The Blog With No Name

I am now 41. 41 is a prime number. I find that contemplating this can occupy my mind for minutes at a time.

Prime Spiral

Both trees are gone. Next, we lose the garage (but not for a few weeks I think).

Forty has been wonderful, but it’s almost over. I’m trying to figure out what to do to celebrate. One option – take my husband up on his offer to haul the kiddies off to see their grandparents (they both want to go fishing for some strange reason, my genes had nothing to do with that, I can assure you…) and spend a couple of days all by my own self. Hm. Would I spend the time cleaning the basement, or have a Chicks Night Out at my house, complete with margaritas and some agreeable movie? Hm… what to do, what to do…

(Now admit it – you read this, and you know that my husband threw me the best 40th birthday surprise party EVER, and you wonder what in the hell I did to deserve him. I don’t know either, to tell you the truth.)

I gave my car a fairly thorough cleaning earlier this afternoon, and was irrationally pleased to discover a SEEKRIT COMPARTMENT in the back. Wheeee! It now has STUFF in it.

I’ve been reading this blog lately:

The Happiness Project

I particularly like the author’s Twelve Commandments. I’m working on 10 through 12 these days. Number 2 is a good one as well.

Every little bit helps.

The transformation of our back yard, that is.

I am so proud of myself – most of the time, I don’t remember to photograph the “before” part of any project (few people now living recall what our bathroom looked like ten years ago, which is possibly a good thing…)
Over the next few months, the entire rear section of the yard will be completely transformed. The current garden and parking slab will be covered up by the new garage, and the current garage will give way to a parking slab with a basketball hoop. Alas, no slab for my brick oven. Oh well, next time I guess.

My daughter spent the past week grounded because of her silly class-clown behavior in Sunday School. This afternoon was to mark her release from captivity. So what does she do? Acts like a complete jackass at Girl Scouts – waving sharp gardening tools around in a stupid, dangerous manner, so many times that she’s eventually pulled from the group. WHAT THE HELL DOES IT TAKE, I want to know, to make someone understand that acting like a two-year-old, when you are in fact TEN  years old, isn’t going to get you anywhere that you really want to go.  And she complains, with all seriousness, that we don’t treat her like a “pre-teen,” whatever that is. I Could Scream.

I got a call today from my son’s “enrichment” teacher person; he’s tested well enough that he can be one of twelve second-graders from the entire school system (12 or 24, actually, not clear on that yet…) in a semi-self-contained “gifted” program that the district has, starting in third grade.

Whoopee!

My brother and sister-in-law are going through the same thing with my nephew, but it’s unfortunately a lot more problematic for them, as the program in their school system has almost as many detractors as fans.

• The place seems more run-down compared to when we lived there, especially the Metro. Escalators squealing, seats torn, in some places the handholds worn through to the metal bar. Our Pal Melissa confirms that the metro has almost weekly disasters, from fires to collisions to who-knows-what.
• I saw several men wearing capris. I do not expect this look to catch on in the Quads.
• We also saw full-on, hugely-bearded (men) and bonneted (women) Amish at the Air and Space Museum, a huge pack of Buddhist monks with their minders at the Capitol, and (I can’t think of any other way of saying this) the most exuberantly gay men I’ve seen in years (NOT a sight in the Quads either) at Dupont Circle. Also policy geeks, soldiers, secretaries, lawyers, maintenance guys, students, several Orthodox rabbis, homeless people, crazy people, you name it. (And they all had iPods) [ just kidding, at least about the Amish...] I don’t think you can beat Washington for people-watching, really.
• At one point, as we rode the shuttle from our hotel to the metro, another family near us was talking excitedly about seeing the White House and the Prez; Charles and I held our breaths, both fearing that our children would burst out in some heartfelt but tacky anti-Bush diatribe. Luckily (?) they didn’t.