I Will Survive

I will survive:
Breaking down on 146 right outside the gorgeous city of Worcester on Monday morning when it was 10 degrees with my four year old child
I will survive:
Arriving at my grandmothers house and realizing that not only does she have a horrific case of the stomach flu, but that she has no recollection of having it so now there is evidence of it all over the house
I will survive:
Finding out that it will cost 5 million dollars to fix my car (well really only $2100. but what's the difference really)
I will survive:
Having to take out a loan from my family for $1400. (now I really am an indentured servant)
I will survive:
Having a horrific case of the stomach flu myself, which led me to the realization that sometimes I wish I could no longer recall events in my life

That being said here's the bright side:
I can now keep down solid food.
I get to drive around in a rental with RI plates, so no matter how bad a driver I am people just expect it.
I get my cast off my broken arm on Monday

Which brings me to my new favorite band. The Cold War Kids (check out "we used to vacation" )
They are so my new White Hassle.
For those of you who don't know I used to be totally in love with the band White Hassle which turned me on the the White Stripes and now my four year old child calls her band THE WHITE PANTS. This is unrelated.
Anyway I think this band feels my pain.

Say A Prayer For Me

I know better than to diss Saints. I was brought up Catholic. Enough said, so this isn't about putting down Saints, not by any means. I've just noticed as of late that G.G. has been praying an awful lot. She's always been an avid prayer, but it's gotten a little hard core. She is 95 so it's obviously gotten her somewhere. I began to notice that she starts to pray whenever she gets in the car with me. I don't feel like she has no confidence in me and to tell you the truth I welcome the help. We are in RI after all. She also prays before she reads the newspaper, can you blame her. She prays before taking a shower, biggest household hazard. But my favorite is when she loses something. Anything. Hearing aids. Glasses. Girdle. The Butter. You've gotta get in touch with good old St. Anthony. I'm telling you this never fails. My entire family uses this favorite Saint of all things lost. You just say something like "God dammit, St. Anthony can you help me find my freakin keys." And the next thing you know your looking behind the toilet there they are. I'm telling you it's a MIRACLE.
Since St. Anthony has brought us so much success I decided to find out about some other Patron Saints. Now I wish I had known that St. Martha (?) is the patron Saint of waitresses. Where was she when I dropped that glass of red wine on the bride? Then there is St. Fiarce, the patron of venereal diseases. I mean what did that guy do to get that job. There is also a Patron Saint for brewers, schoolchildren (I don't know about homeschoolers), and grave diggers.
Now if only St. Anthony can help me find my mind?

Out To Lunch

Lydia and I took G.G. out to lunch at Newport Creamary (Awful -Awful is so Wonderful - Wonderful) , for her 95th B-Day. Everything went great, Lydia and G.G. both had sugar highs and we had a nice time in public with few disruptions. G.G. was obsessed with a man sitting at an adjacent table who unfortunately had a huge strawberry nose.

"Look at that man's nose. Turn around. Just look, it's huge. There must be something wrong with him," says G.G in a booming voice that only someone who is 90% deaf would use.

"Grandma, he can hear you."

"There is a man sitting over there, and well...I think there is something wrong with his nose."

"Grandma, he can still hear you. Please stop."

Three minutes go by.

"I just noticed, there is a man over there with a huge nose. What do you think is wrong with him?"

Then as we were walking out one of my favorite G.G.isms happens: she yells out "Look at that OLD lady, don't I know her? She's two feet away from this persons table.

First of all the woman looks like she's not a day older than 68 (she could even be 45 and a heavy drinker it's hard to tell), that's a good 25 years younger than G.G. Second of all we don't know her and at this point she's offended. Then Lydia adds, "which OLD lady, this whole place is filled with old ladies."

Just another lunch with the girls.

One Week Down Another Begins

For those of you who don't know, I have been spending half my week in RI for the past few months helping out my maternal Grandmother. I leave Southern Vermont at around 6:00 AM on Monday and come back to Vermont Thursday afternoon. I bring Lydia with me. The drive takes about 3 hours.

My Grandmother (G.G. Mamma) just turned 95 this week. Most people will say "she looks great for 95". Which is a very nice thing to say and I do agree with them. But honestly, anyone walking at 95 is looking great. But G.G. has a great sense of style which really accentuates her timelessness. She wears cute flared slacks with fitted geometric patterned tops. She also wears a wide assortment of costume jewelry and berets with pom poms on them. This might not sound incredibly fashion forward, but on a 95 year old it looks darn smart.

My grandmother has maintained her fashion sense, but is having a tough time remembering things like what day it is and that she just scarfed down a quart of ice cream. Well, I guess she's got her priorities straight.

To shag or not to shag?

First off get your minds out of the gutter. The shag that I am contemplating could be much more regretful than even the worst last call, stumbling out of the bar, I have no clue what your name is, please don't call me, SHAG. It's the hairstyle. Worst case scenario think Mrs. Brady. Best case scenario , well I can't really think of one but these two photos don't seem too bad. I do desperately need a hair cut. The last time I had it cut I insisted on all one length. My hair is now way too long and bushy and unmanageable for someone even with two functioning arms. I'm starting to feel like birds may be nesting in there. Think Cousin It. Wish me luck this could be my first big regret of 2008.

Cabin Fever Has Set In

I'm definitely starting to feel the effects of cabin fever. This is really only our second full winter in Vermont, and last year was pretty mild I guess. I don't know if it's the broken arm or what but I feel little if any desire to venture out. And Lydia is more than happy to spend her days lounging around. While she relishes in the idea of not having any schedule I'm starting to miss having to change out of my PJs. The girl manages to come up with an average of twenty costume changes a day, while I would prefer nothing better than to sit under a blanket reading. A few signs that the fever is in full force: The cat, roxy, who usually will do anything for attention has lost all interest in me. I've found a reason to bake every day (this would be fine if I wasn't only baking peanut butter cookies). I have organized above the fridge and the medicine cabinet but cannot manage to make the bed. I decided to cut Lydia's hair, which would be fine except for the fact that I know that I am horrible at cutting hair.

I almost let Lydia cut my hair for a little excitement, the fever hasn't spiked that high yet.

Thank God for my friend Allison who does her best to drag me out.

yes I'm broken

I broke my left arm a week ago. The same day that I decided to start this blog. Coincidence? I'm not so sure.

I broke it sledding (which is listed as one of my favorite things to do). Not a coincidence.

The purple cast was my decision. I think it reflects my passionate side, (like Purple Passion circa 1989 two liter bottles). If you can remember this refreshing beverage you obviously didn't drink enough of it.

I had a choice of several colors.

Cobalt Blue: was my second choice, if I break anything else I'll go with this.

Hot Pink: The most glamorous person in our house would have loved this (my 4 year old daughter, Lydia). I almost got it in honor of her but as the receptionist at the orthopedist stated snottily "it would have clashed with your hair". Yeah my dye job is not looking that great. But for this to be pointed out by a middle aged woman with a frosted shag, wearing a snowman pin would have hurt less if it wasn't for the fact that I was in a fragile state, HAVING JUST BROKEN MY ARM!

Tie Dyed: Way too much of a fashion statement. In this town it would not be ironic.

Camouflage: Also wouldn't be ironic in this town. Could be a potential conversation starter with an actual hunter or someone else requiring camo. You don't want to mess with those people.

Neon Orange: See above.

Yellow, Brown, Black, all nice colors but not enough favor.

So you can see why I picked purple. It shows that I'm fashion conscious but not at all obsessed with myself.

Note: I know you don't believe me but those are not my drawings on the cast.