–The boy twisted his ankle today and sprained it while playing on his gymnastics mat. He had to hop to dinner. Lie on the couch. Moan. We did the RICE treatment, so I had him stick his leg on the arm of the sofa and put an ice pack on it. He got a couple of shows. Adam carried him to bed. And then I asked, “Can you twirl your foot?”
The boy: Ow, ow, ow! [he twirls his foot] It hurts!
Me: Are you sure? Because when you were laying on the couch, it was the other foot was the twisted one.
The boy: Oh. Which ankle did I sprain?
–I promised my b’nai mitzvah class that I’d have a rough draft of our dvar written in two weeks. That was one week and six days ago. It’s a very dry parsha. Jubilee years and all sorts of fun stuff. But no worries. I have a couple hours tomorrow after volunteering in the kindergarten to get it done. Oh, whoops! What’s that? Pie has a fever? No school tomorrow? I’ve had how much wine? Should be an interesting Torah talk…
–The boxes are pretty much unpacked. But in order to get those boxes unpacked, I had to put the stuff somewhere. So the floor is now covered with stuff that had been neatly put away in boxes. I have one week to get it all put away because…
–In one week I host my first social event of the year. Sure, some might call it a solemn religious occasion, but why split hairs? I’m hosting a Passover seder, which will call for full use of my beautiful new stove. I can’t wait. Including my family, there will be 18 of us. I’ve already made two huge batches of chicken soup, farfel kugel, and I’ve bought enough matzah and gefilte fish to get us through at least a few days, so at this point I know no one will starve. I’m plotting out what to cook next.
–So the contractor handed back his key today. Sad, sad day for me. No more, “Could you just…” “Would you mind…” “Hey, maybe we should…” Now it’s just me and Adam. The trailer’s out of the front yard, the garbage is off the front porch, and the mailbox has even been returned to its rightful place on the house. All that’s left is for me to get my crap off the floor.
–Random link: I love this site. Everyone go save a word. I haven’t officially adopted a word yet. I haven’t found the one yet. I’m waiting for my beshert. Although I’m sure you’ll be able to tell on this blog when I’ve chosen my one. I’m also into the Very Short List. Best e-mails I get.
–When I was a wee girl, I had three stuffed animals: Beady Bear (named for the book of the same name), Snoopy, and Elly Belly Elephant. I will come out and say that Elly Belly Elephant was a disputed animal: The Tweedle Twirp seemed to think that Elly Belly was hers. Let me set the record straight here: The Tweedle Twirp was wrong. I still own Beady Bear. He’s a little worn, but still recognizable. Tweeds had custody of the other two.
Tweeds decided it was time to pass the two on to my children. I took the two creatures, which were recognizable. That is, if by recognizable you think of a homeless, strung out, Avenue Q-version of Snoopy and Elly. Those two have never been washed. I’m pretty sure not ever. Those animals are about 38 or so years old, and untouched by water. So I took those animals in the name of my children. And I decided it was high time they were introduced to the pleasures of cleanliness. Into the washer they went.
It is with great regret that I have to inform you that they didn’t make it back out and they have gone to the great playroom in the sky.
RIP Snoopy and Elly. You were well loved.
