AmazonMidwife

So, what's going on?

"Fucking hell, where have you been?" you might be saying. And if you're saying it with a British accent you might be Eddie Izzard, or one of his devotees. I am quite the devotée (yes, with an accent aigu now that I've lifted Alissa's idea of copy-n-paste-ing it and have been ever since Mama Dee introduced me to the Dress To Kill soundtrack a few years ago. Ever since I started teaching the history classes I've been waiting for us to get to the period of the British Raj so I could show them the following:

And that will probably happen next week. But I digress, ( á l'Izzard). I've been waiting on some pictures (as well as time) to post this entry. Here's what happened:

So, about a month ago the 'Savant told me that M. Izzard was coming to town. The tickets had already been on sale for a month and there were no good seats left without paying scalper prices, which seemed a bit much, esp. after we had just went to see Billy Joel. So, Mama Dee and I decided, with heavy sighs, to forego the concert. (It was also an office night, and I had appts. as well.)

But, as the concert grew closer, I kept muttering (and sometime even whining), "I wanna go see Eddie Izzard." Finally, on the day of the concert, the 'Savant manifested a single ticket and told me to go, that he wasn't all that interested and was fine with staying home with the kids. (note to self: repeated whining works) I bowed to the will of fate, canceled my appts. and went to my closet to find something spectacular, yet comfortable, to wear. What does one wear to see a (gorgeous) transvestite comedian perform?

I was less than 6 feet from Eddie Izzard for 20 minutes while he did a Q & A at the Palace stagedoor after the show tonight, (which was brilliant BTW.) He's gorgeous and quite nice--better than cake. Can you name the show that featured that bit?

In other news, soccer is over!!! and next Sunday is the end of both the Our Whole Lives class and the regular religious ( 3rd grade) education I help teach at church. I might have a bit more time to blog, if I can get the kids caught up on all the schoolwork they've not had the time to do during the spring season.

Finally, here's the link to the radio interview on waterbirth that I helped do last week. They did leave out my enormous gaffe about water purity in India in the broadcasted version, but mentioned it in the printed edition. Next time, when asked whether water is clean enough for birthing, I'll just say (after coaching from Lindsay), "We drink it and that seems to work out okay."

...because I do so much housecleaning I know these things (or even this thing.)

HOW TO GET BEAUTIFULLY PRESSED TABLECLOTHS WITH NO IRONING!

1. Wash tablecloth (but not as the label suggests, on gentle cycle, 'cause that never gets out the catsup spilled by the children.)

2. Hang wet tablecloth over clothesline strung in the basement for cold/wet weather. The weight of the cloth will pull out any wrinkles.

3. (this is the important one.) Leave now-dried tablecloth hanging in basement for the next week or so, walking through it to hang up other clothes forbidden the dryer. (hey, I hate it when my cottons shrink.) Rant repeatedly at children for trying to use the CLEAN tablecloth as a tent. "Can you even fathom all the work I do?" martyr line can be used with...no effect at all, because the kids have already tumbled to the fact that mom has lost it.

4. Whisk tablecloth from the line up the stairs and onto the table without crushing/wrinkling it minutes before guests are due to arrive and...Voila! ( I sooo need a keyboard with French accent marks) No pesky fold lines or those superstition-provoking death omen diamonds!

The camel is wearing a back brace chez amazonmidwife. It's the addition of soccer and O.W.L. to the mix. They seem quite straw-like; teaching the O.W.L. class is only a 1 1/2 hour commitment every Sunday and soccer consists of 2 hour long games on Saturday (that, when the stars are right, can happen at the same time) and an 1 1/2 hour practice on Thursday evenings. The issue is that I have to get up @ 7:30 AM on Sunday to get ready and awake, which precludes (or should) staying up late and watching movies with the 'Savant (our version of date night). And by the time I get us all home from practice, I'm too tired to clean OR prep for the boys' history class on Friday. So, I get up earlier Friday to get that done.

Consequently, since I consider all time before 9:00AM to be 0-dark-thirty and all time after 10:00PM to be my time, I am underslept and less-than-grounded. And my house is messier than the norm, which subliminally irritates me. So I am quite the lump of grump and surliness.

But there is light at the end of the tunnel. Both soccer and the O.W.L. class end in 3 weeks, so things should be back to normal mid-May. 'Til then, throw chocolate at me and then run away.

    As the savant and I were settling down for the night, we had a conversation that went something like this:

SAVANT: Is that a faucet dripping or a clock ticking?

ME: (whilst reading): It's a clock.

(Gets a bright idea to help grumbling savant get back to sleep after being paged.)

ME:(in my most soothing voice) With each tick of the clock, you feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper into a relaxing, restful, slee--

SAVANT: (interrupts) --where I KILL, KILL, KILL!

ME: (laughing) You are no help at all.

(Bravely trying to continue with the relaxation suggestions.)

ME: From which you will awaken---

SAVANT: (Interrupting again) --and KILL, KILL, KILL!

ME: (laughing like a hyena, but soldiering through loudly) FROM WHICH YOU WILL AWAKEN COMPLETELY REFRESHED!

SAVANT: (waits a beat) And the code word is "Pony."

And, like Johnny Depp in Chocolat, I was undone.

(Typing this some 18 hours later and still being overcome by giggles.)

*****

Caught the boy actually hands-on fighting with another young member of his homeschool history class this afternoon. What were they fighting about? The boy had told the other lad that he (the lad) could not see light particles. The lad had issue with this since he thought that seeing dust motes in a light ray counted AND he thought our boy was trying to boss him around. Our boy's reasoning did not include the idea of rays and dust motes, but rather the speed of light. All I can say is, it's probably a good thing that we haven't yet discussed the particle vs. wave theories about light yet.

And if you're not up on the ages of my offspring, the boy is 6. His friend, the lad, is 5. What are they going to be fighting about in 10 years?