A few weeks ago I was invited to an event by the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra, but we had to pass due to somebody being cantankerous. Not only did I miss a chance to see the symphony for free, but I also missed St. Louis Bloggers Night at SLSO. No schmoozing and such for me. However, the kind folks at SLSO were kind enough to offer me a rain check.

As much of a music geek as I am, I’ve only seen a live orchestra once. It was a rather brief performance when I lived in Columbia, Missouri and I can’t say I remember much about it. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. When Eddie at the symphony told me I had my pick of any orchestral events, I wasn’t sure what that meant.

That said, it seemed like a wise idea to start with something from the family series. For one thing, it’s kid-friendly, thus eliminating the need for a babysitter for the babysitter-phobic kid. Plus, my particular kid is obsessed with music. Most recently, tubas. Yesterday Brian took her to B&G Music to pick up his repaired bass. While there, Clara Jane inquired about “tuba-playing lessons”. I’ve sworn to be encouraging of whatever this kid wants to do but the fact is, she’s about half the size of a tuba, a fact which wasn’t missed by the music store staff. They informed her that a tuba would knock her over. Perhaps she should consider the sousaphone. When she’s over five feet tall. Or drums! Drums are awesome! And not at all deafening when played by a little kid!

Anyway, this isn’t about how glad I am that we have a detached garage for when Clara Jane starts drum lessons in a few months. This is about the family series at SLSO.

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For about 20 minutes today, my brain was more lucid than it’s been all week. I was in the shower at the time, when a wonderful topic on which I wished to write popped into my mind, fully formed and ready to go.

By the time I got out of the shower, any piece of brilliance had been replaced by a desire for Cheetos and a cold Coke.

I think I’ve been in a total haze all week. Between all the Thanksgiving busy-ness and fighting the phlegm beast. Plus, there’s been nighttime formula cough syrup. Lots of it. So much of it that I think I’m brain damaged.

I started writing this … at some point today. Then I remembered that Evite has been sending stuff to my old email address I never check, which I checked for the first time since May today. Why? Because that’s where my brain is. I’ve missed at least four parties since May because of this. So I stopped blogging to fix it, which led to setting up Evite to send updates to my phone, so while I’m at it I might as well figure out how to post to Twitter from my phone and what was I doing again?

There’s also a screaming battle going on in the other room that involves my child telling her father, “You ruined my night, so I’m going to ruin you.”

I’m thankful it’s almost Monday, when everyone goes back to work and school.

I’m also sad that the reaffirming idea I was going to write about seems pretty fucking meaningless right now. The exhaustion, the stress, the coughing … all of a sudden I think I just want to cry.

Now that the family’s gone and Clara Jane’s whooping it up at the hotel with two generations of grandparents, I think I finally have time to reflect upon what I’m thankful for this year.

• Family, of course. I’m so lucky to have a set of grandparents who are still able to travel to spend Thanksgiving with us. Granny made carrot pie with homemade crust, and chicken and dumplings. I’m lucky to have had the opportunity to spend the holiday with people I love who don’t create drama and stress. My little girl, with her big brain and sassy-pants who smooched me over and over and over before going to the hotel. My husband, who did 989 loads of dishes this week. My parents, who heap the love on Clara Jane. Awesome, fun cousins who’ve grown into snazzy adults. 
• Friends, and the ability to know when to hang on and when to let go. The ability to reconnect with friends I never thought I’d see again, and make new ones in unlikely places.
• Living in a place I adore. Having a home, not just in the sense of having a house filled with love. But having a community where I’m comfortable.
• Being so lucky to be in a position to jump on so many incredible opportunities, like running off to Nashville with Maggie last summer, running off to Philly with Brian, Kristina and Maggie in a few weeks. Sunday, I’m going to the symphony for the first time … I don’t know why I get to do so many fun, fulfilling things. I’m just glad I do.
• To health! Despite the hacking cough and the big booty, I’m not doing too shabby.
• I’m thankful my kitty, who went into hiding when Wendy’s dog arrived on Tuesday, has finally made an appearance.
• I’m grateful for a brighter future.
• I’m in love and terribly grateful for the Genius, to the tune of Sam & Dave’s “I Thank You”.

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It went well. The giant dinner came together without a hitch. I thought I’d have a 15-minute rest around 2. Woke up at 6 PM.  I’d be upset that I missed the party I threw, but just about everyone else was passed out, too. I guess that’s what happens when you put a stick of butter in every dish. Including the butter.

The old people and Clara Jane long retired to their hotel. What is my generation doing? Sitting on our asses, watching “Extreme Makeover – Home Edition” and cracking terrible jokes, drinking beer. I’d put on pajamas, but it’s a long walk upstairs and I’m pretty sure I’d just go to bed if I went up there.

I took about 20 pictures. Clara Jane’s discovered the fun of photography and she’s taken around 300. I worked hard to upload the results. Go look at them.

Who wants pie? I think I’m going for Round 3 of the sweet taters.

