Hearth/Home

As you can probably imagine, I am deep, deep into the domestic. Pumpkin seeds are roasting, almonds are toasting, one soup is finished and the other is being prepped, cupcakes are cooling, and final costume details have been settled upon. The SU carved all the jack o' lanterns yesterday (of note is the clever kitty cat), we are fully stocked with candles, and we christened the fireplace tonight.

Right on cue, my FedEx from Rusty Zipper Vintage Clothing arrived today (you'll recall this is for the upcoming Saturday Night Fever party).

So much polyester, so very little time.

I'm torn between using the Vera scarf as a headwrap (it would create a very Rhoda Morgenstern look, if I'm not mistaken), which puts both said scarf and the super-disco twisty silver earrings at good advantage, or tying the scarf around my neck and leaving my hair down, which does a small disservice to the earrings.

And this is my life at the moment. Which makes me either ridiculous or fantastic. I can't decide which...

Panic(king) At the Disco

At the auction a few months back, we were part of a large group of friends who bid aggressively on a "Saturday Night Fever" party. We won it, and now the glittery event is fast approaching. The female half of the group has organized a shopping trip to some vintage stores, but due to severe scheduling conflicts here at Nesting Ground, I am unable to go.

That's why they invented online shopping.

I apologize for not being able to post pictures. I didn't realize they would disappear immediately from the site once my sale went through. But fear not! For the descriptions alone will conjure the requisite images. Imagine if you will, your Nesting Ground hostess darkening your doorstep while wearing an authentic 70s...

Violet sheeny dacron lightweight polyester double knit long sleeve solid disco shirt with tapered body and extra long collar points

Along with...

A polyester double knit skirt, with a shaped waist and moderate A line cut. The white background has a diagonal textured pattern, with a silver hi lite thread

And tied at her neck a...

Vera womens scarf in greek key print silk. Purple, white and yellow with signature lady bug

And clipped to her tender earlobes...

Shiny, silver-tone earrings, having an interlocking, looped twist

Is your skin reacting negatively to the polyester content? Well, hold onto your bellbottoms because the spousal unit will be sporting...

A sheer polyester broadcloth long sleeve print disco shirt with tapered body in white, yellows, oranges, golds, blues, dark greens, wonderful fantasy print with couple on flying carpet passing a castle, lake and trees with clouds on back and woman aproaching the carpet on the front - wow!

"Wow" is right. And to complete his look...

Levis navy blue polyester denim 4-pocket flat-front jeans-style 517 flare pants

I cannot tell you how hard I was laughing when I clicked the "purchase" button on the "flying carpet" disco shirt. But getting back to me (all Nesting Ground roads return to me, in case you didn't notice)...if it's not 100% clear from the descriptions, I'm personally attempting a sort of Bianca Jagger meets Carol Brady vibe. Hair? Dramatically feathered, of course. And I'm considering going to Sephora that afternoon to have false eyelashes applied. So, I guess it would actually be...Bianca Jagger meets Carol Brady meets Farrah Fawcett meets Diana Ross in the "Mahogany" photo shoot scene.

Confessions

1. I ate lunch at Taco Bell yesterday for the first time in at least a year. It was freaking excellent. If you factor in my recent intake of Spam fried rice, I should drop dead by noon tomorrow. I have loved you all.

2. Vida has the major sneezies and is upstairs in bed. I am secretly pleased about this because it gives me a valid excuse to stay home and putter. Yes, I putter.

3. I heard an old Babyface song on the radio yesterday, and it sounded so good that I had to download it as soon as I got home. He's all wondering when his heart will beat again and when he can see me again. Poor guy.

4. R & V have reached the patty-cake/chanting portion of their childhoods, and even though I have to hear the same chant up to forty times a day and even though it refers to finding a boyfriend and makes almost no sense at all, I love it. Especially when they're in a circle with five or six other girls. Here's how it goes:

Down down baby down by the rollercoaster
Sweet sweet baby I'll never let you go
Shimmy shimmy cocoa puff
Shimmy shimmy shine [this is my favorite part because everyone puts their hair behind their ears in s-l-o-w motion while they drag out the word 'shine']
I met a boyfriend
A biscuit!
He's so sweet
A biscuit!
Apples on the table
Peaches on the floor
Step back baby
I don't want you no more
One two three four
Inky binky salad bar
Inky binky boo
Inky binky salad bar
A boy loves you!

