>Worry is the misuse of Imagination.

>I have a sign behind my desk stating just that. It doesn’t stop me from worrying, but it reminds me that there are more effective ways to expend my energy.
La Petite had a major sinus infection a few weeks ago. On her visit to the school clinic, they started to tell her that she had to show symptoms for another week before they’d put her on meds. She asked them to check her records for last year. Sure enough, she’d suffered the exact same problem one year ago.
They gave her the antibiotics with no further questions.
Two years ago I went to our family doctor with my annual spring sinus infection. She looked at my medical history and said, “You’re three days late this year.” Last year I managed to escape the misery, but today I went back for a dose of the usual. I’ll pick it up at the pharmacy later this afternoon. This is a case where like mother, like daughter, isn’t necessarily a good thing. When I get a seasonal sinus infection, I now worry about her developing the same painful symptoms.

There was a major explosion last week on the campus where La Petite goes to school. It was accidental, although she admitted that the timing (one year after Virgina Tech’s mass shooting) had a lot of people freaked. In her role as asst. photo editor for the school paper, she helped send out photos of the disaster to several news outlets, almost all of which ran the photos. (Note to self: remind her to send resumes to these people when she graduates)
No one was killed, and only one person was injured. But the major impact on students was this: the explosion destroyed the main and the backup boiler that provide heat and hot water to the campus at large.
Yes, you read that correctly. All the students living on campus have been without heat and hot water for a week now.
La Petite lives in an apartment near campus — so near campus that she’s closer to her classes then she was when she lived in a dorm. But by virtue of being off campus, she has hot water. She can shower! Wash dishes! Do laundry (I hope)! But the others? Apparently the athletic department has its own hot water supply, so students are allowed to use the locker rooms for basic hygiene needs. The Powers That Be are also encouraging students to go home as often as possible to — well, to shower.
Thank goodness it’s spring, not winter. Going without heat in April is a whole different story than doing without in January.
And thank goodness she’s living in an apartment. If she didn’t, I might have to rethink this weekend visit of mine.

Worry is just one part of motherhood. For more serious and sweet Portraits of Mothers, look to the Parent Bloggers Network and their Blog Blast for this week.

Update: Husband now has an appointment to see the doctor on Monday for his own version of the annual sinus infection. Sigh. Sniff. Snore.

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>Ah, youth, where hast thou gone?

>I’m not a “Cat Lady.” I don’t have a shopping cart full of cat food, ice cream, and frozen pizza — for one.
But that’s only because I’m allergic to cats and my husband does the grocery shopping.
So I had to laugh out loud when I read Melanie’s post describing her exciting Friday evening shopping trip.
I don’t go out in public in sweats, but that’s only because mine are too ratty to wear outside the bedroom. My track suits count, though, in the uber-casual category, and I do go out in public wearing those.
Sometimes splurging on myself doesn’t mean a single-serving pizza, but an omelet with all the fixings. Cooking it myself is a fun solitary activity, with the exception of the clean-up. But going out to the diner alone for an omelet doesn’t really cut it; I’d rather curl up with a good book in one hand and a coffee mug in the other.
This weekend I’ll be a little too busy for curling up in a corner by myself, and I have to dress professionally on Saturday. But since I’ll be visiting La Petite on Friday night and Saturday, I might end up treating both of us to a simple but fun pizza or simples restaurant meal. I’ll have to promise not to wear sweats, though. She might refuse to be seen with me if I do.

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>Care Packages just aren’t the same

>When La Petite was a freshman, I bought the commercial Welcome Pack and various holiday gift packages. I’m sure I supported someone’s fundraising, and my daughter enjoyed getting treats now and then.
Her sophomore year, I did the same.
Now she doesn’t live in a dorm, but in a near-campus apartment, so I skipped it. She says she’s okay with that, so why do I feel a small bit of motherly guilt?

I haven’t made the old-fashioned cookie packages like the ones my mom sent me.
I haven’t packaged up a batch of goodies when MidTerms rolled around.
But I haven’t failed. Oh, I may be different, but I haven’t failed her completely.

For one, I send her links. Where my mother would mail little items (including comics!) that she’d clipped from the paper, I send my daughter URLs for relevant articles and blog posts, even shopping deals. We could chalk that up to the change in technology. We email, chat by IM, and text message each other, too.
I set things aside for her. I put her Girl Scout cookies in her bedroom so we wouldn’t be tempted to eat them in a PMS inspired fit. Did I say we? I meant me. I mean I. I mean…did I say something about chocolate?!
When we found out she and her roomie had lost the remote control for their TV, we found an unused universal remote and mailed it down to her, along with batteries. I suggested chocolate, but Husband “forgot” to throw the candy in the package at the last minute.
The last time we visited, we brought a bag of groceries that included bunny food, Mountain Dew, batteries for the remote control (see above) and a big box of trash bags. And a chair! We brought her a chair! Don’t laugh — it was taking up space in the garage, and Husband wasn’t ready to give it up for good just yet.
Last, but not least, I send her free samples. Yes, free samples. Whenever I see an opportunity to get a freebie, I send one to her, too. When she gets a package of something random like a granola bar or the new flavor of Chex Mix, she knows it’s from me. I even hooked her up with a free test sample of a new dishwashing liquid, and now she’s set for dishes for the remainder of the semester, if not the year.
No, these aren’t romantic or fancy. They’re silly little surprises that turn up in her mailbox at unexpected times. They make her smile and let her know I’m thinking about her now and then. In her own sarcastic way, she’d say, “I feel special”– but I know that sometimes, just sometimes, she really does.

