed the presents under the tree, then dove into the packing peanuts.  There were pink packing peanuts all over the living room.  Did you know those little beggars have enough static cling to stick to walls and windows?  And they are fairly easy to clean up.  Just sweep 'em into a pile.  (The four year old couldn't resist jumping on the pile so I had to do it twice.)  Then tell the kids they are really rubies and they have to be very carefully placed in the 'bank vault.'  I even let them put on rubber gloves to "handle" the treasure.

  
  

  Last night, my four year old announced what he wants to be when he grows up.  He wants to be an "ice cream man."  I love Schwan's ice cream, and not least of its attractions is the fact that a truck drives it to my house and a man brings it inside and will even put it directly into my freezer for me (if its a day that I'm not afraid something will fall out of the things when the door is opened.)

  
  

  Last night my boys had a very serious conversation about the requirements of the job.  Have to be able to drive a big truck.  Have to be nice to people and smile even if they say "no thank you" that day.  Have to remember where in the truck you put the different things.  And have to learn to carry ice cream without tripping over things you can't see.  (Yes, there is a story behind that last one.)

  
  

  Well, to tell the truth, I didn't really think that Tucker was our best hope for a Nobel prize anyway.  He's a little too much like Fred and George Weasley rolled into one body.  (And if you got that reference you know that I have read all four Harry Potter books.  Good thing I got to the end of book four before I got this crying spell on me!)

  
  

  

  
  

  PS - The Pumpkin/Pear soup did have a nice flavor, but it's a thick soup, bit of a curried fruit thing.  Best served with light salad, fresh hot bread, and white wine.  (Or iced sweet chrysanthemum tea.)

  • 8:12 am
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