Master of Disguise: The Connoisseur

Who could this handsome moustached man be?

Jackson had a speaking part in the 5th grade musical at his school last night. The program was lovely, as lovely as a large group of grossly off-key 5th graders could possibly be.

Most of the kids delivered their lines very well, if you could understand what they were saying, that is. It was challenging because, depending on the kid, lines were either screamed directly into the mics or whispered in super-shy monotone.

Jackson was, oddly enough, the one stoic actor on stage. He held a motionless game face the entire time, and delivered his lines in a voice so strong and clear that I'm pretty sure I heard hints of what his post-puberty voice will be. I was proud.

After the show he told me, without me asking, that he chose not to smile for fear of his glued-on moustache falling off. A task more difficult than I would think, he advised, because I didn't have furry moustache hairs tickling my nose. He eagerly peeled his connoisseur moustache off post haste.

That moustache proved to be lots of fun for all of us though. If it weren't for his name being listed in the program, there is no way anyone would have been able to know who he was supposed to be. (and frankly, I still don't know who the heck he was)


I thought he resembled Wyatt Earp. What with that dashingly-rugged Old West lawman thing he had going, and all.



Mark highly enjoyed calling him Snidely.



Actually, his character was John Appleton. Who, according to all my Google image searches, didn't seem to wear a moustache at all.

Beautifully Busy

It's 7:58 am. So far today, besides waking my boys, getting them ready for school, making their breakfasts, and getting them to the bus stop on time; I've done two loads of laundry, folded one of them, washed breakfast dishes, and watered a plant. I've even productively piddled around online, and plucked stray chin whiskers.

I did all of that calmly, without rushing, and without the frantic beat-the-clock glances which have haunted my mornings for so many years that it's now worth mentioning that the battery in my kitchen clock is still dead.

This sort of busyness is not foreign to any mom. It's not something that most women would probably even consider noting. Being constantly busy is just part of being a mother. It's this particular variety of busy that makes this busyness worth acknowledging for me though. It's this sort of busy that is making my heart sing today.

I still have to find a job, and I'm working on it. I'll be back in the rat race before I know it, but this momentary visit to the domesticity of stay-at-home-motherhood has been very rich for me. Wholesome, real, purposeful, and right.

The remaining hours of this day are already filled with more domestic-style chores than I've had the luxury of filling any single day with in years. And it feels amazing.

I've got to find a costume for Jackson's fifth grade musical tomorrow (he's supposed to dress up as some dude named John Appleton, not Appleseed. I've never heard of John Appleton, but thankfully Google has). When I pick up Noah from kindergarten we will head to the Salvation Army thrift store, where all clothes are 50% off on Wednesday. (19th century attire, for a 10 year old. they'll have that, right?)

I'm also finally going to hang my Ironstone platter collection in my dining room. I've lived in this house for almost a year, and yes, I still haven't hung all my pictures either. My garage is full of boxes which have yet to be unpacked for lack of time/interest/energy. It's such a great feeling to finally be caught up on my have-to's, and to now have time for my want-to's, like decorating. That hard-to-reach window behind the armoire in my living room might finally get it's curtain hung today too (which will be nice, considering it's twin window, the one that flanks the other side of my fireplace, has had it's curtain hung forever).

I'm going to finish laundry, organize Noah's disaster area bedroom, and have cookies baking by the time Mark's parents come over tonight (for the very first time).

This ambition feels totally do-able today, and I'm actually looking forward to it. Any other day, if I was still working at that hell office, I would be panicked about having visitors on a weeknight. I would be racing to get things done in a haste that afforded little time to actually engage and embrace my boys in the midst of it.

I'm going to be working again soon, and this precious luxury of time will be whittled down to frantic timed-minutes again. It doesn't seem fair, and I don't like it. That looming fate is what's making me enjoy the seeming mundanity of my days.

I love being a mom during the day. I love keeping my house clean. I love being here when my boys aren't at school. And I love that I've worked so hard and so alone so long that I recognize the beauty in these fleeting days of domesticity.

When He Could Barely Still Sit On My Lap In a Photo Booth? Priceless.

When did this happen?

Is it just my imagination, or did he grow up over night?
And, I'm supposed to be the mother of a preteen now? That can't be right.