There was a time in my life---a long time, actually---when I thought I would have a houseful of children. Then I realized I was neither independently wealthy nor particularly patient, so I figured 3 or 4 kids would be plenty. And then, y'know, life happened, and I ended up with two kids and the realization that I am perfectly content with the size of my family. (Well, okay, some days I'm perfectly content and some days I am willing to sell the children for puppies or parts or even just to make the noise stop.) So this is to say that I have no regrets about the state of my life or the size of...
So, uh, this week has kind of sucked. [Sidebar: Thank you for the kind words and thoughts and emails after that last post. I consider myself very lucky to have so many kind folks out there in the Intertubes giving a damn about us, and on low days like that one, it helps more than you know.] When things sucks, I like to go full hermit. I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to see you, I don't want to do anything but curl up and maybe talk to Otto a little bit and hug my kids. That's just how I am. Lucky for me, my dance card usually isn't full, so if I hit a time like this when I want to...
When you don't know what to say, it's always good to have friends more articulate than you are. My friend Kathryn is smart and articulate and beautiful and committed to being part of the light in the world. I'm going to try to follow her example. Thanks, Kathryn.
I'm feeling all vulnerable and naked and stuff, and even though you were super nice about it (you're my favorite, have I mentioned?), I feel the need to change the subject. Unfortunately, I'm not all that smart, so I'm going to change the subject from "ZOMG THIS SUCKS AND WE ARE ALL SAD" to "HEY GIRLS SOMETIMES HURT MY FEELINGS." This is... only a slight improvement. And the funny part is that it grew out of a conversation had while camping, when I was feeling perfectly relaxed and calm and happy and not like the world's worst mother OR like all women are bitches. Huh. Anyway, if you could...
The best thing to do when you've spent a week in a different time zone and you're still adjusting to that giant Time Hangover where you never want to go to bed at night but you're dragging around exhausted in the morning is to pack up again and go camping. Well, no; that is absolutely NOT the best thing to do, but Otto apparently doesn't realize that. Heh. Kidding! I kid. I totally wanted to go camping. Kind of. Right after I take a nap. Anyway, we decided to drag Mario's family to one of our favorite campgrounds, and the way it worked out was that Mario got dropped at our place and came up...
So I forgot to put that on the list of things I know about girlfriends, but it's true. I have an old friend from my former, northern life here visiting ever-so-briefly, and she brought her son (who falls between Chickadee and Monkey, age-wise), and last night he suffered from either a pernicious migraine or some food poisoning (the jury is still out) and ended up having a very long evening indeed. Y'all know I simply do not deal well with vomit, but because they are my friends and I love them I tried REALLY HARD not to dry heave while handing over the bucket the cleaning wipes and such. I'm...
Three days in New York City hardly seems like enough time to get into trouble, but I sure tried, because we all know that I leave the house so rarely, traveling to an actual city is a major pilgrimage for me. It requires THOUGHT and PREPARATION and MASCARA. All of these things are slightly foreign to me, but I soldier along as best I can. So! When we last left off, my journey TO the city had been blessedly uneventful. My first meal there was delicious, and I skipped out on a late night of karaoke to attend to my beauty sleep. [Sidebar: I can't hang this on my 40th birthday, but maybe around...
Yesterday we had some friends come over for brunch, and that was exciting because I generally just hide in my cave, all alone, coming out briefly for food and laundry and to comment that the light, it buuuuuurns. In preparation for this event, we dusted and vacuumed (because we do those things once a year, whether the house needs it or not!), and made some brunchy foods, and tried to prepare the children. You see, Chris and Karen have three children---a 4-year-old son and 3-year-old twin daughters. To Chickadee, we said: We expect you to help with the little kids. To Monkey, we said: If...
Otto and I packed up from camping, came home, removed everything from the camper and shoved it into the washing machine, and then he promptly left me to go race cars... somewhere. Up north. I forget where. I wasn't really paying attention, on account of I took this opportunity when 1) my kids are gone and 2) Otto is off to play cars to 3) demand that my bestie come spend the weekend with me. We are positively INEBRIATED with the sheer joy of having no one to answer to and no real plans (other than some fancy dinner plans Otto made for us for tomorrow night because he is awesome), and so far...
