Photos: November 2008 Archives

The other day my mother ordered Ewan's tombstone birthday cake from a bakery by her house. He had asked for an owl on top and the words "BE WARE OR BE DEAD" written on it. I told my mother that I didn't want his name on it because that would be just too weird. I was initially upset that I wouldn't be making Ewan's cake because I always make the kids' birthday cakes from scratch so that when they're all grown up, they'll sit in their college dorm rooms, reminiscing just how good they had it back at home and talking about how their mama made their cakes from scratch. And because I can be dramatic, I started to worry about how I'm not making one of their cakes this year and how, years later, after Ewan robs a bank and is taken into custody and gives his first interview on "Dateline NBC," he'll tell Stone Phillips: "You know, it really started on my fourth birthday, when my mom didn't make my cake. She bought it. At a bakery. I'm not even sure if it was made from organic ingredients."

STONE: "So that's when it all started going downhill for you."

EWAN: "Exactly. It was like she stopped caring. I wanted her to be like the mom on all those craft blogs. You know the ones where the moms sew their kids their own art smocks and always make their kids these perfect cakes? She made me an Elmo cake one year and it looked like a giant bloodclot with eyes."

STONE: "Truly frightening."

Which reminds me, when we were at Sam's, the boys went nuts over these gingerbread house-making kits. Although they begged, I could see in the future the hot mess that this innocent-looking gingerbread house kit would most definitely be and I told them "no." Plus I have this thing about food just sitting out all willy-nilly. Grody.

I'm busy working on deadlines, getting my house in order to accommodate 12 people for Thanksgiving, baking, and getting ready to anchor the morning show on Friday. I've strung the first bit garland, actual bits of cedar and pine all wired together and hung in the archway between the dining and living room. I'm sure I'll regret it a week later when all the needles are on the floor.


I'm also struggling with my fourth sinus infection of the season, jeebus, I know, it's so old already. My vocal tonality alternates between that of a 90-year-old chain-smoking Bette Davis and Shaggy from "Scooby Doo." It has provided me with hours of endless fascination. I'm going to record myself a new voicemail greeting in this hot new voice.

(I've received some helpful emails about the Neti Pot but I am terrified of drowning and doubt that I'll ever come around to using it.)

It got all Reagan from Excorcist last night

I reviewed "Twilight" (I'll plug my ears so you can girl shriek) over at Mamapop. Go forth and read because omg.

When we returned Liam was a fountain of vomit. It was a long evening. Today I'm watching him and feeding him crackers and bread as though he were a pigeon.

I also finished my stepdad's birthday scarf, the gift for the man who hoards the giftcards you get him and and pretends to like that shirt you got him for Christmas three years ago - the one he never wears and is at the bottom of is drawer (so Mom tells you) because he's too afraid to hurt you feelings by taking it back. So, just, gawd, I made it easy on him and knitted it out of a cotton and wool blend so he can wash it because he's ever heard of Woolite. But he can grill a mean porksteak, so hey. Here it is and here's me wearing it because after I finished it I wanted it.

Scarf Scarf

Click to enlarge the photos and for further description.

Three things

While the headlines threaten to drive me to drink, while the children are bored because it's rainy and cold (and I'm still too snotty and cough-y to take them anywhere) I force myself to focus on things that make me happy, like these three:

Hand-me-down chair

This chair sits in the corner of our bedroom, dwarfed by the high ceilings and moulding. It's a hand-me-down (or secondhand, like most of the things in my house, I feel it more prudent, generally and financially, to rescue things from landfills rather than buy new) from Chris's mother, painted cream with a needle-point seat made by an aunt or some aunt's mother-in-law, or someone in the family. It's a runt, all by itself, and it sits in our rather sparse, all-white bedroom, the only room in the house that the boys are not allowed to trash with toys. They don't make furniture like this anymore; people rarely have the time to sit aroud and needle-point seat covers. Things like this remind me that Back Then, people did have the time to make the extra effort, or maybe details like that were just more important all those years ago. There's something about it that I find appealing.  

I am a Warner Brothers character

Sweet jeebus I love this skirt, almost as much as this one. It's vintage, a square-dancing skirt, made by a company called Partner Please which was based in San Francisco. Ewan says I have "nice legs!"

Speaking of which ...
My guys

These guys. Taken during a trip to the circus, the photos from which I'm preparing to upload. They're wearing hair in the likeness of circus' star, Bello. I won't mention the protesters outside, one of which was dressed like a grim reaper with fake animal carcasses hanging off its belt (for the kids, you know. "My grim is better," Ewan had said) because then I'd have to explain how one of them approached us and tried to hand me literature and I politely refused it but they rolled their eyes at me and I shot back that I was saving trees. I abhor the wasting of our precious and finite resources. Crap. Positive! POSITIVE.
Chris's "baby face"

He also does this creepy little boy voice, which I'll spare you. This costume gave me nightmares. Apparently, Chris thinks babies looked tweaked out of their minds.

Now that I have Photoshop back on my computer I'll be uploading a few photos that have been taking up space on my camera's SD card.

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Dana asks: "Thanksgiving Traditions: Yours or Your Mother's?"