The nicest thing happened to me today. While spending time in Upstate New York in a little bungalow, I got invited out for dinner with my kids to my sister in laws summer home a short ride away. I know its not the grandest thing to ever happen, however it is for me as I am always the hostess and never the guest.
Most weekends, I host at least ten dinner guests Friday night. Very often I have family sleep over at my home for the weekend, making it a constant slew of meals, clean ups, snacks and more straightening up. At any time people come knocking on my door and are met with a bite to eat and a friendly ear.
Today however, we were met with a delicous dinner, friends for the children, a visit to the little farm where the children played with chickens, bunnies and a friendly goat. To top it all off, my sister in law gave me a little gift. The whole evening is such an anomaly that it is causing me to write this blog.
A few weeks ago we were in South Africa where we stayed in someone's cottage for just about two weeks. The loveliest food basket was placed in our room, along with body creams, fresh fluffy towels and comfy beds. The hostess was the sweetest and most gracious woman. After week one, the oddest thing happened, she had a complete turn around and became much less inviting to say the least. I would have left had I had the choice, but my circumstances did not allow me to. I learned a lot from that stay on either end of the spectrum.
Although I do enjoy hosting, I like to experience being the guest for it provides me insight of what or what not to do when entertaining or hosting. Thank you to everyone that has ever hosted me for teaching me what to do when being the hostess. And should you ever need a place to stay or a warm meal do not hesitate to call.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Friday, August 12, 2011
Saying Goodbye
For the past few weeks, my daughters have been going to a local day camp. They meet the bus daily at a popular park and ride off the highway where many other day camps pick up their campers.
The most amazing thing I find is watching the various mothers put their children on the bus and say goodbye.
There is one lady who works out at the same gym as me. She is perfectly fit, in the tightest black short shorts and black tank you have ever seen. She pulls up in her shiny navy blue mini van. As soon as the bus pulls up, she hops out, shuffles her two boys out of her car and into the bus without so much as a wave goodbye and a backwards glance with a have a great day. She probably doesn't want to be late to her tennis lesson, followed by personal training.
The same bus doesn't pull away so quickly as there is another mom and her daughter saying goodbye for an eternity. This mom is thin, but not fit, her hair pulled back in a long ponytail, with a black stretchy headband pulling her bangs back. After her extended goodbye to her child, she tells the bus to wait, she forgot something. She scampers over to her car and gets the forgotten item and brings it back to the bus. Then stands there and watches the bus pull away. I am amazed at how every single day there can be a forgotten item, perhaps it is staged, I sense major separation issues in the future.
As this bus leaves another one comes, out of this one a cute teenagers hops out and directs the children onto the bus. After the children get on and the bus seems full it waits. About five minutes later a old red Pontiac four door sedan pulls up. A mom with frizzy 80 styled hair in baggy turquoise pants and mismatched shirt slowly gets out, gets her two kids from the back of her car and leisurely saunters over to the bus. All I am thinking, is that how can she be late every single day? How come she doesn't pull right up to the bus? She moves as if she doesn't have a care a in the world, she watches the bus pull away and then quickly pulls out of the lot.
I am enamored by the scene that unfolds each day. So much so that I look forward to drop off time. I can probably go on and on describing each mom down to their footwear, however our bus pulls up.
It is definitely a school bus, obviously an old, un-air-conditioned school bus, yet something is off because it is the not the traditional yellow of a bus but instead it is painted daffodil yellow, an odd bright yellow that reminds me of bananas before they are ripe. It stops, I get out, I am somewhat fit, my hair is somewhat brushed, my outfit somewhat put together. My kids wait for me at the door of the car, I give them big hugs and kisses, walk them to the bus, wait for them to get on, as they get on I wish them a great day and then make sure they have a seat. I walk back to my car and wave as the bus pulls away.
I wonder if anyone even pays attention to us. I am hoping if they do they see a loving mother, who looks somewhat put together, with her well-adjusted children, who wants to make sure her kids are okay and happy before heading off for the rest of the day.
The most amazing thing I find is watching the various mothers put their children on the bus and say goodbye.
There is one lady who works out at the same gym as me. She is perfectly fit, in the tightest black short shorts and black tank you have ever seen. She pulls up in her shiny navy blue mini van. As soon as the bus pulls up, she hops out, shuffles her two boys out of her car and into the bus without so much as a wave goodbye and a backwards glance with a have a great day. She probably doesn't want to be late to her tennis lesson, followed by personal training.
The same bus doesn't pull away so quickly as there is another mom and her daughter saying goodbye for an eternity. This mom is thin, but not fit, her hair pulled back in a long ponytail, with a black stretchy headband pulling her bangs back. After her extended goodbye to her child, she tells the bus to wait, she forgot something. She scampers over to her car and gets the forgotten item and brings it back to the bus. Then stands there and watches the bus pull away. I am amazed at how every single day there can be a forgotten item, perhaps it is staged, I sense major separation issues in the future.
