Skip to main content

Blew It

Man,

Just one night in and I already blew it. We had a few people over tonight for my birthday, and I got the loveliest gifts: a gorgeous necklace, fabulous book (Daring Book for Girls), some lovely creams called (get ready: Grace) and a set of butterfly notecards. If there were ever some messages of kindness those were them.

And I was a stress ball all night.

We leave tomorrow morning at 7 am for a 5 hour car/plane/car trip for The Prince's grandmother's funeral. And return the next day.

I got edits at 5:30 pm tonight.

And I got angry at The Prince for coming home after people arrived. After I packed up The Rabbit and myself.

And I feel guilty -- all I was hoping for was a few people over for cake. I always feel strange about gifts. And then I always worry I am not appreciative enough.

I squeezed in one act of kindness: I volunteered to send an e-mail out for The Rabbit's class for the teacher as she wasn't feeling well. Someone else got the e-mail out before I did -- and the credit for the idea. But there you go. Does it count even if I feel pissed that I did the work and someone else got the cred? Probably not. But hey I'm trying.

So I'm about to pack snacks for our 14 hour trip tomorrow and Sunday. And then eat another 6000 calorie slice of cake. Because at least that's an act of kindness to me.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

What Price Romance?

Let's talk romance for a moment. Manhattan Mama clearly feels deprived in this department and this is one of the most bewildering aspects of life with her. My latest attempt to remedy this is to make a reservation at A Voce--some interpretation of Tuscan cuisine--that the NYT recently gave three very optimistic stars. I've been a few times on my employers expense, so I know it's nice but I also know what it's going to cost. I'm thinking lucky if we get out of there for less than $150. Tack on another $50 for the babysitter. Then drinks, cabs, etc. Better not to do the math. It's not that MM wouldn't be perfectly happy with a kabab or a trip to the hipster taqueria, maybe some flowers from the corner stand. None of that would register in her mind as this mythic thing know as a DATE, and thus would win me no more points on her end than remembering to take down the recycling. Making a DATE means you're thinking of her, which means you're engaged with h...