Killing the Joy

Is there a child in the world who can resist the loud, joyful noise of popping bubble wrap? None that I've met. My children are no exception, so when the MiL got a box with a sheet of bubble wrap in it, Cubby commandeered it for a good popping session.

It had nice big bubbles on it, which of course make the best noise and are also easier to pop, so I figured he'd manage okay. But after a minute of no popping, he brought it to me requesting help.

Which is when I discovered the existence of un-poppable bubble wrap.

Yes. There is now a kind of bubble wrap in which the bubbles are all interconnected in horizontal rows, so instead of being able to squeeze the bubble hard enough that the pressure makes the plastic pop, the air is just pushed into the next bubble in the row, thereby rendering it un-poppable. What a screw.

I don't know who is responsible for this "innovation," but I can only hope it doesn't catch on. Because un-poppable bubble wrap is an abomination. And no fun at all.

In the Library at Blackrock

We have a room in our house that is called--somewhat grandiosely and inaccurately--the library. It is not, as the name would have you imagine, a large room filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on many levels, with one of those movable ladders to reach the upper shelves and big leather chairs and a fireplace that's always burning and Oriental rugs and . . . well, and all that.

I've always wanted a library like that. But it's probably a good thing I don't have one, because I also don't have any servants. And with no servants, who is it who has to remove every damn book from the shelves, dust them all individually, and then scrub the shelves?

Yup. That would be me.

So it's a good thing our library is just this*:

Seriously, where are my servants? What a mess.

The top shelves are all very old books that have been here since the world began. Or at least since the turn of the 20th century. I know we have some rare and valuable books in there, probably more than I know about, actually, and they should really be taken care of more. Or, uh, at all. They're never actually read, which means they just sit there collecting dust and making it really difficult to clean the shelves.

The bottom shelves hold the children's books, so at least those shelves have been cleaned recently. The top shelves, though? Never cleaned since I've lived here. And that's over seven years now.

Yeah.

So I steeled myself for an alarming amount of dirt and dove in.

First I removed the books from the top shelf and dusted them all individually with a damp rag, putting them on the dining room table as I finished. 

You can maybe imagine the layer of dust on the top edge. Or maybe you can't. Gross.

This part was accomplished while Charlie ran around downstairs pulling the phone off the hook, climbing up on the kitchen table, chasing the cat . . . you know, the usual.

Then, when he went down for a nap, I hauled in the ladder.

It is possible I could have reached the top of the shelving without using the ladder, but I wouldn't have been able to see what I was doing. And I really, really did not want to reach up there blindly. For all I knew, there would be a mummified mouse or something up there. We have a history of unexpected rodent carcasses, you may remember.

So, the ladder. There was a layer of dust on the top part about a quarter inch deep. I scrubbed and wiped and scrubbed and wiped some more on all the surfaces of the top shelf until it was as clean as I could make it. 

Only five more shelves and about two hundred more books to go! Yay.

* This is but a small fraction of books in our entirely-too-literate household, which is why it's kind of dumb to call this the library, as if all the books we possess are in this one room.

A.P.D.--The Wretched Weather Edition

We have a high wind advisory today. I saw the wind in the forecast a couple of days ago and thought to myself, "Well, Friday is going to suck."

I hate the wind. Hate hate hate it. Much as I dislike the label "highly sensitive," (it sounds so high maintenance), that's what I am. This manifests itself in many ways, mostly in my reaction to physical stimuli. And there is no weather so unpleasantly stimulating as wind. It's loud. It's often cold. It pushes against me relentlessly. It's like it gets inside me or something and makes me crazy. I feel like the wind is assaulting me and I can't stand it.

I can't escape it by just staying inside all day, because Cubby claims to LOVE the wind. My older child is most assuredly NOT highly sensitive. He actively seeks out stimulation.

We don't mesh well sometimes. Especially when he wants to go outside when it's windy and doesn't understand why I have to come inside after an hour or so. HAVE TO. It makes me feel as if I'm in the middle of a warzone and my insides are spinning around and I'm going to go completely insane if I'm out there one more minute oh my god . . .

Not that I'm dramatic or anything.

I can deal with heat (albeit whiningly). I can deal with snow, with rain, with absurdly low temperatures. But the wind? Forget it. It makes me want to curl up and stay in bed all day.

How about you, poppets? What's your least favorite kind of weather?

Happy Halloween

My props pretty much ruin my costume:

Sure are cute props, though.

Halloween Failure

There are many things at which I excel, but Halloween costumes are not one of them. In fact, I unequivocally suck at Halloween costumes. It was kind of a relief to me when I realized I was old enough that I didn't have to worry about it anymore. Adults don't have to wear costumes. And I don't. Ever.

Then I had kids. And kids need Halloween costumes. Especially if their preschool class is going trick or treating at the village businesses. Today, which is obviously not even actually Halloween, but Cubby doesn't know that.

Good thing my mom totally randomly sent Cubby this astronaut suit last year that fits him perfectly now. If I were clever and good at costumes, I could probably figure out a way to attach this Earth ball thing we have so it looks like he's floating around the Earth. Or at least find the little NASA cap that goes with suit. But I can't find the cap and I am not good at costumes, so just the suit it is.

Charlie has no costume whatsoever. I thought about putting him in one of his plaid shirts and his denim overalls and calling him a farmer, but then I remembered I have to take him to the doctor today for his fifteen-month checkup and I do not want to be wrestling a post-vaccination screaming child into a button-up shirt and overalls. He's currently wearing a hoodie sweatshirt. Maybe I can just put some sweatpants on him and call him a gym rat.

As for me, I'm currently wearing black dress pants, black shoes with a heel, a non-stained, fairly dressy turtleneck sweater, and earrings. I showered this morning and did my hair. So you know what I am? My pre-child self.

I know. Lame. I told you I suck at costumes.

The Blackrock Boys Celebrate Fall

Abundance

A. recently vacated his home office, leaving us with a mostly empty room upstairs. Good thing, because we need the space for squash storage.

Guess I know what we're bringing to Thanksgiving dinner this year.

Squash, unlike most other vegetables, likes to be stored in a warm, dry place. I was unwilling to have any significant square footage of our downstairs living space taken up with a ridiculous amount of squash. But most of the rest of the house is unheated.

A.'s former office, however, has a pass-through vent in the floor through which heat rises from the woodstove directly underneath. So while it's not exactly tropical in there, at least it doesn't actually freeze. Good enough.

The only problem with this storage area is that it's upstairs. And not that close to the stairs, either. Which is why I spent at least twenty minutes today ferrying hundreds of pounds of squash from the garden wall, into the dining room, through the library and living room, up the stairs, through the back hall, and finally into the office. It took me eleven trips. Eleven long, arduous trips. And there are still a couple of squash I haven't removed from the vine in the garden yet.

But! The majority of the squash have been safely stored away from the frost we're supposed to get tomorrow.

At least we know we won't starve this winter. Or lack potassium.