musings.

i didn't blog last week because i didn't have anything to say.  i know, you're thinking "impossible!" .  the last few weeks have been, well, a bit boring.  scott's worked crazy hours with a conference at the church and i've decided that life is pretty dull without him around.  i start feeling like all i do is sweep the floor and make dinner and knit. 
in reality i've spent lots of time with friends and have painted something beautiful (not finished yet so hold your horses) and have enjoyed my children and welcomed, as optimistically as possible, the cold.  we're filling the house with pumpkins, both real and crafted, and the mittens and toques are up from the basement.  i feel like i'm constantly craving soup or tea or chocolate (the last two never change, they're seasonless).  and i want to paint some walls - does anyone else feel that overwhelming desire once the cold hits?  i'm looking at these beige walls and thinking "this far and no further!". 

scott and i have been watching the new bbc series "upstairs, downstairs" - a  continuation of an old series that ended in the 70's.  it's about the house of a diplomat in England in the 30's - the nazis are coming, the king has just abdicated his throne to his younger brother to run off with a divorcee, and all of the social structures that have existed for generations are about to crumble.  but what i really love to watch are the walls.  teal, robin's egg blue, even ultramarine.  with molding and wainscotting and beautifully patterned wallpaper.  i look at my beige and sigh. 
my favourite part is when my husband and i will be snuggled up on the couch, watching this drama, and he'll exclaim "look at the walls"!  yes, i married the right man.  but will he pick up the paintbrush?  i'll keep you posted.

my son, in kindergarten, was recently sent to the principal's office for having a food fight in the lunch room.  here's the story.
i arrived to pick up my pride and joy and was greeted by his teacher who had that look on her face.  eyes sympathetic, eyebrows angled back, lips horizontally stretched, teeth exposed, and a slight inhale through them so that you hear that hissing sound.  "it's been a rough afternoon".  my heart drops.  i look at my son, who is giving my his best look of innocence.  i swear he's been perfecting the gaze of a hound dog. he starts explaining.
"noah wanted me to eat his blueberries"
                                   "okay"
"he kept trying to give them to me"
                                   "alright"
   the teacher steps in "where did the blueberries end up?"
"on the floor"
                                    "i see"
    teacher:  "and then where did your ketchup go?"
"on noah"
                                   "oh, dear"
"and then he used me as a human napkin"
                                   "oh, my"
    teacher:  "and then where did you go?"
"i don't remember"
    teacher:  "the principal's office?"
"oh,
       yes. 
                the principal's office."
(the teacher looks at me with gravity)
                    "and were you scared when you had to go there?"
"no.  she's nice.  i like her hair.  it's brown!"

well.  obviously he's learned his lesson.
scott has been assuring me that he practically lived at the principal's office, but somehow, i'm not assured. 

it sucks when you know that your child could be the most amazing person on earth, but they're keeping it a secret. 
and least he gives me stories for blog entries.  i suppose i should count my blessings.

well i'm off to enjoy sabbath with  my man.  may your walls have colour and your children's shirts by ketchup-free.