Saturday, February 24, 2007

perils of the closet

okay, so there's a bit about the perils of the closet at the end of this post, which I was going to say more about, but what the hell, I found something, I wore it, the kid approved and after I sternly informed the Man that I felt insufficiently ogled by him. He was happy to rectify the omission. And no recipes today - I'm working on a vegan gluten free spice cookie for our purim mishloach manot (gift baskets), but it failed beautifully today. Still in process there!

But more on the closet, the family below. First, what the hell is going on in Lawrence, NY? Apparently, orthomom is being sued over something posted by a pair of commentators on her blog. Google, to whom the suit was originally addressed, has stepped aside and is letting orthomom fend for herself.

Not so much feeling the love here, people. I shall balance my personal psychological blogscale with the following narratives:
The Man is leaving for a business trip, the Toddles sleeping and the Eldest sporting a fine, fine case of scarlet fever. I am staring at a mango in the fruit basket (the Eldest's latest and most inventive allergy yet), and trying to imagine the basket without the mango. Tip: the basket would have a lot less fruit.

In other words, a typical night at the Imperfect home.

"Mum, you'll never guess how I'm writing!"
I look over. The kid's written a bunch of numbers: 123456789101112131415 on the chalkboard. But the 1s, the 2s, the 3s, etc, all point right - not left. They are mirror images of themselves, uniformly. Mildly, "I think you might want to try pointing the numbers this way, hon."
"Nope." He is firm, certain on this point, and I concede. He also explains that he isn't putting spaces between the numbers, because he knows what they are. Again, I concede. If the Romans didn't do it, why bother now?
He goes back to work.
"Mum, it is now time to tell you until what I'm writing. One hundred!"

[mental flash: the Man, holding a tiny baby and crooning to thousand sixty-two, seven thousand sixty-three, seven thousand sixty-four... The language of love, for the Man, was numerical, and he counted to a million with each of the boys.

Seven thousand sixty-four, seven thousand sixty-five, seven thousand sixty-six, seven thousand sixty-seven...]

I tell the Man about his offspring's plan. He barely misses a beat: "It's a start."

Indeed it is so.

I am hiding from my closet.

It isn't my closet's fault that I detest it, it's the combination of clothing, event and the general imperfection of all involved. But here I am, needing something that counts as 'creatively black tie.'

maybe I can steal the Man's bowtie and wear it over a ripped tshirt and jeans. Maybe I haven't the gumption to pull it off. damn. Okay, let's get realistic: I own one skirt and one shirt (hem ripped) that qualifies,

I drag out the box of "Cannot Wear With Nursing Child" clothes. Hmm. Okay, I have a dress with spaghetti straps and tiny jacket. Black, of course, and from the days when I thought that worked. Oh. Strap broken. Damn, damn, and dippity doo dah damn. I fling on a wierd caftan thing from the box and stomp around the room.

The Man pokes his head in the room, warily, and mutters something. What? I screech. Um, that looks nice, he says - and escapes before I can walk him through a point by point lecture on the Evils of the Closet.

Sigh. This is what happens when the owner of the magic closet gives a party, and I am forced to dress myself. Maybe I'll bring in my second string fashionista: the Eldest.

okay, the Eldest says to wear the jacket-dress. I'll sew up the strap and hope for the best - oh, bugger. Shoes. Hose. Do I own swanky shoes? Do people really do this on a regular basis?

I don't know which I'm enjoying more - sneering at this guy, or the concerted slam from the allergy moms in the comments section. Heh.

and this article on the ecological issues around diapers. Cloth or disposible? Not so simple, given who is producing the evidence:

1 comment:

mother in israel said...

Hopefully I can post this time. If you wash diapers efficently, there's no comparison to disposables ecology wise.Diaper services rinse the diapers repeatedly. What about the manufacture and delivery of disposables? Maybe we should start wearing disposable clothes.

Hopefully this comment will go through; the word verification thingy didn't work yesterday.

Happy Purim!