Quickie

1. Our Halloween party...wasn't.  There were a few casual acceptances by friends who never showed, and so the informal open house I'd envisioned ended up instead as a quick dinner with the family of one (1) of Charlie's friends and his parents.  I learned a lot from the experience — namely, that if only one family responds, you're probably better off calling, explaining, and offering to let them off the hook — and experienced only a mild amount of inconvenience and embarrassment in doing so.  (I would have been somewhat less embarrassed had I put the tower of festive paper goods and the three bottles of wine away before their arrival; I would have been somewhat more so had I revealed that in addition to the pizzas, there was a gigantic lasagna in the oven to boot.)
   
   The kids had fun, and that's what matters, right?  That and the fact that I now have left over two surprisingly decent bottles of red that I don't even have to share.
   
   Thanks, everyone, for your sympathetic indignation, your support, and your suggestions.  The one that I found most helpful was the observation Ellen made, that I need to "mommy network."  Leaving aside the fact that the idea of "mommy anything"ing fills me with trepidation, she's right: "This is all about you socializing. Sorry, that's the game."  More on this in another entry.  Thanks again for your insights.
2. Paul has the flu.  Due to the same shortages everyone else in the blog world has chronicled exhaustively, Ben and Charlie won't get their flu shots until Friday.  Just to be safe, I am keeping Paul quarantined in a refrigerator box.  I pass him soup through the air holes I poked in it.  (Note to self: Next time poke holes before inserting husband.  The flu won't kill him but the ice pick may have.)
3. Can anyone recommend a babysitter in Alexandria/Pineville, Louisiana?  I'm visiting soon and need someone reputable to leave my children with so my mother and I can go gamble.  ...WHAT.  Oh, like you don't leave your kids with strangers so you can play the nickel slots.
4. Do y'all know I read trashy romances?  Have I just made you uncomfortable with that admission?  I know I've written at great length here about my own alabaster bosom; my slick, tight sheath; and my swollen bud shyly nestled among the rosy petals of my...
   
   Wait, I haven't done the bud yet?  Why, my Photoshop throbs at the very idea.
   
   Anyway, I read trashy romances, and I do so avidly.  I read many other things, too, but I enjoy penis-awfuls — I think I just coined that term — unabashedly.  I'm often appalled, though, by the way they always end: either the heroine is pregnant or, in an epilogue, she's dandling young Dukeling Goldenheir on her muslin-covered knee while her besotted husband is playing the Wii with their comely twin daughters.  I exaggerate only a bit; there's an annoying trend in novels I've read lately for the hero and heroine to be involved with their children to the point of anachronism.  ("The baroness insisted on suckling her own children, even though it outraged her martinet mother-in-law, who was often heard to mutter darkly that if Old Drinky Nell had been a good enough wet nurse for her brace of seven sons, why, then, she was sure she just didn't know what...!  Lady Comelybosom met these sotto voce asides with a wordless smile.  On this night, perched on the edge of a gilt chair in her home's commodious ballroom, she nodded to an acquantaince among the crush, then edged her fichu downward, the better to receive the questing cherubic mouth of her latest babe.  As she felt her milk let down, she gave the signal to the musicians, who opened the ball with a sprightly reel.")
   
   But that is tangential.  What I wanted to say was that I was delighted to see a blog I read, Smart Bitches, Trashy Books, take on the question of the traditional romance-novel HEA — happily ever after — as it pertains to infertiles.  If you share my weakness fondness for romances and you're looking for recommendations for books that don't hinge on Lord Darkshaft and Lady Dampening eventually procreating, check out the comments on this post.  And if you know of any such stories, please do weigh in and HABO, as the bloggers say: Help a Bitch Out.

Posted by Julie at 09:51:32 PM

Comments

Quickie

1. Our Halloween party...wasn't.  There were a few casual acceptances by friends who never showed, and so the informal open house I'd envisioned ended up instead as a quick dinner with the family of one (1) of Charlie's friends and his parents.  I learned a lot from the experience — namely, that if only one family responds, you're probably better off calling, explaining, and offering to let them off the hook — and experienced only a mild amount of inconvenience and embarrassment in doing so.  (I would have been somewhat less embarrassed had I put the tower of festive paper goods and the three bottles of wine away before their arrival; I would have been somewhat more so had I revealed that in addition to the pizzas, there was a gigantic lasagna in the oven to boot.)
   
   The kids had fun, and that's what matters, right?  That and the fact that I now have left over two surprisingly decent bottles of red that I don't even have to share.
   
   Thanks, everyone, for your sympathetic indignation, your support, and your suggestions.  The one that I found most helpful was the observation Ellen made, that I need to "mommy network."  Leaving aside the fact that the idea of "mommy anything"ing fills me with trepidation, she's right: "This is all about you socializing. Sorry, that's the game."  More on this in another entry.  Thanks again for your insights.
2. Paul has the flu.  Due to the same shortages everyone else in the blog world has chronicled exhaustively, Ben and Charlie won't get their flu shots until Friday.  Just to be safe, I am keeping Paul quarantined in a refrigerator box.  I pass him soup through the air holes I poked in it.  (Note to self: Next time poke holes before inserting husband.  The flu won't kill him but the ice pick may have.)
3. Can anyone recommend a babysitter in Alexandria/Pineville, Louisiana?  I'm visiting soon and need someone reputable to leave my children with so my mother and I can go gamble.  ...WHAT.  Oh, like you don't leave your kids with strangers so you can play the nickel slots.
4. Do y'all know I read trashy romances?  Have I just made you uncomfortable with that admission?  I know I've written at great length here about my own alabaster bosom; my slick, tight sheath; and my swollen bud shyly nestled among the rosy petals of my...
   
   Wait, I haven't done the bud yet?  Why, my Photoshop throbs at the very idea.
   
   Anyway, I read trashy romances, and I do so avidly.  I read many other things, too, but I enjoy penis-awfuls — I think I just coined that term — unabashedly.  I'm often appalled, though, by the way they always end: either the heroine is pregnant or, in an epilogue, she's dandling young Dukeling Goldenheir on her muslin-covered knee while her besotted husband is playing the Wii with their comely twin daughters.  I exaggerate only a bit; there's an annoying trend in novels I've read lately for the hero and heroine to be involved with their children to the point of anachronism.  ("The baroness insisted on suckling her own children, even though it outraged her martinet mother-in-law, who was often heard to mutter darkly that if Old Drinky Nell had been a good enough wet nurse for her brace of seven sons, why, then, she was sure she just didn't know what...!  Lady Comelybosom met these sotto voce asides with a wordless smile.  On this night, perched on the edge of a gilt chair in her home's commodious ballroom, she nodded to an acquantaince among the crush, then edged her fichu downward, the better to receive the questing cherubic mouth of her latest babe.  As she felt her milk let down, she gave the signal to the musicians, who opened the ball with a sprightly reel.")
   
   But that is tangential.  What I wanted to say was that I was delighted to see a blog I read, Smart Bitches, Trashy Books, take on the question of the traditional romance-novel HEA — happily ever after — as it pertains to infertiles.  If you share my weakness fondness for romances and you're looking for recommendations for books that don't hinge on Lord Darkshaft and Lady Dampening eventually procreating, check out the comments on this post.  And if you know of any such stories, please do weigh in and HABO, as the bloggers say: Help a Bitch Out.