Sleeping Under the Stars

Well, the pretend stars.  Last night Big Trouble and The Professor had their very own version of Night at the Museum.  Big Trouble's Boy Scout Troop (and apparently every other little boy in America) had a sleepover at the Museum of Natural History in NYC.  The Professor is Big Trouble's adult for all things Boy Scout (you have to have a background check now, and as they only check one guardian, said guardian is the one who goes on all the activities), so he accompanied.

Apparently, a lovely time was had by all, although apparently not a lot of sleeping was done.  Big Trouble usually drops off by 8:30 at the latest, and lights out was 11:45 last night, with the museum staff issuing a firm wake-up call at 7:00 am.  Needless to say this has made for a bleary-eyed Big Trouble today, who has not been able to muster up the energy for much trouble at all.

They got to walk around the exhibits at night after the museum closed, saw a raptor show, had a late-night IMAX movie, saw Fossils by Flashlight, and got to sleep in the Hall of Planet Earth.  This was part of Big Trouble's Christmas present (sleepovers at the museum don't come cheap, I'm afraid....), and he seemed to be truly excited.  I could tell, because he was voluntarily trying to carry their items out to the car, rather than claiming that he was having to do it "against his will."  (Big Trouble claims he has to do a lot of things against his will.  I tell him my whole life is against my will, but he doesn't seem to grasp this....)

Miss Serious and I stayed home and enjoyed a dinner out and a movie in (and got to sleep in our own beds).   Merry Christmas, Big Trouble!

Neither Rain, Nor Sleet...

Add these to some of the many reasons I'm not a mail carrier.  Today I woke up to the odd pitter-patter of freezing rain flinging into my windows.  I was then greeted by the more pleasant sound of the phone ringing to tell me we had a snow day. 

I like snow days.  I think the teachers like them more than the kids.  I was thrilled to not have to brave what would have been a slippery and (as I am surrounded by giant SUVs who think they are invincible) scary ride.  And since we live in a co-op, we don't have to shovel.  (The Professor does dig out my car, for which I am eternally grateful.)

Unfortunately, since this winter has decided to get all out of control, this is our third snow day.  We have three snow days in our calendar.  It is only mid-January.  So, while I enjoy a day off as much as the next gal, this doesn't bode well for vacations, which start getting pulled the next time all that freezy stuff decides to fall from the sky.

I do need to remember to thank my mail carrier the next time I run into her, though...

Goodbye

Though it may be very natural for some people, it is extremely hard for me to write about my life when it is sad.  I had planned to write this blog more often this year, but I usually try to keep a humorous outlook on my life and family. I guess if all someone wrote about in a journal were the happy stories, you would never get a true picture of their life.  When Miss Serious was very young, my parents took her picture as she was pitching a fit in her high chair – she was shocked at the ensuing image of herself.  Previously she had only seen a cute, smiling Miss Serious, and this was not the picture she had in her mind of what she looked like.

On Monday, my mother called with the news that my grandmother had passed away.  We knew she was ill, and she was 87 – by all accounts that is a very long time to live.  But her mother lived to be 100, and as my grandmother was always healthy and a rather sassy broad, we expected nothing but the same from her.  Her decline was fast and of a speed that was unexpected. She had family around her at all times, and was at peace at the end.  We all knew she would not have wanted to linger and be in pain. 

But I’ve discovered that all those things don’t make it any less sad.  When I got to work on Monday, a colleague asked me how my weekend was.  I was still so thrown by the news that I just blurted out that my grandmother died this morning.  He asked me how old she was, and when I told him 87, he responded, “Well, that was a really long life.  Good for her.”  He is a kind, well-meaning person.  I know words much like those have come out of my mouth again and again.  They were not what I wanted to hear. 

I’ve realized that it doesn’t matter that you’re old, or that you had been given a diagnosis and those around you knew it was terminal.  It doesn’t make the people who love you feel anything other than sad.  And it doesn’t make them miss you any less.  And I know that I won’t use those words to anyone ever again.

We love you Grandma, and will miss you.  You were outspoken and opinionated and funny.  You could squeeze a nickel until it screamed and knit beautiful blankets for my babies.  You helped teach me to drive and to make perfect French Toast.  I still sleep under the lovely bedspread you embroidered for us when we got married.  We looked through all your old pictures and celebrated your life.  And we were happy and sad, and will be for a long time.  It was a long life, but now I know it will never be long enough.

But It's Sooooo Dark....

One would have thought the first day back would have been the hardest.  One would have been wrong.  When my alarm clock went off at 5:00 am yesterday, it was sort of novel.  Today, however, the crushing realization occurred that this was NOT a novelty, this was the way things are.  And it is very dark at 5:00 in the morning, my friends.  And cold.  And did I mention dark?

Luckily I love my job, and my room is toasty warm.  Very toasty - apparently my heater is malfunctioning, so my room was 82.2 degrees when I walked in yesterday.  Rather tropical. Unfortunately I was not sporting beachware, but instead a turtleneck cashmere sweater.  And every fifth grader that entered my room (and there were 96 of them) felt the need to ask, "Wow, do you know how hot it is in here?"  Because, you know, it's not like I've actually been in that room all day.

At least now I do know that I am definitely smarter than a fifth grader.

Missed the Possum Drop

The new year is here, and we celebrated pretty much the same way we have for 15 years - at home with Chinese food, wine, and general good cheer.  When I was young and thought you were supposed to, I used to go out on New Year's Eve.  The night always had a whiff of desperation about it - everyone trying to have a good time, because, hey - it was New Year's Eve!!!!  After many years of overcrowded restaurants, dangerous drivers, and realizing it wasn't actually that much fun, I learned to embrace the quieter, happier entrance to the New Year.

I also used to make resolutions, but as they never got me very far, I've become a bit more philosophical about the whole thing, and just have general thoughts for the new year.  Who knows if it works better, but at least it doesn't make me feel like a failure when I invariably do something on Jan. 3rd that I've vowed not to do do and decide that the whole thing's off....

I also no longer try to stay up until midnight - I'm not a late night person, and I never quite got the whole dropping the ball thing, so giving it a miss is a relief.  I would however, if only the misguided folks in the media would cover it, stay up for the possum drop in  Brasstown, NC.




Happy New Year!  (The possum is released at the end - I wonder if they release the ball into Times Square?).