Tomorrow: parade. Saturday: I don’t know. Sunday: symphony. Monday: back to school, back to work, back to bed.

It’s nearly 1 a.m.

Cooking. Lots.

Lunch. Iron Barley. Gateway Arch. Lots of photos and stories and fun but no time or energy to share.

Wanted to mention Marijean’s cool Thanksgiving wiki and participate in it, but have been too busy thanksgivinging.

Still can’t breathe for shit. Awesome gore with every cough. I might be giving my entire family t.b., but I’m doing it with a lot of love, and I’m pretty sure it’ll be delicious.

Honey pie is a real thing, not just a euphemism and a Beatles song.

Best holiday memory ever: Clara Jane standing on the step stool, stirring pumpkin pie filling, bobbing up and down to Wilco and Billy Bragg’s “Hesitating Beauty”. Then we danced in the kitchen to “Heavy Metal Drummer”. Before bed she asked if we could make pies together every Thanksgiving. Just try and stop me.

(Pssst. I’m tired and delirious enough to confess that even though I say I don’t want to have more kids, a Ouija board over the summer told me I’d have another girl whose name begins with N. The woman in “Hesitating Beauty” is named Noralee, which I love. I’m exhausted enough to think that’s a sign. It’s not. I can barely handle the family I have, bless their hearts.)

Sleep? Right here on the kitchen floor, thank you.

Clara Jane’s class had a Friendship Party today. She came home with, amongst other things, a little glass jar filled with kind words on slips of paper from her classmates. I was more excited about the jar of love than she was – I tore into it before we left school.

So sweet, these kids. Vivien said, “She’s the best kid in our class!” Pete likes her neat hat. Lots of kids think she’s funny. Art thinks she’s a good sharer.  Finn thought she was a great kitty for Halloween. Her mom thinks it’s keen that two little boys in her class appreciate her knitting skills.

I got to thinking, aside from welling with pride at the fact that I’ve raised a kid who’s funny, kind, personable, and fashionably astute. I wish I had a jar with slips of paper from all of my friends, saying kind things about me. Whenever I feel lonely, or like I can’t get along with anyone (which happens a lot), I could open that jar and have physical affirmation that I’m loved (or at least enjoyed) by people who aren’t required by law to love me.

I told Clara Jane some of this. Well, the part about how cool it is to have a jar that you can reach for when you’re lonely and see that others do think of you. Mostly, I though I’d come home and perhaps write a list of my friends on my blog (since it’s nearly the end of NaBloPoMo and I need fodder) and one kind sentence about them. But what if I leave out someone? What if I don’t mention someone I no longer consider a friend and cause a kerfluffle. Bad feelings over something that was meant to feel good? When did it stop being as simple as writing, “I like Clara Jane because she taught me how to play Camping.”?

Fifth grade, apparently. One of the teachers said a fifth grade teacher tried to do the same project in a class and it did not go nearly as well.

So, I won’t be making any lists. I guess I’ll just try to let those kind sentences slip into conversations or messages to my friends, hoping that they’re noticed and perhaps slipped into a jar for later, when needed.

This month Clara Jane’s class has been discussing food and friendship. Her teachers encourage parents to come to class and, for the love of God, give them a break from wrangling the monkeys. Please! Share your skills! Since I used to teach cooking classes for kids, I knew I’d do something food-related with the kids. And what says healthy autumnal chow quite like shaking small bags of whole milk, sugar, vanilla, and chocolate chips in larger bags of ice and rock salt?

Come on. I’m limited on what I can cook in a classroom with no access to fire or knives.

Clara Jane and I did a trial run of shaky-shaky ice cream last night, and in about five minutes we had a kid-sized portion of something akin to a vanilla-chocolate soft-serve swirly-cone.  So this morning I hauled all of the ingredients to school, despite having been awake since 4 a.m., thanks to what remains of my cold choosing to cut loose at that wee hour.

Wow. Don’t I sound like the perfect person to make junk food with your young child a few days before a major travel holiday? I take full responsibility for any epidemics I might have caused. I thought it would be safer for the kids to handle the food items than for me to do it. Because kids are never filthy. Especially their hands.

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This verse, same as the last. Still coldin’. Starting crazy prep for Thanksgiving. Decided to make pumpkin pie out of a real pumpkin. You know, one with an orange rind that’s not made of aluminum or steel. Pork has been procured, as had a turkey breast for those who’ve cried fowl. Must remember to drop turkey breast on my foot while it’s still frozen to make up for that lame-ass joke.

Speaking of lame-ass jokes, I’ve introduced Clara Jane to The Cosby Show. Tonight, she witnessed this, and is now obsessed.  She keeps asking me how things went at the dentist and I have to say, “Obeekabee.”

This is all you get today, but the rest of this week will make up for it. Tomorrow, I’m going to Clara Jane’s school and teaching the kids to make ice cream in plastic bags.  We did a trial run tonight. Five minute of flinging a bag fully of pointy ice cubes about the kitchen, and we had soft serve. Tuesday, Wendy and Amelia arrive. Wednesday, some St. Louis tourism. Thursday, parents and grandparents and food. Friday, Christmas parade. Saturday, weep from exhaustion.

