When we arrived home after our camping adventures last weekend we noticed the refrigerator was making an odd noise, sort of like a zombie. Being the (apparently) stupid and ineffectual people we are, we just noted the noise and moved on, not stopping to check on details like are all the frozen foods thawing? And unfortunately they were, but we didn’t realize it until it was too late and much of the frozen stuff had to be thrown out or cooked. So we bought a new refrigerator (with some odd combination of an Energy Star rebate, appliance disposal fees and a Columbus Day sale making it more cost-effective than buying used), and we’ve also once again lowered the priced on our house. Perhaps someday so the new buyers, wherever they are now, will use the new ‘frige for something beautiful like leftover wedding cake or champagne to toast something wonderful and we will stop banging our heads against the wall over our housing situation. A girl can dream, right? In the meantime we’re eating meals of baked chicken with a side of fried fish, since both fish and fowl were saved from the freezer, and being glad it’s not worse.
Then on Wednesday, the very busiest and most hectic day of the week, as I was recovering from the new refrigerator blues but beginning to suffer a sore throat, Dorothy informed me at approximately the halfway point on our drive home from preschool that IT WAS THE DAY, the very special and most important day, that she got to take the traveling classroom gingerbread person home, and that she had accidentally left [him? her?] at school. I considered making the gingerbread person wait until we were already back at the very same building for choir practice later that night, but instead I rallied my inner good mother and turned the car back around. “Gingy” was fetched, along with [his? her?] tote bag, and brought on home with us. Gingy listened to our daily chapter from the Little House on the Prairie book, then settled down with Dorothy for a nap. A couple hours later it was time almost time to leave for ballet lessons and I realized I should look in Gingy’s journal to see just what was expected of us with regard to this plush traveling pastry. About a half dozen of Dorothy’s peers had already brought Gingy home (Gingy visitation being determined by drawing names), and those students’ caring and creative mothers had written long and lovely essays about Gingy’s stays with their families. Things like “in honor of Gingy, we made gingerbread cake!” and long tales of Gingy-inspired adventures. Those bitches, I thought. Never mind that enthusiastic parent involvement is actually one of the things I treasure about our preschool. All the mommies who get Gingy after us will love me, though, because I took things in the journal down a notch or two out of necessity. We sent Gingy back today with just a few brief sentences about our busy day and one potentially embarrassing (given Gingy’s uncertain gender) home-printed photograph of Gingy wearing a pink tutu.
Returning to my regular blogging business, these Lego cufflinks were a Christmas gift to Rob last year. They are Legos from his own childhood, and I glued them to cufflink platforms I purchased from a jewelry supply store online. He loves wearing unusual cufflinks, and there aren’t very many opportunities to make gifts for him. I snapped a picture of them when he was on his way out the door this morning.