Our little philosopher

There's a little song all Jewish kids sing in their nurseries.  It goes like this:

Hashem (God) is here,
Hashem is there,
Hashem is truly everywhere.

Up, up,
Down, down,
Right, Left and all around.
Here, there and everywhere,
That's where he can be found.

I am always really excited when they teach them this song because it is so adorable when the little tykes point their pudgy fingers in the "up, up" motion.

Only our baby has her own version.  She dumped the fist verse and walks around singing "up, up, down, down, I can't find him anywhere..."  And looks really lost and disappointed.  Which probably describes the feelings of so many adults...

Tea anyone?

I am having another busy week at work and coming home late and exhausted.

One night this week I came home, plopped myself on the couch and started to slowly take off my boots.  And then I heard SubHub from the kitchen asking me to make him some tea.  For the past few months the man really got into tea, and guess who was making it for him?

The only thing I wanted at the moment was to take off my boots, stretch my feet and decompress for five minutes before tackling homework with kids.  So I told SubHub, "Look, you are right there next to the stove, why don't you do it?"  SubHub replied that I didn't understand and could I make him tea?  I tried to suppress frustration and said, "Fine, put the kettle on the stove, that's all I ask, and in five minutes when the thing whistles, I'll make you tea."  SubHub insisted that I didn't understand him and yes, could I make him tea.  Part of me was - shall we say not happy with him, another part tried to understand why it was so important that it was I who had to make him damned tea and what childhood trauma led to this sad state of affairs, and yet another part thinking that maybe I forgot that "making tea" was a code for something else.  It was not.

 I wasn't trying to hide my annoyance any more and said, "I am really tired, but fine, I will make you your tea." To which SubHub looked funny at me, half smiled and said, "You really didn't hear me at all, all those times."  I looked at him not quite understanding.

"All this time I was offering to make YOU a cup of tea because you looked so tired."

We laughed, then we laughed some more, we finally drank tea - don't remember who ended up making it, but I keep wondering some days later, how many times do I hear what I expect instead of what is said, let alone meant? Scary stuff.

If it walks like a duck...

Ahh, kids.

(Overheard DD and DS talking)
DD: ... and she turned into a  swan.
DS:  What's a swan?
DD:  It's a big duck.

The week in numbers

This is the recap of my week in numbers.  After all, I am an accountant, right?

# of dental appointments: 1.  Same goes for the # of very expensive and totally avoidable dental appointments.  If only one could purchase extra brain in the same way one could purchase another tooth bonding, so that one could avoid that another tooth bonding.

# of peanuts in one (old) Weight Watchers point: 13.  How do I know?  Yes, I am baaack.

(courtesy: collegelifestyles.org)

# of times lost my work ID: 2.

# of times found my lost work ID: 1.  This is just embarrassing because I have to ask my boss to sign off on getting a new one.  Again.

# of audits going on at work: 1, but trust me more than plenty.  In addition to beginning of the year/tax/closing of affiliates stuff.

# of nights staying late at work: 4 (Yay for being shabbat-observant.) Same goes for number of nights had to forgo checking and doing kids' homework.  Can't wait for teachers' phone calls, at least from those who care.

# of healthy home made suppers served to kids despite coming home late: 6, including home made pizza and home made bread.

(courtesy of time.com)

# of time burned myself making those suppers:  every effing time.  No kidding.

# of suppers the kids said they truly enjoyed: 1, when husband baked fish sticks.  Not homemade and/or healthy.  Just to clarify.

(courtesy of blog.ajc.com)

# of laundry baskets with clean clothes still unsorted: 4 (we are actually branching out to garbage bags.  On the other hand, fishing out needed items is just the right kind of entertainment we all need in the morning rush hour.)

# of fights with SubHub: 3, I think.

# of times broke down crying in front of own house: 1 (2 - is the number of neighbors who witnessed this. )

# of times I asked myself why I made a resolution to be furiously happy and not angrily miserable or perpetually overwhelmed because everyone knows that resolutions are made to not be kept:  every waking minute and some sleeping minutes too.