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>We finally got hitched.

>It’s not what you think, though. Husband and I have been married for going on 24 years, and aiming for at least that many more. We installed a trailer hitch on the minivan. There were a few hitches on the way to getting the minivan hitched, though.
The day did not start smoothly. I had broken my glasses the night before, so I carefully tiptoed downstairs and put in my contacts as soon as I woke up.
Amigo, still nervous about touchy tummy condition, nibbled his breakfast: one frozen waffle, toasted, for the boy who used to down four in a sitting. He got on the bus, and I came back in the house to spend a few minutes with a heating pad to settle my sore back and my own anxiety about whether or not Amigo would make it through the day.
Husband needed the minivan because he was taking care of the installation, so I dutifully picked up keys to the Saturn, walked out of the house, opened the garage door, and stepped into — the van. Oops. Sleepwalking through the morning routine again.
Redirected and in the correct vehicle, I got two blocks away before I heard something chirping at me. It wasn’t the first robin of spring. It was Husband’s cell phone, left in the car to charge overnight. Since I wasn’t far from home, I came back, dumped the phone and its charger on top of his wallet, then left for work a second time.
My arrival in the parking lot coincided with another teacher’s arrival, and that was lucky for me. I had forgotten my ID card, which is my entry into the building and has my room key attached. She let me in, and I got lucky again; my room was unlocked.
Later that day, I heard from Husband by email. He had forgotten more than his cell phone; his toolbox was still in the Saturn’s trunk. He parked the minivan beside his car, moved the toolbox from the Saturn to the van, and then had to explain himself to one of my colleagues so she wouldn’t call the police and report this strange guy taking tools out of the trunk of a car in the school parking lot. He got lucky — she had met him at the staff holiday party.
Well, despite all the trials and tribulations of the day, we all survived. Minimum of tummy trouble, not too much headache, only a little hassle on the way out. It could have been worse.

Here’s the new bike rack on the new hitch, with Husband checking on all the details.

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>Meanwhile, back at the Ranch…

>Two women so different in age, in size, in stage of life. Yet once again (cue the tacky music) our bras got mixed up.
Monday morning, of course. It couldn’t happen any other day of the week. I reached for my, um, garments and found — one of La Petite’s bras instead of my own. It must have gotten mixed up in the laundry. Once again I thought I heard it wailing in fear as I stared at it, wondering how the heck this happened? She’s slim and trim. I’m not.
Wrapped up in a shower towel, I headed for the drying racks in the basement and grabbed one of my own. It was still damp, so I pulled out the hair dryer and blew some hot air (no silly comments from the peanut gallery, folks) in its direction. Then I gave up, threw the bra next to the heat vent, and threw my pajama top back on. A few minutes later, after breakfast was on the table and I’d finished putting in my contacts, I picked up the poor mishandled undergarment and finished dressing for work.
Then the day began, I taught my Tigger-clones, spent an hour at the doctor’s office with Amigo, and came home feeling like I should be singing something from the Musical episode of Scrubs. Never mind which song. You don’t. Want. To. Know.
So now, I feel done. Done in, done out. Not quite together enough to correct math tests, but maybe capable of putting stickers on the penmanship papers.
I could consider this Laundry Revenge, but I didn’t plan it. Honestly. At least not this time.
I just hope La Petite has enough spares to get through until Final Exams.

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>The new addition

>

No, it’s not another bunny. It’s certainly not another teenager, and don’t even think younger. I have a new coffee mug. Of course! You knew that right away. Didn’t you?

Everything in the gift shop was half price because it was the last game of the season. I picked this one over the other because it was a little bigger than the average coffee cup and because of the cool “fidget tool” on the handle. See that neat-o little hockey puck with the crossed sticks? It spins. My thumb loves it.

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>Savoring Spring

>When Jordan from Mammablogga proposed “Savoring the Season” for her next group writing project, I thought, savor what?
I live in Wisconsin not only because I was born here, but because I like it. I enjoy the seasons changing: the cool winds of autumn with colorful leaves falling all around. Sipping my morning coffee on the deck outside my dining room door in the comfort of summer. Winter, with its crisp, icy beauty, and the snow blanketing the world, sending us inside for hot cocoa topped with marshmallows and whipped cream.
But now, right now, I’ve had enough of winter. The snow that remains has melted and refrozen, with as much dirt and road salt in it as actual snow. The heaps in parking lots resemble glaciers, odd-shaped and huge, with a small trickle melting from beneath leading to the nearest sewer grate. It’s not pretty.
Something resembling grass lies matted flat, in shades of tan and brown, on soaked yard. I can’t see my garden yet or reach the compost bin.
It’s coming, though. I can smell it in the air. Or maybe that’s just mud…or the molds and spores thawing to make my allergies explode inside my sinuses.
Spring is on the way. I bought seeds! I have to be an optimist! The glass is half full! Either that or that drink I just poured has frozen in the sub-freezing temperatures that persist.
That wind — it’s a warm one, isn’t it? Oh, I give in, get my gloves. Any wind, though, will help melt or sublimate the remaining solid. Apply a little science, and I’ll feel better.
Winter? She’s a queen, and the queen will take her time before abdicating the throne to that young sprout, Spring.
And when spring really turns up, and the grass really gets green, and the compost is happening again, I’ll rejoice. And I’ll savor every moment.

