A random remembrance

I've had a very frustrating afternoon. I will not bore you with the horrid little details, but take yesterday's annoyances concerning the birth certificate and multiply it...oh, maybe ten times, by adding a completely fruitless two hour excursion to two crowded government offices in very bad rush hour traffic and you will begin to understand my foul mood.

So I came home, fed Aiden and began to get dinner ready, stewing and steaming all the while over the perfectly futile waste of time and energy that constituted this day. All I could handle making for dinner was simple spaghetti and meatballs. And I managed to ruin even that. I burned the stupid sauce... and then I remembered something that miraculously softened my mood.

I remembered an incident from my childhood that took place maybe 20 years ago. Our poor mother had had a similarly trying day which culminated in burning spaghetti sauce. However, it wasn't completely burned beyond hope. She managed to salvage it, for the most part, but there were a few stray flecks of darkness in the sauce. However, knowing the fact that she'd had a hard day, we didn't say anything. ( A strange and uncharacteristic instance of merciful maturity on our part...) But then, a family member appeared on the scene, who shall remain nameless...partially because I can't remember with absolute certainty which of us it was...But it wasn't me! This person was apparently unaware of the outrages of the day, and not knowing the fact that the sauce had been partially burned, sat down at the table, started to partake of the dinner, and perhaps thinking that there was some strange, new seasoning in use, commented, " What are these little black things? They don't taste very good...!" I'm not sure it was funny to Mama at the time, being a sort of last straw on her poor back but it ended up becoming a family joke, brought out in odd moments over the years.

So as I saw the sauce sticking to the bottom of that wretched sauce-pan and realized with a feeling of simultaneous rising fury and sinking heart that I had flubbed yet ANOTHER THING today...suddenly, in my mind's eye, I pictured Andrew wandering into the kitchen, looking over my shoulder and murmuring with his characteristically impeccable timing, " What are those little black things? They don't taste very good.." And what could I do but SMILE.

I'd like the Birth Certificate Combo Meal...

I went on several wild goose chases over the phone today. One of the missions I was on had to do with getting Aiden's birth certificate. ( This is so we can get his social security number, because someone at the hospital dropped the ball, I guess...b/c it's been two months and his S.S. # card hasn't come in the mail yet... We need it so we can do our taxes, so we can get our refund, so we can get a new dishwasher to put in the house that Jack built.) After harassing several people at the hospital to make sure that I had exhausted our luck there, I was told to call our probate court. I looked up the number in the phone book, only to be told that it was no longer in service. Ah. So I tried a different county office, hoping they could help me get in touch with the probate court. THAT number was disconnected too! It turns out the yellow pages book was an unmitigated WEB OF LIES. Um... actually it was two years old. But good grief- not every phone number should be wrong in a two year old phone book!

So I ended up calling information and asking for the number. Surely, I would be safe with the good old 411. I had to nearly scream my request into the phone because they had one of those maddening systems where you have to speak to a robot whose favorite phrase is, " I'm sorry. I didn't get that..." I was relieved when they said they could automatically connect me with my desired number, if I just said yes. YES! No more number dialing for my poor little worn out digits. Besides, the whole time I was trying to multi-task and was feeding Aiden, so the less fine motor skills I had to perform, the better. Ah...the phone is ringing...soon I shall be conversing with a bureaucrat who will help me...

"Hello, this is Taco Bell..."

I kid you not.

Now, I've been known to crave a chalupa or a gordita on occasion. Don't get me wrong: I like Taco Bell. Just not when I'm trying to order a birth certificate. THE 411 WAS WRONG! Does
" ----- County Probate Court" sound like "Taco Bell" to you? ( Let me give you a hint- the name of my county does NOT rhyme with either of the words " Taco" or "Bell." )

And the next number I tried was wrong too. It was some gallery whose employee sounded distinctly hostile.

Good grief.

So I felt like I had performed a small miracle when I finally got through to the place I wanted... which was thanks to the probate court's WEBSITE. Where would we be without the wonderful world wide interweb? I will never trust the phone book, nor call 411 again. EVER. I have learned my lesson: don't think that you can hold the infant and put the phone on speaker and dial away. No. You'll be on the phone all day that way. The computer is your ONLY HOPE. Put the baby down and merge onto the information superhighway.

"Trick or Treating - in February." Or " Drive-by- Hot Chocolating."

Don't come to my door asking for hot chocolate because I'm fresh out.

The story goes like this. I guess Grandpa hailed, or was hailed by, some young waifs of the neighborhood and was bragging on Aiden. Well, the little girls wanted to come meet this Wunder-Babe, but before they came to the house, they sped away on their little kiddy cart ( which looks like a mini-John Deere tractor) for no apparent reason ( maybe to ask their parents...?). Grandpa came in to tell me to expect visitors. Emma, 6, and Briley ( spelling?) 3, came to my door about fifteen minutes later with Grandpa and checked out Aiden, as he slept in the cradle swing. ( This swing was loaned to us by Bryan and Sarah and is worth its weight in GOLD - Aiden loves it.) Briley took it upon herself to rock the swing, a little too vigorously for my taste, and Grandpa quickly assured her that it was completely unnecessary, as it is battery powered. They were very cute and sociable. Suddenly, out of the blue, Emma pipes up with, " We just came by to get some hot chocolate! We'll take one package."

Oh? Will you now? (... as if this was some regular occurrence.)

Kids are so funny. Hi- I just met you- give me your hot chocolate! Lucky for them I HAD hot chocolate! And lucky I had it in packets and not in one big ol' can. ( Okay, kids, let me scoop out a cup's worth of powder into your upturned, grubby palms and then you can run on home...) I've actually been on a hot chocolate bender in the last few weeks. I ended up parting with my last two packets - and gave them the last of my marshmallows too. Why not? I mean- what good are marshmallows without hot chocolate? And they really didn't want to drink it here! I started to put the kettle on but they insisted they wanted it " to go", as it were. The three year old also wanted to make off with a bottle of Propel water, but her older sister wouldn't hear of it. I guess canvassing the neighborhood for hot beverages is one thing- to ask for a sport drink would be unthinkable. The whole thing made me laugh.

Ah well. I suppose since giving a child a cup of cold water is lauded in the Bible, then doling out hot chocolate packets to cute urchins is sort of being virtuous.