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Yesterday was the hottest day on earth. At least that’s what it felt like. While driving around doing some errands with the family, (school was canceled because of the hot weather - in New England this is unheard of) my husband decided to stop at “Twisty’s”, a local summer ice cream shack. The girls and I got ice cream cones, and my husband ordered a root beer float.

“That will be fourteen forty-four,” said the teenage girl at the register. I handed her some cash.

“What did you get?!” my husband said, assuming I ordered the 12-scoop party sundae because three ice cream cones and a root beer float should not cost fourteen dollars.

“I got a medium vanilla soft serve,” I said defensively, waiting for my cone.

Just then, a long straight arm slowly eased out of the service window and attached to the end of it was the tallest ice cream cone known to man.

“Medium vanilla soft serve,” called a voice from inside the shack (I assume it was connected to the long arm holding the cone).

My husband and I burst into laughter at the sight of this cone which was - no lie - about 12 inches from the bottom of the (normal-sized) cone to the top of the ice cream. And it was FAT! It wasn’t just tall and skinny: this ice cream was at least 5 inches in diameter.

It must have been somebody’s first day on the job because the root beer float and kids cones were normal size. I can just picture the poor soul with the long arms at the soft serve machine in a panic “I can’t stop it! It won’t stop!” as ice cream continued to spiral out of control.
And then a co-worker comes to the rescue and pulls the lever as the cone is approaching maximum capacity.

We all took turns holding the cone next to our faces and pretending to eat it because it was just so ridiculously enormous. We laughed until it hurt. And then I had to eat it really fast before it melted.

After I couldn’t eat another bite, there was still about a half gallon of ice cream left on the cone, so I passed it around. The entire family couldn’t finish it so we ended up throwing it away. That laugh alone was worth $14.44.

I cannot lie. I am in a horrible mental state this February. I know that March is on the horizon and the promise of spring is near, but right now daily life is unbearably irritating.

Here is a list of things that are difficult to do in February:

1. Get out of bed in the morning
2. Carry on a conversation with anyone (including my husband)
3. Play with my children and pretend to be happy

I do realize that I am complaining, and that I need to kick my own ass and get out into the sunshine (even if it is a toasty 25 degrees out there). I also know that this too shall pass (as my mom is so fond of saying).

SO, this week I am promising myself some sort of adventure. I’m not sure what it will be yet, but it will have to be something that gets my adrenaline pumping. Stay tuned…

Today the power was out for a few hours due to a fierce ice storm. School was cancelled, so the girls were home all day with me. Armed with nothing better to do, my older daughter Morgan started looking through my closet. There she found a 1930’s Smith –Corona typewriter that my grandmother gave me before she passed away.

Every time I see that typewriter, I think of my grandmother and what she must have been like in the 30’s and 40’s. I knew her as a sassy, sharp-tongued, murder-mystery reading, Golden Girls-watching alcoholic who totally adored me and my brother. I have seen newspaper clippings of her in theatrical productions and as a WAVE in the U.S. Navy. I wonder what she used this typewriter for? Did everyone have one back then, or were they only for aspiring writers and secretaries?

Anyway, we took out the typewriter, dusted it off, and rolled in a piece of paper. The red ribbon still had a good amount of ink in it, so there sat Morgan for most of the day, typing letters to imaginary people. The clicking of the letters hitting the paper gave a nice, vintage sound that reminded me of an old detective movie.

It’s funny to think of the typewriter now, and how cumbersome it is to use. If you make a mistake and you’ve run out of corrective ribbon, you have to start typing the entire page all over again. The force with which you have to hit they keys seems ridiculous compared to the light touch needed for a computer keyboard, and I can’t even imagine a writer completing an entire novel on a contraption like this.

Still, I’m sure my grandmother would be happy to know that her typewriter is in good working order and that her great-granddaughter is completely enjoying its novelty just as much as I did when I used to take it out of her closet, typing away as I ate my pizza and watched The Golden Girls.

Maybe it’s just me, but there’s something about a classroom full of kindergarteners that gives me a headache. This afternoon I went to my daughter Olivia’s kindergarten class to help out. I do this once a month and I do it solely to show her that I care and want to be involved in her activities – in no way would I be doing this for “fun”.

Now let me just say that there are moms who visit the classroom at least once a week. I am not that mom. Once a month is about all I can handle. There are some children whose mom or dad never comes to volunteer in the classroom. Take for instance little Joshua, who informed me today that, “My mom said she never wants to come to my school because she doesn’t want to deal with all those kids.”

Now, if I were to have a face-to-face conversation with Joshua’s mom, she would probably make up some excuse for not volunteering like her work schedule is too crazy, or she has a bad back and can’t sit in the little chairs, etc. But I love how, straight from the mouths of babes, she simply doesn’t want to deal with all the kids. That is exactly how I feel right now after only an hour of instructing children to cut out numbers and glue them in the correct order, then color the puppy on the page. It sounds simple enough until you are there, immersed in children and struggling to keep them focused.

I have noticed that there are many ways these kindergarteners operate in the classroom. Here are some of the main personalities I have discovered:

1. The Buddhist: Stares off into space and needs to be prompted to come back to earth every thirty seconds. Theirs is a very tranquil world.
2. The Family Traitor: Is very interested in telling you all his families’ juiciest secrets – things his parents would probably be mortified to hear uttered in public.
3. The Name-Obsessed: She wants you to guess her middle name, her dog’s name, her sister’s name, and her fish’s name. To me this is completely mind-numbing.
4. Fighting the System: This kid does his work as fast as he can with no regard for aesthetics, usually coloring everything either black or gray. Then he tries to distract everyone else from doing theirs.
5. The Brown-Noser: Points out any and all flaws that they see on their classmate’s papers. Makes it well known that they can draw the number 5 correctly, and that Alicia’s number 5 is backwards.
6. Me, myself, and I: Their sentences usually begin with “Guess what?” and then they proceed to tell you their life story.

Now, all of this would be very cute and entertaining if only I had a glass of wine in my hand and it wasn’t all taking place at the same exact time. The classroom is like a tennis match going back and forth, and there I am in the middle trying desperately to thwart any undesired communication. You have to have some serious patience to be a kindergarten teacher. This hour in the classroom has me completely spent for the rest of the day. I am not exaggerating when I tell you I need a nap.

I’m going to the casino tonight with my cousin. Wish me good fortune!

Update: I did not win at the casino. I lost to the tune of $60. I did, however, find a 1/2 cent slot machine…my last quarter lasted about 45 minutes on that machine. The highlight of our trip was when Carrie won “2000 credits” on the 1/2 cent slot machine - this seems like a lot of money until you realized that it only came out to $10 on this machine. The thing that made us laugh hysterically was that crowds of people were stopping by the machine as it racked up the credits, then they would see that it was only the 1/2 cent machine and walk away.  It still got our endorphines going, and we had a good laugh (which could have been due to the midnight cup of coffee we drank).