As this bus leaves another one comes, out of this one a cute teenagers hops out and directs the children onto the bus. After the children get on and the bus seems full it waits. About five minutes later a old red Pontiac four door sedan pulls up. A mom with frizzy 80 styled hair in baggy turquoise pants and mismatched shirt slowly gets out, gets her two kids from the back of her car and leisurely saunters over to the bus. All I am thinking, is that how can she be late every single day? How come she doesn't pull right up to the bus? She moves as if she doesn't have a care a in the world, she watches the bus pull away and then quickly pulls out of the lot.
I am enamored by the scene that unfolds each day. So much so that I look forward to drop off time. I can probably go on and on describing each mom down to their footwear, however our bus pulls up.
It is definitely a school bus, obviously an old, un-air-conditioned school bus, yet something is off because it is the not the traditional yellow of a bus but instead it is painted daffodil yellow, an odd bright yellow that reminds me of bananas before they are ripe. It stops, I get out, I am somewhat fit, my hair is somewhat brushed, my outfit somewhat put together. My kids wait for me at the door of the car, I give them big hugs and kisses, walk them to the bus, wait for them to get on, as they get on I wish them a great day and then make sure they have a seat. I walk back to my car and wave as the bus pulls away.
I wonder if anyone even pays attention to us. I am hoping if they do they see a loving mother, who looks somewhat put together, with her well-adjusted children, who wants to make sure her kids are okay and happy before heading off for the rest of the day.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Do You Have Heat?
Connecticut was experiencing single digit night time temperatures and expecting 13 degrees the next morning. As I am dosing off to sleep, my phone rings. "Do you have heeeaaaat?" my mother asks in her almost I told you so, sort of caring, but also warning voice. Of course I have heat I tell her, my mind suddenly filled with thousands of doubts. Did we pay the oil bill? When did they deliver last? Did I make sure that the thermostat was set to be extra hot in the morning? I thought they called the other day, was it because something was wrong with my account? Did I call them back? Who remembers....
I then asked her if she had heat and she assured me that she did. The following morning my five year old daughter was shivering at breakfast. Convincing myself she was just a drama queen I told her to get herself an extra sweater which she did. I then proceeded to up the heat some more to get the kitchen nice and warm for the remainder of breakfast. After a few minutes, I still felt cold so I ran to check the thermostat. 62 degrees it read. I was about to faint. I had set it to 72, why was it at 62? I shook my husband out of his deep sleep accusing him of not paying the bill when he just mumbled to me that he was cold, go away, and of course he paid the bill and he had no idea what I was talking about.
I sent the children off to school in many layers and then ran outside to check my oil tank indicator. Sure enough, it had cracked from the cold and all that remained was an orange floaty device. Great. I called my fuel company. The assured me that my tank should technically have at least a half a tank of oil, they would send someone out immediately. I reset my oil burner, but it shut right off.
The delivery man came, we had plenty of oil. The repair man showed up, the house was nice and warm. The oil burner started working again after I decided to reset it just one more time. However, we of course overdo for an oil burner cleaning and that is what caused it to shut off. This would only happen on the COLDEST day of the year so far. Otherwise what fun would it be?
My real question here is, what is with mothers? Are they supposed to make you doubt yourself and question the very basics of what we take for granted? I am sure my mom only had the best interests at heart when she called to check if I had heat. But what possessed her to think that I wouldn't have heat? Why would she call me like that and put all those doubts in my mind? I wonder if my thousands of doubts somehow called on the universe to make my oil burner turn off so that I would have this story to blog about and make my mother "right." But "mom is always right" will be in a post for another time.
I then asked her if she had heat and she assured me that she did. The following morning my five year old daughter was shivering at breakfast. Convincing myself she was just a drama queen I told her to get herself an extra sweater which she did. I then proceeded to up the heat some more to get the kitchen nice and warm for the remainder of breakfast. After a few minutes, I still felt cold so I ran to check the thermostat. 62 degrees it read. I was about to faint. I had set it to 72, why was it at 62? I shook my husband out of his deep sleep accusing him of not paying the bill when he just mumbled to me that he was cold, go away, and of course he paid the bill and he had no idea what I was talking about.
I sent the children off to school in many layers and then ran outside to check my oil tank indicator. Sure enough, it had cracked from the cold and all that remained was an orange floaty device. Great. I called my fuel company. The assured me that my tank should technically have at least a half a tank of oil, they would send someone out immediately. I reset my oil burner, but it shut right off.
The delivery man came, we had plenty of oil. The repair man showed up, the house was nice and warm. The oil burner started working again after I decided to reset it just one more time. However, we of course overdo for an oil burner cleaning and that is what caused it to shut off. This would only happen on the COLDEST day of the year so far. Otherwise what fun would it be?
My real question here is, what is with mothers? Are they supposed to make you doubt yourself and question the very basics of what we take for granted? I am sure my mom only had the best interests at heart when she called to check if I had heat. But what possessed her to think that I wouldn't have heat? Why would she call me like that and put all those doubts in my mind? I wonder if my thousands of doubts somehow called on the universe to make my oil burner turn off so that I would have this story to blog about and make my mother "right." But "mom is always right" will be in a post for another time.
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