Tinky Winky gets the last word.

And it's "Bye-bye!"

The Strife is O'er, Part I

The first of my two fundraisers is over, over, over, and I am glad, glad, glad. I had a nice crowd of people eating, drinking, and making merry to celebrate the opening of an exhibit at the Chicago Cultural Center. The food was delish, the drinks plenteous, I met the Mayor's wife, and was petted and praised by all. Yay, me.

And now, I get to do what I want to do. Which is sit around in my pajamas and play Snood Solitaire on my laptop. When I'm not blabbing on the phone with RW of Chasing Vincenzo, who, believe it or not, is even funnier in real life than he is on his blog.

The cleaners will be here soon, so I'll help them out a bit by doing my bulldozer bit, wherein I put away my crap and put everyone else's in big grocery sacks and then carry them down to what a realtor would call our "rec room," (otherwise known as "that tomb of gloom down in the basement that, many owners ago, was enlivened with a green linoleum floor and knotty pine paneling.") So that takes care of my workout, because that will be a few bags and a few trips up and down the stairs.

So really, life couldn't be better, except for the Liprosy.

Maybe you haven't heard of that.

"Liprosy" is what you get when you let your lipstick wear off and then spend five hours in the sun at an amusement park surrounded by sixth grade boys and roller coasters. Because without lipstick on, you get a sunburn on your lips. I know! How weird is that? And then you have two days to wonder whether you've become allergic to your usual lip balm, and why isn't it working, and why are your lips two different colors, and what's with all the peeling?

So anyway, I'm all better now, but yesterday I'm afraid I looked ... a little unsavory.

So the moral of the story is: wear lipstick. Even if you're a guy.

The Mamas and the Tapas

So how was everyone's Mother's Day? Did everyone clean up big time? I did.

Of course, I earned it.

The day before Mother's Day, I acted as a chaperone for a school trip. This meant that I had to get up at 5:00 in the morning on a Saturday, get my children dressed in their concert finery, take them to school to be loaded on buses, ride to Gurnee, IL, sit through several performances, be re-loaded onto the buses, sit through more performances, and finally get to the big reward! for my chaperonage! and early morning middle-school concert attendance!

Which was to herd a gang of sixth-grade boys. Which is much like herding cats. Through Six Flags Great America. Which meant that I was stuck for five hours at an amusement park that fairly bristled with the kind of roller-coasters guaranteed to reduce me to a fear-stricken, jelly-legged, sobbing heap of protoplasm. While herding cats.

Well, I made it through the event unscathed. I didn't lose any of the boys. I didn't even lose my lunch. And I found out at 6:00 that my son's orchestra had totally kicked butt, having been awarded the highest grade awarded, even though they were competing against much, much larger schools. And when I got back home at 8:15 p.m., That Stud Muffin I Married had a Manhattan and a steak dinner waiting for me.

The combination of my straight-up Manhattan with my nearly empty stomach had me informing my children tearily how very, very proud of them I was before I tottered off to bed at 10:30.

So, you see, I earned the breakfast in bed, the Felco pruners, the three luscious books, the dinner out (not at Tapas Barcelona, though, because the other Mamas were hogging all the tables,) the brilliant concert, the cutting board made by my son and the colorful card made by my daughter.

Reality check.

This morning my husband told me he'd had a dream where one day had a high of 59 degrees, the next day was 89 degrees, and the day after that it was down to 40.

I told him that wasn't a dream; it was the weather in Chicago.

"This is such an elegant evening--such fun--more with you there. Hope you can make it!"

In case you've been wondering--that's what I've been writing. Not blogs. Enclosure cards for fundraiser invitations.

Over and over and over again.

Sometimes on the massive card stock provided by the Music of the Baroque. Sometimes on the tiny card stock provided by the Chicago Branch of the English-Speaking Union. Sometimes on the envelope itself, because the idiotic printer sealed the envelopes.

And over and over and over, always customized for the recipient. Is he or she a music lover--a party lover--an English major?

*...---+++###+++---......---+++###+++---......---+++###+++---...*

And in other news, on Sunday I booked a trip for the four of us. To Paris!

Why it never occurred to me that my children, who at 10 and 12 are long out of diapers, could actually handle an overseas flight--not to mention a vacation that did not revolve around waiting in line to get Minnie Mouse's autograph--escapes me. I mean, hello? They're out of diapers! The stroller is history! You can actually have a conversation with them now! Sort of.

So anyway, when a friend mentioned that's what she's planning for the summer, ze light bulb, she went off in my tiny brain, and I thought--hey, why not?

Well, there's the expense. That's one reason. And it's a pretty good one. As it turns out if you wait this long, airlines charge lots of money for round trip tickets.

But then there is the little matter of airline miles. Of which that Stud Muffin I Married had accumulated not a few. Methodically. For years. Like since 1991. And I think--honestly--we might have cashed in, say, three domestic coach round trips in all that time. So, free flights.

So, Paris in June! Sound good? Zut, yeah. Maybe more "with you there," as there are many readers whom I think it would be great fun to travel--but fun, anyway.

How does my garden grow? Glad you asked.

Today I finally managed to have some free time, some of which I will generously spend blogging (you're welcome.)

So I went out and dug in the garden for a while. I pruned the roses that weren't actually dead, and then dug up the remains of the ones that had snuffed it. (Word to the wise: if you live in an area considered Zone 5, do not plant perennials considered cold-hardy to Zone 5 unless you actually enjoy wasting money. In which case, have fun! Also, avoid planting anything named "Carefree" anything, because that's the first thing that will cock up its toes.)

So the eleven dead rose bushes went into the yard waste bag. Later on, when I was supposed to be purchasing food for my family to eat, I filled a cart with plants, instead. And not edible ones, either, and don't go all Martha Stewart on me and assure me that yes they are, too, because I don't know about you, but flowers that look this good are probably covered in Napalm and Retsin and Soylent Green, and aren't going anywhere near my digestive tract.

I bought pansies, daffodils, and muscari (known to the less-horticulturally-pretentious as "grape hyacinths," blackbird.)

I placed these around the yard in a vain attempt to distract my neighbors' attention from my driveway (which looks like ass--big crack and all). And my roof (which is growing a fine crop of moss). And these little yellow flowers, not dandelions, but equally pesky, which are taking over the parts of the lawn not already overgrown by scylla. (Which are, if you aren't as horticulturally-pretentious as I am, those little blue flowered bulbs that should be growing in a bed, where I had them planted, but instead are popping up randomly all over the place and looking very messy indeed.)

All this is making me nostalgic for the days when I kept a few pots out on the deck, grew chives, basil, and a few roses, and basically, because I wasn't doing anything to attract pigeons or rats, keeping my neighbors reasonably happy with very little effort.

As opposed to now.

So how was your day?

I see the White Hen Pantry in the waitress role

At times volunteering is eerily like having an actual real-live paying job. Without the paycheck or the benefits. Don't believe me? This was yesterday:

9:00 Dropped children's lost homework at school
9:15 Picked up four big trays of invitations from printer
Drove to Chicago
10:00 First of three meetings
11:00 Focus group
12:00 Lunch
1:30 Drove to Chicago Cultural Center for meeting; used Wi-Fi to work on agenda for 5:30 meeting
2:00 Meeting
3:00 finished and printed spreadsheet and agenda
4:30 Headed back to set up my 5:30 meeting
5:30 Ran meeting
7:15 Finally got to drive home

At times like this I wonder why I call myself a "housewife." I didn't see my house all day. I bet it went out with a couple of other houses, had a few beers, watched the game, and flirted with the waitress.