Sunday, December 18, 2011

The week in review ... including the bun who's no longer in the oven

Ron was away last week, which was just fine because I had all of my final exam, etc., grading to do.  All of that was a complete time-suck for three and half straight days.  But, it's over for yet another semester. They go so fast ... it creeps me out.

Sunset last Tuesday
The week was a blur.  I had a 9am exam on Monday, and I graded exams from the previous week during that test period.  Then, I went to my 2:25pm exam and continued grading as 26 more students turned in four questions each.  I went home and graded some more.  Tuesday, I graded five more exams in the morning, and I don't remember what happened after that, but I did go to the supermarket at some point and I made spaghetti for dinner (which lasted me the whole week--note earlier comment that Ron was away all week).  After dinner, I finished the last of Monday's exams and created a reading quiz for my Wednesday night class which (this was a surprise for the students later) was only going to count for extra credit the next day.

Do I get the bed to myself when Ron's away? Of course not.
Blah blah blah.  There were two presentations on Wednesday, and (you guessed it) more grading Wednesday night.  At some point, I finally had to trim Pearl's neckfluff because it was Out.Of.Control. Beyond insane and borderline gross.


Believe it or not, she held perfectly still and didn't really seem to care about what the scissors were doing.

I'm pretty sure this is an "After" shot. 
THEN, Thursday rolled around. I was SUPPOSED to go to Starbucks with 40-week-pregnant-Laurie, but she cancelled on me because she was "exhausted."  Ok, fine.

I resisted until Friday morning before I broke down and texted her: "Is 'exhausted' code for 'Sorry, but I'm having a baby'?"  Reply: "HA! No, I thought you would think that. How about tomorrow at 2pm?"

But, I knew--I KNEW--when I went to bed that it was not meant to be.  Laurie consumed every inch of space in my head all day Friday, and it got worse as the day went on.  I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, slam my head against a wall, or call a psychiatrist to make it go away.  I knew what it meant, but I didn't call. And believe me, I wanted to call SO BAD.  My friend Marcie calls it "being on the same wavelength" as another person.

Sure enough, I received a text at 7am on Saturday: "Leah Ann, born at 12:19am. 20.5 in. 7lb 13oz. We are happy and healthy ... Needless to say, no coffee today."

Let the freak out commence.

Laurie was so nice--she let me come visit in the hospital. She and Nick told me everything--she lucked out with a super-fast delivery, zero complications.  Why can't they all be that way?

I didn't take any pictures of the baby because I just wanted to look at her without a lens in the way.  I'll have some soon, I'm sure.

In much lesser news, I bought some new area rugs for the house and the Fluffs LOVE them.


I barely had this thing straightened out on the floor, and the Fluffs were rolling all over it.  Luckily, it's not going back.  It's really plush and cushy AND reversible.  I catch them randomly sitting on it throughout the day when they typically would be on the couch or the bed.

Now that school's out, I hope I'm posting more frequently (until school's back in).  I have a lot of baking to do, and there will definitely be pix of Ron's magnificent Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve.

You good Catholics out there should know what the Seven Fishes represents.  My college Italian prof--an 80-something Napolitano--asked us this question in our Italian Civilization class.  Keep in mind, just about EVERYBODY in that class was a product of Catholic school except for me.  He asks in Italian, "Who can tell me the significance of the seven fishes?  Why do the Italians pick seven?"  My mind totally blanks as some kid goes, "For the seven mortal sins?"  Whereupon my prof rolls his eyes and snorts, "No ...  chissa' ?  ....     ....   [rolls eyes]  PER I SACRAMENTI: il battesimo, la penitenza, la prima comunione, la cresima, il matrimonio, gli ordini sacri, gli unzioni degli infermi  [rolls eyes] .... [in his accented English] Don't any of you know your catechismo?" **

ummm, they don't teach that in public school. And I didn't learn crap in CCD ... so, uhh, no?

That's what so cool about majoring in a language: You learn another way of life. It's not about memorizing the words and stringing them into coherent sentences.  People who look at another language that way never really get it. It's about reading, for example, San Francesco's "Canticle of the Creatures" in his native language and then studying the geography of his native Umbria so to understand, "ohhh ... it's hard to live there and not dedicate your medieval life to becoming a holy tree hugger. I get it."  It's about learning the details of the Italian Civil War and understanding that spaghetti carbonara is a result of the resistance fighters having nothing else to eat while on the run across the countryside.  It's about reading Machiavelli's Il Principe and sadly understanding that old Niccolo' was a corrupt American capitalist approximately 300 years before corrupt American capitalists even existed.  It's about understanding that seven fish represent seven (well, six depending on which path you choose for yourself) necessary and essential milestones to nearly every individual in an entire country for nearly 2,000 years.

Even then, I knew my professore had every right to roll his eyes (many times) at us.

So anyway. I'm still trying to decide if I'm going to bake this holiday fruitcake loaf thing tonight that my mom asked for a few months ago.  We have to do pizzelles, biscotti (both Ron's projects) as well as cut-outs, marshmallows, and ... I'm sure I'm leaving other cookies out.  Who am I kidding? Ron will be doing all of them too. I will DEF dedicate a post to the marshmallows.  They are freakin incredible and even better to eat.

I'll be around more this week ... one week and counting.

** I have no idea if any of my Italian is correct there. I used Google translate because I'm too pigra (lazy) to cross to the other side of the room for my dictionary.

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