5. And, finally, I want this bracelet:

For Aimee: One Extra-Large Order of Spam Fried Rice

But only in the virtual sense. For behold! This is the exact batch I brought to breakfast:


If you click it to get the larger view, you can actually taste the salt.

I am happy to report that every last bit was consumed. And so, dear ones, let us have a moment of silence to honor the greatness that is...Spam.

Iffy.

We will shortly trek up the street for a Neighborhood Breakfast with ten or twelve other families. This is the fourth or fifth such breakfast, and I have always played it safe. I believe I brought lemon muffins (from scratch, ya naysayers) to the last one. But this time, I'm breaking free.

Yes.

This time I'm bringing Spam fried rice.

I feel so vulnerable.

Blip.

Okay.

I'm not really sure where this week went. I believe I spent most of it inside my head, fretting incessantly over a question any parent will eventually incessantly fret over: How long do I let me kid try to sort through her own situation before I step in to vociferously advocate on her behalf? And what message does this stepping-in send her? What message does it send others?

I figured everything out over the course of a few days, but I am stunned now to realize how much of my mental energy was directed towards this one thing. It's not even a particularly teeth-gnashing situation. But at this point I'm imagining What if it were? What if the stakes were higher? I'll tell you what would happen. I'd transform into some sort of three-headed, sword-wielding, fire-spitting mother goddess of revenge and destruction, that's what. It's good to know this now, I suppose.

To stave off the e-mails from those who frequently send love my way, I will repeat: this is not a big deal, my lovelies. Just the tiniest blip along an otherwise perfectly straight line.

"Please, Sir, May I Have Some More?"

That's an approximate quote from Oliver Twist, right there. You know the scene from the movie, I'm sure. It's when Oliver, dressed in his fantastically chic ragamuffin clothes, bravely approaches the mean head-of-the-orphanage guy, holds out his empty bowl and makes his sad little request for more gruel.

I'm feeling much like Oliver these days because I am preparing to approach a foundation for additional funding to support deeper, more intensive Latino outreach work at R & V's school. Everything we did last year has created a solid base for this next step, and I'm determined not to miss the opportunity. But the amount I'm seeking is enough to buy a 500-series BMW, which I find sorta embarrassing, and for which I feel apologetic. As in I'm so sorry to bother you, but can you please give me tens of thousands of dollars just for being, you know, me?

What I fail to keep in mind as I'm researching and writing these grant proposals is that foundations do not look for reasons to turn you down; they look for reasons to say yes.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Yes we can have more gruel.

Just Once, Believe the Hype

The spousal unit's place of business (hey, don't skip the intro or you'll miss out on much sexiness from Christy Turlington and Apolo Ohno, although not together, because that might have caused computer screens around the world to explode) has joined with others here, here, here, and here, to raise money for the global fund, which helps women/children affected by HIV/AIDS in Africa.

You're gonna buy a cell phone, iPod, t-shirt, tank, jacket, etc. etc. anyways. Why not make it red?

It's the weekend. Go forth and shop.

Fifteen & Counting

It's that day of the year, my lovelies. The day I open up the ol' wedding album to catch a glimpse of our youth, take a moment to reflect on the many instances of spectacular foolishness I have displayed during the past fifteen years, and then a nice long swath of time to be grateful for the man who so unwaveringly hangs out with me and who—just when I need to hear it—will ask, "Hey, what should we be when we grow up?"

One Day At the Fair

How pissed would you be if you were this sheep? Poor little wrinkly, vulnerable thing. I wish they'd shaved the entire animal, rather than leave just that undignified hint of Lucy Ricardo up on top. The more I look at this picture, the more questions I have. Is it difficult to see when your eyes are that far apart? What, exactly, does this sheep do for fun? Does it have a favorite song?


Here, now, is one tired sow. Even she knows that you might as well catch up on your sleep while nursing. Either that, or read People magazine.


People were surprisingly willing to have their picture taken by a complete stranger. The spousal unit easily received permission from this woman—let's call her...I don't know...Tish—who was about to dig her cherry-red talons into this here funnel cake:


And this kid—let's call him...I don't know...Arthur—was happy to offer Nesting Ground readers a look at his lunch. Please note that he'd already taken several bites of this one hundred and seventy-five foot corndog. Later, he used the stick in a jousting match at the Renaissance Fair near Casa de Fruta:


The prize for Best Hair at Fair goes to...