But when I thought about my resolution, I decided to look for positive things in my life.  Health!  Vision! I still had my vision.  Near-sighted, but still, vision.  Smell, I still had the sense of smell!  Umm, no, not with that lingering cold, I didn't.  Taste.  Yeah, my extra pounds could attest to my healthy sense of taste.  Extra pounds that could lead to diabetes, heart disease and premature death.  And cancer, how could I forget cancer? Who was I kidding?  I am Jewish, and as such cannot talk about health in a positive light.  We practically invented  hypochondria and passed it down from generation to generation from Mount Sinai together with our tradition.  Come to think of it, we might have been more successful in passing down hypochondria.

Relationships!  I must concentrate on relationships!  Except for the one with husband because he totally deserved what he got and if he didn't, will deserve it very shortly.

Decided to take a break from this post, call my folks and complain about hard week at work, not complain about hard week at home and hint at kids' ingratitude.  Only to find Mom sounding very weak and Dad breaking the news that Mom's really bad to begin with cancer was getting worse.

# of times I wish it weren't true - infinity.

P.S. The post was written before I found out how bad things were getting.  Except for the last paragraph.  Part of me wondered whether I should post it.  Or whether I should post the last paragraph.  Maybe, in light of the news, I should alter something, change things around. And then I thought that it's things like this, dwelling on minutiae of life, that are partially making me miserable at times.  So I decided not to overthink and publish things as they were.  After all, it is my life and that's how it goes: one minute you are writing a, hopefully, funny post about every day annoyances and next minute you get really bad news.)

Love,

SubWife

English is a strange language

English is a strange language.  This occurred to me a few nights ago when I was spelling out numbers to DD.  Well, it also occurred to me when I was learning it, actually it occurred to me more than once, but eventually I made peace with it.  And now that DD is learning spelling, it is re-occurring to me once again on a regular basis.  So here's my discovery:

Don't you find it strange that the word "one" does not have a "W", but the word "two" does?  Am I the only one (without a "w") who thinks that?

Democracy is not welcome at SubCasa, but pizza is.

Today I have been outvoted 3:1 on what we were going to eat for supper.  We were on the way back from a long-awaited trip to see my friend's cats.  The whole trip was a stroke of genius that occurred to me while explaining DS the difference between C and G.  I told him about my friend's cat  - Cat George.  C and G.  Once DS learned to differentiate between C and G, he would be rewarded with a trip to visit Cat George.  We scheduled a trip a bit prematurely as DS still couldn't recognize either letter and mixed them up.  Oh well.  Education is overrated.  Cats, on the other hand, are cool.  I mean, Cat George doesn't know that his name starts with a G and how that letter differs from C, and he's doing just fine.  So we are on the right track of doing "just fine" with DS.  

But back to the voting business.  On the way home from this trip we are talking about supper when I heard DD saying something about me making pizza.  Before I knew it, the little monsters were taking a vote.  Even the one who still needs my help putting her on on a toilet and wiping her tush, was raising her hand and said, "Pizza! Pizza!"

So there I was, in the chilly winter wind, tired and outvoted, and, let me be absolutely clear, in no mood to make pizza.  I looked at all three of them menacingly and asked to recount the votes.  Again 3:1.  Yep, I might be a screaming banshee from time to time, but I am not menace.  No one's afraid of my evil eye.  I didn't want to use "Because I said so" card just yet, so I asked, again the stroke of genius, "Out of the people present here, how many of you can make pizza?"  DD raised her hand.  So did the baby, but we disqualified her vote because we are ageists.  "From scratch?!" I insist.  Only one hand went up.  Mine.  "Out of the people who can make pizza, how many wish to make it tonight?"   No hands went up, even the baby felt beaten.

"Chicken soup it is!"  I looked at their little disappointed faces and acquiesced, "All right, with croutons."  Even us, despots, have hearts.  But we also have memories, and I distinctly remember who voted against me. (Please insert the look of menace as I am clearly unable to produce one.  Thank you.)

(Source:  Rutgers.edu)