These are the new kittens of my friend Yelena in Houston.
When you write a blog you hope maybe in some small way if only occasionally some small good might come of the words on the screen. I fear that I have been a bad influence on Yelena. Notice the blue blanket on her hitherto unblemished leather sofa. In March, when I said, "You ought to get a couple kittens," I didn't really think she would. She tells me the kittens have brought so much joy she isn't worried about her curtains and sofa and carpet. Yelena, I'm so happy for you! Thank you for sharing the pictures. Those kitties are adorable and I hope they mind their manners for you!
The best part of the weekend was getting the news that both Calvin and Mary were selected from kids around the country, on all different instruments, to play on the honors recital out at the Colorado Suzuki Institute in June. Good job kidos! Next step? Find a doctor who will give me a valium prescription. Just kidding. I'm getting much better. Just between you and me, when Calvin played on this recital when he was five, it stressed me out. I mean, just a little. Understatement. I swear I never lost it. . . even when he started skipping the B section on Happy Farmer two days before the recital. Even when day of the recital his masterclass teacher at the camp suggested a different tempo for the little piece. Even when he was more interested in the backstage lighting of the theatre and the brand-name of the practice room pianos than actually playing through the piece during dress rehearsal. But--the little twerp got up there on that big beautiful Vilar Center stage, did his little bow and rest position and hunkered down on that Steinway and nailed it. Schumann rolled over in his grave and I narrowly averted throwing up over the balcony unto the velvet seats below. All's well that ends well.
That's why I had both kids audition this time. No sense setting limitations on my stress level. I think I'll plan some bathroom remodel project for the week before and see just how far we can take it.
That's my Minnesota way of saying I'm proud of my children.
The worst part of the weekend was Mary running to get her "da-da" that is her security blanket and her giant stuffed bunny and crying out in designated meeting spot because the kitchen was on fire. Smoke billowing out the dishwasher and under the sink. The school has done an excellent job with fire safety education. She wouldn't come back inside for an hour. I hate it when this happens--the smoke/fire thing. See blog entry from January 2011 and you will know that this dishwasher doesn't owe us a dime. Bill has fixed it more times than I can count. He looked up the price for a new motor and racks and handle but I have to say once an appliance has been on fire I'm just not that committed to it anymore. I had the fire extinguisher in my hand ready to go, but cutting the power seemed to do the trick until Bill got home. He used my panicky phone call as an excuse to drive his car home really fast. Turns out a melting motor just makes a lot of smoke . . .
You may wonder how this could lead to me buying a new dishwasher, oven and fridge today at the appliance store. It just did. You may think less of me, but I just really love my kitchen and I can't stand the thought of mismatched random appliances. Money can't buy love and it can't buy happiness but it can get a package sale price on three lovely new matching kitchen appliances. Appliances that I use all day everyday. Perhaps that is some form of happiness.
That is my Minnesota way of saying that I feel guilty about the new purchases, but I really love them.
Our old appliances are 11 years old. The fridge and the oven have some issues, but the truth is I was just ready to move on. Friends are taking them. The dishwasher will rest in peace. It ran about 4017 times. Calvin wants to save the handle for sentimental reasons. I can't imagine where he gets that. . .
"That's the Dish W, it's not for CALVIN, not for me! That soap is NOT for Calvin, it's a no no. Not a toy." I can hear the little toddler voice like yesterday. Rest in peace little Jenn Air, you washed sippy cups and little trays that held grapes and cheese and cinnamon bread. Those little dents are from the little ride-upon firetruck crashing into you more times than I could count--with the siren wailing.
Bill?
Bill?
Is it too late to order the motor?
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