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>Weekend Yummies

>Since I didn’t feel obligated to make something La Petite liked today, I tried out a new recipe from an older edition of the WE Energies Cookie Book. Backstory to follow: first, the recipe.

Chocolate Cherry Nuggets
2 cups butter or margarine softened
2 cups powdered sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon salt (optional)
4 1/2 (yes, you read that right: 4 1/2) cups sifted all-purpose flour
2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips
1/2 cup chopped walnuts
2 (10 oz.) jars maraschino cherries, drained and quartered

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. In a large bowl, cream butter. Mix in powdered sugar. Beat in vanilla and salt. Add flour gradually, mixing until well blended. Separately mix in chocolate chips, nuts, and cherries. Dough will be stiff. (I’m not kidding. It will be stiff.) Drop by teaspoonfuls (cookie scoop)onto ungreased cookie sheets. Bake a 350 degrees for about 15 minutes. Makes 8 to 9 dozen. Note: they will be round. They do not flatten while baking.

Now while they’re in the oven, I’ll put my own spin on this recipe.

I picked it out last week and put the maraschino cherries on the shopping list. During the week, husband has been “sneaking” a little of the cherry juice to dress up his seven-up. I don’t know if there’s anything else in the glass, but it sure looks pretty. When I drained the cherries for the recipe, I saved the juice for him. Yes, he’s a sweetie, he deserved it.
I baked cranberry hootycreeks and kitchen sink muffins earlier this week and finished off my vanilla extract, so I couldn’t bake cookies again until I had a chance to go to the store or wait for Husband and Amigo to do their weekly grocery shopping. That’s how I ended up making them today instead of, say, two days ago.
And now, La Petite. We let her use Husband’s car to visit friends who attend college near here. She left last night and then spent the night, with our permission. I text messaged her mid-afternoon today and asked, “When are you coming home?” Her response was “When I feel like it.” So rather than text her my first thought response (“Snot!”), I decided to make cookies that she wouldn’t like. She strongly dislikes cherries in any form, so this recipe was perfect.
So there. Take that, kid. Revenge is buttery, chocolatey, and sweet.

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>Procrastination, with chocolate

>I made myself an M&M creature at PlanetM&M, and then I couldn’t download and publish it here. It even had a cool, color-coordinated coffee cup, so I was a little down about the whole process.

So I did what any self-respecting, computer-literate adult will do; I asked my daughter to help. She took a break from her homework and with hands covered in charcoal (she was working on an art project), guided me through an option for copying and pasting my new Image into Adobe Photoshop.
But first, she insisted on making a few changes. She didn’t like the hair shade or the hairstyle I’d chosen (Mom! You have bangs!), so she found something she deemed more suitable. She decided the glasses should be colorful, too. Am I really that colorful? No, don’t answer that. I don’t wear bunny slippers in public, either, but these were too cute to pass up.
And again, we couldn’t do a clean download, so we did a printscreen and the cropped it in Adobe.
I must say, I think I look pretty good in green. I think I’m ready for Earth Day. At least I have chocolate.

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>We also need…a list for this

>I admit it. My name is Daisy, and I’m a list-maker. Our summer vacation, the first in four years, is still in the planning stages, but I have list potential growing on the same back burner.

Things we should look for now so we don’t pay full price later
  • A bike rack for the minivan. Amigo’s bike will take up a great deal of the minivan’s interior. In fact, I’ll probably put the cooler in the bike basket and my suitcase under its back wheels. Our bikes (mine and Husband’s) will go on a rack on the back bumper. This ought to be a good season for buying a rack like this, so I’ll start reading the sporting goods stores’ ads in the Sunday papers. Something will turn up. A visit to the bike shop may help, too.
  • Husband needs a bike helmet; they’re required by law in Canada.
  • Amigo thinks I need a swimsuit. Hah! Not a chance. If I wade at the beach, I’ll wear my capris. I should, however, make sure Amigo’s suit still fits him.
  • Travel size generic meds. Let’s see — goodies to ward off headaches, stomach-aches, and motion sickness can fill up the little pocket of my purse.
  • Sunscreen. Sunglasses.
  • Reading material! Right? Shouldn’t I get a few books for the long drive and the ferry ride, too? Okay, I give in, that can wait.

And… I have a new post up at MidCentury Modern Moms today. “My” day is every other Thursday. Enjoy!

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