to share or not to share?

That is the question.
I go through phases of how open I want to be here on this great, big world wide web. The more I have going on in my life, I less I seem to want to talk about it. Right now, there is plenty happening on the home front and my desire to blog is waning thin. Simply put, I am quite frantically busy, and the only reason I find myself here now, at nearly midnight, is because I've done everything else I can think of to put off writing the psychoanalytical conceptualization paper which is due on Wednesday.
Actually, I might be more inclined to post here if I tightened up the privacy a bit (and I know Esther would be). I pretty much know everyone that reads this anyway so let me figure this thing out...

jux-ta-po-si-tion

[juhk-stuh-puh-zish-uhn]

–noun
1. an act or instance of placing close together or side by side, esp. for comparison or contrast.

 
I'm just saying.
 
(And I haven't ignored your request for recipes, my faithful readers. I will post them once I get through the next two days.)

that plan?

That plan to document my week didn't take into account extreme exhaustion, plus first day of grad school, plus having friends to dinner which resulted in a) drinking too much wine, and b) eating too much chocolate. They have just left and I must fall into a food*-induced coma.
Night, all!


*chicken liver parfait with red onion marmalade, followed by homemade mac and cheese and a build your own burger bar...followed by Nigella Lawson's Molten chocolate Babycakes. Need I say more?).

just another manic monday*

• With Jacques, walk Libby to school.
• Drive over to my friend Donna's house and, together, take a brisk three-mile run. (Brisk for me, that is. Sadly, anything under a 10-minute mile is brisk for me.)
• Quick whizz around the supermarket to get groceries.
• Mix up a batch of chocolate chip cookies for...
• My friend Britney coming over for coffee, which lasts until...
• I run off to lunch at the Blue Nile with my friend Eliza. (Can you tell I get my energy from being around people?)
• Drop Eliza off at appointment after foisting freshly baked cookies upon her.
• Grab Jacques and walk to collect Libby from school.
• Errands, including getting three new house keys cut. Where do they disappear to?
• Pick Jesse up from cross country practice.
• Throw polenta into the slow cooker.
• While talking to Esther on the phone, prep mountains of yellow and red onions, celery, garlic, and mushrooms for tonight's ragoût.
• Take Jesse to his guitar lesson.
• Upon our return home, leave immediately for the cross country parents' meeting.
• Dinner with the kids -- a major goal of mine this semester.
• Homework help, chivvying with chores, and bedtime.
• Housework and laundry.
• Bath, beer, and Ugly Betty.

(If you noticed the length of time between my run and my bath, aren't you observant? What can I say? I know that I am a filthy sloven and I apologize to everyone with whom I came into contact today.)
* The kids have been back at school for a week now, and although I also technically started back today, I didn't have any classes. Jesse told me I should update my blog "while [I] still have the chance." I am going to attempt to keep a little record of this week, starting with -- naturally -- Monday, which wasn't actually manic at all. Tomorrow the real fun starts!

not my proudest parenting moment

My apparently much-more-observant-than-me sister-in-law pointed out, when she visited at the beginning of the summer, that Libby seemed to be squinting an awful lot. (I'm not going to lie to you; she might not have said "awful lot." I could be putting words into her mouth there. But she might have said it. I honestly forget what's the English way to say things, and what's the US American way.) Anyway. Libby was squinting and it turns out there was a good reason way. Because, oh yeah, she's as blind as a bat and can only see six to eight feet in front of her.

Why a child would neglect to mention to her parents that the world is a blur is curious. How the parents could fail to notice that their child couldn't see is even more baffling. This might just remain one of life's unsolved little mysteries. In the meantime, Libby looks very dapper in her new full-time glasses and she is busy exclaiming about a whole new-to-her world which has just opened up.

family time

Yesterday a friend and I were talking about the expense of flying back and forth across the Atlantic to visit family.

I have sometimes considered all the places in the world we could have visited if we hadn't made as many trips back home.

I know Esther has considered the same thing with regard to flying her family over here so many times.

My friend said, "You know, I bet when you and Esther are 70, you'll look back on all your trips and not regret a thing."

I know she's right because I already have no regrets. I have always valued experiences over possessions,

and when I consider the precious memories we make each time we get together, I don't feel bad that I've never been to Australia.

Well? Can you?

Can you eat a doughnut without licking your lips? Here, my brother Seth demonstrates that it can be done, although it requires a surprising amount of self-control.

The urge to lick that granulated sugar is often overwhelming. Todd, who has just sat and looked through hundreds of England photos on my laptop with me, tells me that no such challenge exists in the US. At least it didn't in his childhood.
Doughnuts may have originated in North America (though whether they actually did is open to debate. Although...they are deep-fried and incredibly unhealthy, so you figure it out, eh?) but for my money you can't do better than a raspberry jam-filled doughnut fresh from Sainsbury's bakery counter.

slaving over a hot muffin tin

These last few days have seen me spending more time than usual in the kitchen. You deal with your stress your way, I told Todd, and I'll deal with mine this way. By which I mean: Eton Mess made with homemade meringues, Tandoori chicken with basmati rice and naan, paella with hot crusty rolls, Nigella Lawson's Rocky Road bars, chocolate chip pumpkin muffins, pear and ginger muffins, banana and butterscotch muffins, and so on and so forth. The list goes on.

This summer.
I can't possibly do justice to a recap, so why try? I may as well pick up here, right where we are. Okay, I will try, briefly. First there was over four weeks of visitors. That was great, and the third wave has yet to come. I took two summer classes (both almost all-consuming and really quite dreadful, if I'm honest). A birth (not mine -- see below). A near death (not mine either, but an accident that very nearly changed all of our lives). A graduation (mine, this time. Not that I went to the ceremony, which is possibly why it doesn't feel as if I actually have a degree from Purdue. Goodness knows I've earned it, but I'm not sure I believe I've really finished). England (for me...and for Todd, though his was for business. He's back in Germany and England -- both for the second time this year -- next week), out West to see the Grandparents for the kids. I think that just about sums up three months of activity into one hundred or so words.


Now, what's next?

this girl...

...has stolen my heart, one hundred and ten percent.

And I love her (as the Beatles said).
All the livelong day.

fact

Fact #1
Sometimes, going to uni and dealing with relentless deadlines and demands can be tough. But, this week between classes has reminded me that I would never want to go back to being a housewife.
A glimpse of the kind of things with which I will occupy my time when devoid of intellectual stimulation:

I rest my case.


Fact #2
This does not mean that I am at all looking forward to starting my Statistics class tomorrow, or my Algebra class the week after that. These two classes are my absolute nightmare -- literally; I woke up this morning in a cold sweat, having been dreaming about maths-- so, naturally, I have put them off until the eleventh hour. I start a master's degree in the fall, but I can't graduate with my bachelors until I complete these classes. Thus, failure is not an option.
Screwed.


Fact #3
Esther is in Portugal and Todd is in Germany. This means that the two people (that is, adults) I can reliably count on conversing with daily are not available to talk. Hey, that could be why I'm blogging.