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Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Dirty Little Secrets #101 & #102
101) Today, the children can eat as much as they'd like from their Easter baskets.
Tomorrow, I will put them away and dole out the pieces: one each day.
102) About a month from now, I will systematically begin eating my through whatever remains.
Tomorrow, I will put them away and dole out the pieces: one each day.
102) About a month from now, I will systematically begin eating my through whatever remains.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Dirty Little Secret #100
The boy who broke my heart is one of my Flickr contacts.
This, in itself, isn't all that newsworthy. While it's true that he and I avoided contact for many years, I believe that the people who were important in your past were important for a reason. Dirk and I have always kept in touch with our old flames. The woman from Wellesley he dated for three years? We attended her wedding and she attended ours. I'm proud to call her my friend. The boy who only thought he loved me? Ditto, and I buy hair bows from his wife. The boy who wasn't good enough? We argue about politics via email.
They all get holiday cards.
Including the boy who broke my heart. For a loooong while, even after falling head over heels for Dirk, we wanted nothing to do with each other. Well, he wanted nothing to do with me.
I kept in touch with his brother and mother, especially after his dad passed away. But through the years, contact dwindled to little but season's greetings. I reached back out when my own Dad died, and learned that he would be married. I garnered his address and sent the latest holiday letter to him and his fiancee.
She sent a lovely card back.
Recently, while sending a link for photos to his brother, I learned that he had a Flickr account.
Which leads me to the current situation. I'm aware that he looks through the public photographs of our life. He's mentioned my beautiful children and dog and house in an occasional email. I'm aware, through viewing his "favorites" page, that he also surfs through some of the less palatable and family-friendly options available on Flickr.
That freaks me out.
So last week I posted a self-portrait, semi-intended for HBM's truth project.
You can only imagine my surprise when I received the automated notice informing me that the boy who broke my heart had marked it as one of his favorite photos. There I am, sandwiched in between all the naked ladies with body paint and girls in bars posing lewdly. Semi-horrified for a variety of reasons, I showed Dirk.
He laughed maniacally for a good five minutes. When he wiped the tears from eyes, he burst into song, to the tune of Benny and the Jets:
"K-K-K-Karen and the porn..."
I guess it's only appropriate to roll this out on the day of my one hundredth secret. I've finally given all the google searchers what they've been looking for.
This, in itself, isn't all that newsworthy. While it's true that he and I avoided contact for many years, I believe that the people who were important in your past were important for a reason. Dirk and I have always kept in touch with our old flames. The woman from Wellesley he dated for three years? We attended her wedding and she attended ours. I'm proud to call her my friend. The boy who only thought he loved me? Ditto, and I buy hair bows from his wife. The boy who wasn't good enough? We argue about politics via email.
They all get holiday cards.
Including the boy who broke my heart. For a loooong while, even after falling head over heels for Dirk, we wanted nothing to do with each other. Well, he wanted nothing to do with me.
I kept in touch with his brother and mother, especially after his dad passed away. But through the years, contact dwindled to little but season's greetings. I reached back out when my own Dad died, and learned that he would be married. I garnered his address and sent the latest holiday letter to him and his fiancee.
She sent a lovely card back.
Recently, while sending a link for photos to his brother, I learned that he had a Flickr account.
Which leads me to the current situation. I'm aware that he looks through the public photographs of our life. He's mentioned my beautiful children and dog and house in an occasional email. I'm aware, through viewing his "favorites" page, that he also surfs through some of the less palatable and family-friendly options available on Flickr.
That freaks me out.
So last week I posted a self-portrait, semi-intended for HBM's truth project.
You can only imagine my surprise when I received the automated notice informing me that the boy who broke my heart had marked it as one of his favorite photos. There I am, sandwiched in between all the naked ladies with body paint and girls in bars posing lewdly. Semi-horrified for a variety of reasons, I showed Dirk.
He laughed maniacally for a good five minutes. When he wiped the tears from eyes, he burst into song, to the tune of Benny and the Jets:
"K-K-K-Karen and the porn..."
I guess it's only appropriate to roll this out on the day of my one hundredth secret. I've finally given all the google searchers what they've been looking for.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Friday, March 07, 2008
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Dirty Little Secret #98
I ruined the jam bars.
I was so anxious to eat their sweet oatey goodness, that I dumped the whole bowl of sugar, butter and oat mixture right into the good ol' 9 X 13, coated them with jam, and slammed the oven door behind them.
Of course, the recipe outlines that one should calmly spread HALF of the sweet oatey goodness in the bottom of the pan, then serenely add a restrained layer of jam, and then TOP them with the other half of the sweet oatey goodness.
But did I do that? Evn though I've made jam bars hundreds of times?
No. I did not.
So now I have an ooey-gooey jammy mess, that can't be picked up in ones hands. Too much jam and no sweet oatey goodness to hold it all together on the top: they'll have to be tossed. But that hasn't stopped me from scooping out and scarfing down the first row of them.
No, it hasnt.
I was so anxious to eat their sweet oatey goodness, that I dumped the whole bowl of sugar, butter and oat mixture right into the good ol' 9 X 13, coated them with jam, and slammed the oven door behind them.
Of course, the recipe outlines that one should calmly spread HALF of the sweet oatey goodness in the bottom of the pan, then serenely add a restrained layer of jam, and then TOP them with the other half of the sweet oatey goodness.
But did I do that? Evn though I've made jam bars hundreds of times?
No. I did not.
So now I have an ooey-gooey jammy mess, that can't be picked up in ones hands. Too much jam and no sweet oatey goodness to hold it all together on the top: they'll have to be tossed. But that hasn't stopped me from scooping out and scarfing down the first row of them.
No, it hasnt.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Dirty Little Secret #97
I don't mind the weather.
Sure, it's March. Sure, in Atlanta and all other points south it's heading into the seventies. Sure, it's snowing here.
But really, there's something to snow and cold. After our stint in Minnesota, this is nothing. I laugh at twenty degrees and send my children out to play. I'll put on my own snowpants and hat to throw snowballs at the dog with them. When we've searched for rabbit tracks, cleared enough snow off the driveway to ride our bikes, and played king of the mountain on our snowpile, we'll head inside with rosy cheeks, ready for hot chocolate and a nap.
It's snowing today, which may well turn to freezing rain this afternoon. But I'm enjoying the flakes falling past my window. The grass and mud from Monday - when it climbed into the sixties - is covered in white again. I know that Spring will come. The crocuses are already peaking out of the ground in our neighbor's yard. Like so much else, it can't be stopped.
So for now, I'll enjoy the snow.
Sure, it's March. Sure, in Atlanta and all other points south it's heading into the seventies. Sure, it's snowing here.
But really, there's something to snow and cold. After our stint in Minnesota, this is nothing. I laugh at twenty degrees and send my children out to play. I'll put on my own snowpants and hat to throw snowballs at the dog with them. When we've searched for rabbit tracks, cleared enough snow off the driveway to ride our bikes, and played king of the mountain on our snowpile, we'll head inside with rosy cheeks, ready for hot chocolate and a nap.
It's snowing today, which may well turn to freezing rain this afternoon. But I'm enjoying the flakes falling past my window. The grass and mud from Monday - when it climbed into the sixties - is covered in white again. I know that Spring will come. The crocuses are already peaking out of the ground in our neighbor's yard. Like so much else, it can't be stopped.
So for now, I'll enjoy the snow.
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