There was also a prize for Best Fancy Caballero Wearing Shiny Boots, Shiny Gold Chains, and Stunning Black Cowboy Hat Emblazoned with Gold Embroidered "Montes" on the Right Side, but, alas, no picture. Instead, I offer a photo of a vaguely (or perhaps explicitly) embarrassing squash:


And behold! The zany fingered citron:


Oh, but that's not all. Here, Risa and Lea shower their affection on a 270-lb. pumpkin:


And, finally, the requisite photo booth picture in which it is now virtually impossible to fit all our children:



'Til next year, Big Fresno Fair...

If It's October...

...than it must be time for the Big Fresno Fair.

Oh, don't be jealous. I'll take a picture of the prize-winning squash, pig, and cow for you. I will eat a funnel cake for you. I will order a baked potato with an ice cream scoop of butter on top, and then flip the butter off and into the garbage can for you. I will purchase a big bag of kettle corn for you, but unfortunately I will not share it with you. I will sit on a piece of burlap and slide down the super gigantic-o slide for you. I will take note of the crazy women who wear high heels to the fair. I will squeeze into the photo booth with my family and take pictures for you. So don't be jealous.

And that evening, when it's all over, I will kindly ask my mother-in-law to babysit the girls so we can sneak out to catch a showing of this. Which might be a corny thing to do, but you know what? I don't care! Add it to my "Perfectly Legitimate Reasons to Mock Me" list, and we'll discuss later.

Is This Snooping? Plus Something About Hamburgers

Vida likes to write and draw, so when I'm out running errands, I will often grab a little notebook for her. Not only does this prevent her from grabbing sheet after sheet from my printer, it also gives her a satisfying sense of ownership, as in this is my notebook. I gave her one today, and she immediately sat down to write. Then she left it open on the table, and I couldn't help it: I had to take a picture. It's probably only because I'm her mother, but this cracks me up:



It's technically snooping, though, isn't it? I swear I never read the diary she keeps under her pillow; I don't even touch it. I thought this was sorta fair game, though.

****

Doesn't it drive you crazy when someone orders a hamburger with tons of stuff on it, and then while they're eating it all the stuff (of course) starts to dribble out and onto their hands and then they start to lick their hands every few seconds? What if you and a friend happen to walk into a burger joint and your friend happens to know the accused hand-licker, and your friend says, "Oh, Ver, I'd like you to meet Joe-I-Put-Too-Much-Stuff-On-My-Hamburger Jones," and because your mother raised you right, you hold out your hand for some mutual shaking action? And then later on you read a blog that complains about Secret Hand Lickers and you realize you may have fallen prey to one. Wouldn't that be unfortunate?

Take it easy on the condiments, everyone. There's not like a shortage or anything.

Perfectly Legitimate Reasons to Mock Me

UPDATE:

8. I forgot to close my tags on #3, which made it look as if I love this blog. What I actually love is this blog. Very mockable mistake.

***

1. I watched "Take the Lead" all by myself last night. And I liked it.

*ducks and covers to avoid hurled tomatoes*

2. When I see a baby doing something like nestling its head into its caretaker's neck or looking startled (but not crying), I always say this: oy, yoy, yoy. I don't know why. At this point it's involuntary.

3. Perhaps not technically a reason to mock me, but curious nonetheless: I love this blog.

4. I used the crockpot to make some horrible chicken and noodles recipe (okay, let me just admit it: I made white folks' food) I found in some random magazine so that R & V would have a hot lunch (yay for the person who invented the thermos!) on this cold day. You should mock me for this because, um, why didn't I just make adobo? Duh.

5. I am seriously considering a bowling party for R & V's seventh birthday. And mostly it's because I'm enamored with the idea of getting them custom bowling shirts.

*places hands over eyes to avoid watching you roll yours (eyes, that is)*

6. I am considering giving up entirely on trying to read Hunger's Brides because the motherf***er is 1,360 pages long and in hardcover. There is simply no comfortable way to read it. They've just released the softcover, marketing it as "the essential story from the epic, Hunger's Brides." The title has been changed to Sor Juana or The Breath of Heaven and, at 750 pages, it is probably far easier to read in bed than the original. Has this ever happened before?—Stalled reading due to physical discomfort caused by the book itself? And, more to the point, is this a mockable offense?

7. I have planned my entire life around the first episode of the new season of "Lost," which airs in a few days. I am not so much a loser; I am more of a loster.

New reasons occur daily, as you well know. But I think that's it for this Monday.