I think this year's sentence will be "The family moved twice in three months and five days after the second move, hosted 17 people for Thanksgiving at which Shannon roasted 17 stuffed Cornish hens." But I never decide until the year is completely over. Because you never know, we could adopt triplets before Christmas.
Probably not, though.
The hens were a hit, and really, it was as stress-free as these things can realistically be. I made a little flow chart of the work involved in the meal and did everything ahead of time one step at a time over about 72 hours so that all I really had to do was pop the birds in the oven and braise the greens an hour before sit-down and we were good to go. I also had a couple of willing and charming sous-chefs along the way. No one makes a better sommelier than a gay godfather and we had two on hand. Unfortunately, Mama Fern had to work, but we're having a private do-over with her this Sunday.
The new place is fantabulous. Really. Words fall pathetically short of describing my joy at being here. Perfect location, perfect space, perfect neighbors, just plain lovely. The master bedroom is obscenely huge, so I have a plan for adding a fourth bedroom, should those triplets arrive on the doorstep.
Yes, I can't shake the idea that I want more babies, even as the babies I have are becoming more and more overwhelming in their demands. I suppose it comes of Selina being 18 months old this Saturday and not really my baby anymore. At this point in Nat's life, we had been on the waiting list for number two for six months or so already. And this time, our foster license has expired and our home study is returning to dust. I guess we're done unless Rose or Fern needs us again or until Selina is a good bit older and we start looking into toddler adoption. There's a big part of me that wants 3, or 4 or 5 kids. Other parts of me shake me, while screaming "have you lost your tiny mind???" and slap me to snap out of it.
You can't always get (everything) you want. Because there are also things I want that sort of require having fewer than three children--like some modicum of personal freedom before I'm fifty. Plus, I love this place we just moved to, as I have said, and there may be room for one more, but even that would be a squeeze. There's certainly not room for more than one more and I don't want to move again until Cole retires.
Meanwhile, Selina calls her Pooh Bear, "Bear Pooh." Or "Bear, Pooh." Or "Bear: Pooh." I'm not sure which it is, but it so cute it makes me break out in hives.
Cole has been going hither and yon to teach on the prairie and return to us for long weekends (though more recently she was here for the long holiday) and it is going pretty well. I have 5 days per week of afternoon baby sitting split between two marvelous sitters, both more or less overqualified to baby sit, but happy to do it nonetheless. One is C and one is J. C, among other accomplishments has Head Start teaching experience and an MSW, J has no degrees, but a year's nannying experience for a baby and a half-dozen younger siblings he was often responsible for. His life's aspiration is to be a SAHD and I have to say it would suit him perfectly.
I have been working in cafes which can be okay, as long as I don't end up spending whatever meager amount I've mede in three hours on tea and scones, which can be a challenge. I may work at home a bit more when the wireless is up and running, but over the winter the kids will be staying at home more for baby sitting and Nat is not of a mind to leave me alone if she knows I am in the building, so I will probably continue my hunt for the perfect Internet cafe as the weather worsens over the next few months. I tried a new place this week and it is a great candidate--cheap, laid-back, free wireless with no password required, not too busy so if I sit there for hours I don't feel like I'm taking the space of a paying customer. The only problem is that on my first (and so far, only) visit there, I set the toaster on fire. It was a toast-it-yourself bagel operation and the butter that dripped from my bagel was the camel's last straw in the bottom of a crumb-filled toaster oven and the flames leapt wildly. I unplugged the thing and called the sole worker's attention to it. She left some customers hanging at the counter, came over, opened the oven door and started blowing at the fire, which of course, only made it burn stronger. "Close the door and it'll burn itself out" I shouted, "but there's air in there!" she shouted back, as the smoke alarm began to wail. "Now there is" I thought to myself, as the flames finally slowed and stopped.
"Ah, there" said the cafe employee-of-all-work, "do you want a new bagel?" But it was just charred slightly on one side, so I said no thanks and went back to work.
I bet you ten dollars they have A) not replaced that toaster and B) not even cleaned that toaster and I'm afraid to go back, because I don't like raw bagels!
See you all at Strollerderby.