That’s right. I have nothing to report. Today’s big news: my chest phlegm has loosened, thus meaning I won’t even have my cold to blog about for much longer. Which is fine. I’m sick of it.

Today I:

• drank a lot of Emergen-C. At this point I’ve developed a taste for it and I think I’m doing shots of it for fun. You know what would make it really good? Vodka.
• cleaned, although it’s not obvious. We’ve been swimming in clutter, which makes me nuts. That British guy who kicks cluttered people’s asses on Oprah was supposed to email me this week and tell me how to fix the clutter, but he didn’t. Probably because his inbox is a fucking disaster.
• napped. I can’t decide if the napping is just good, smart business or some very quiet cry for help. Or not so quiet. Brian told me I’ve been snoring. Damn cold.
• helped Clara Jane with her homework. Her class is having a friendship party on Tuesday, and we had to write one nice thing about her classmates. This gives me something new to neuroticize. For the boys, she mostly said that she likes playing chase with them. With the girls, she complimented clothes and hair. She also called three girls her best friend, which is going to cause a massive shit storm at some point in her life. I predict fifth grade, because that’s when the best friend loyalty shit really goes down.
• made up the word neuroticize. I love it!
• was drafted to put Clara Jane to bed, which I should be doing now.
• Provided a voice for Chloe, the bird-mangling, raw pasta-eating basset hound. She and Clara Jane conversed for about fifteen minutes.
• got in trouble for playing my music too loud and singing. I couldn’t help it! The Underground Garage played Roll Over Beethoven and Tell Him back-to-back. Granted, it’s a little embarrassing that I was lectured by my four-year-old for playing my music too loud, and for my provocative dance moves. She’s so square.

I don’t write nearly enough about my dogs, do I? There’s not much to write. They sleep 23 hours a day, spend an hour eat/pursuing things to eat, and the last hour is reserved for annoying the shit out of as many people as possible.

Today, they had a banner day in that last two regards. Yesterday was pretty damn good, too.

My dogs, Chloe and Murphy, while being well-fed, warm, and ensconced in a variety of blankets and beds, spend their two waking hours behaving like desperate refugees with bad manners. Case in point: Clara Jane’s painted rigatoni necklace, which met a terrible demise yesterday.

Let’s back up for a moment. A few days after we adopted Chloe the Basset nearly a decade ago, I dropped a piece of uncooked pasta in our kitchen. Worst mistake of my life. Chloe loves uncooked pasta almost as much as she loves frozen cranberries. Sort of the same way I love Americanos and tallboys of Stag Beer. I swear to God, every single day for the remaining eight years we lived in that house, Chloe would check the spot where she found the noodles because, there was a crunchy noodle there once and it could happen again, you don’t know! 

When we moved, Chloe no longer had a geographical marker for possible pasta drops, and she stopped scrounging. I forgot about her pasta lust, which is why it didn’t register in my brain when Clara Jane left her painted raw rigatoni necklace on the coffee table.

From the few tiny shreds I found on the floor and the green and blue paint on Chloe’s teeth, I’d say she thought it was delicious. She’s going to live on the coffee table now.

Oh! But it gets better! Clara Jane’s a nudist. I can’t keep this kid in clothes. This morning, I turned my back to make a grocery list. She used my distraction to strew pink flannel sock monkey pajamas and a damp Pull-Up across the rumpus room floor.

Problem is, in my cold-addled brain, I didn’t see the Pull-Up. Therefore, it didn’t exist.

I found it when we got home from the store. What was left of it, anyway. I sure hope Pull-Ups aren’t filled with that “do not eat” shit they put in shoe boxes and purses. I’m not really worried. Not like it’s the first Pull-Up that’s been eaten in this house.

And because Pull-Ups, pasta necklaces, two square meals a day, and whatever Clara Jane sneaks to them isn’t enough, today the wild beast tried to eat a sparrow. A live one.

Ever see an 11-year-old basset hound attempt to pounce on a ground bird? Apparently, this bird had never seen such a thing, either. I don’t like birds, but I felt sorry for this one. He landed on a window ledge, eye-level to me, and sat there for a long time with me about a foot away. If birds have facial expressions – and I think they do, but they keep them locked in the “evil and menacing” position most of the time – this bird’s face clearly said “What the FUCK?!?!” It eventually flew to the roof, but that didn’t keep Murphy from trying to climb the side of our brick house for an hour. I went inside, but could see her through the window, sure she could climb a vertical surface.

Speaking of geniuses, have you downloaded the version of iTunes with the Genius function? Best invention ever! You select a song, and iTunes pulls up 25, 50, or 75 songs in your library that it thinks go with the song you picked. So that’s how I’ll be doing the shuffle from now on, or until I get bored of just getting songs I like. I’m sure it won’t take long for me to miss the, “Why in the hell do I have that on my hard drive? Slim Whitman? For real? What was I drinking that night?”

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