Mandajuice

It was an entire roll of Ritz crackers, smashed to smithereens**

Have you ever sat down for a meal feeling like "eh, I guess I could eat," but you're not really hungry? And someone puts a plate in front of you and you take the first bite and it's so mind-bendingly delicious that you start drooling everywhere and making lewd noises and suddenly you realize HOLY CRAP, YOU WERE STARVING and proceed to mack down enough food to keep you full through the rest of winter?

Well my weekend in Arizona was exactly like that.

When Erin mentioned her after-the-fact wedding reception, I didn't even bother asking Dave whether or not he'd mind if I went because I thought for sure he'd say no. But then my brain wouldn't shut up about it, about how fun it would be to see Erin again and to get away from my children so maybe I could have the chance to miss them or at least be happy to see them when I got back. So eventually I figured what the hell and I asked him and he immediately said yes without any hesitation other than, "I need to check my calendar, but sure," thus proving one of my most important life rules: don't be afraid to ask for what you want, dumbass. (He also proved that he'd been hitting the awesomesauce extra hard that day.)

Anyway, because I've loved Erin since day one, I already knew I loved Randy too, but man, you should hear them together. They're so sweet that just hearing them talk was like getting an appointment reminder call from the dentist.

"Hey Schnookums, I cleaned out the local BevMo, what was the next thing on my list again?"

"Thanks, Sweetiepie McLoverpants, did you get the chance to wash the dune buggy yet?"

I'm kidding (only partly), but Erin and Randy make Dave and I sound like Frank and Estelle Costanza, only louder.

The party was a fabulous excuse to see them in their natural habitat (on the SUN) and they were amazing hosts. Even the weather was a perfect 80 degrees and sunny with a light breeze. In fact, I'm in the process of re-organizing my retirement plan around their guest house. I mean, why move to Mexico when you've got friends like that in Tempe? (Pronounced TemPEE, I learned, in spite of the fact that the air is so dry there I think only TemPEE'd once in 24 hours.)

And did I mention that Eden was there!? And that going into the weekend, my only goal was not to barf in the guest bed we were sharing? And it was a success! Because instead of filling the time with drunken debauchery like I'd expected us to, we mostly filled it with amazing conversation and that turned out to be something I needed a lot more than booze. (My liver concurs.)

So my first overnight trip away from the kids was spent with people I usually only get the chance to adore from afar and it was perfect and I'll be honest: I didn't miss the gremlins at all. (I did miss Dave though - he and Randy would've been fast friends.) I called home a few times and my favorite conversation went like this:

"Hi honey, are you having fun?"

"Totally! How are the kids doing?"

"Fine - they're watching-- WHAT THE **** IS THAT ON THE FLOOR?!?"**

Click.

I wouldn't have changed a single thing about the trip. It was THAT great. And the kids both ADORE their sock zombies. Alex brought his for show and tell on Tuesday and now Erin's hand-stitched brain-eaters are taking over the world even faster than swine flu, one Methodist preschool classroom at a time!

My two female protagonists

Yesterday I was having one of my crabby days with the kids. They were just being kids, as usual, and doing (annoying) kid things, but I had a LIST, people. Shit needed to get done. I think that's one of the hardest things for me as a parent - I react to my children based on my own mood way more often than I should. Sometimes they can bring me a book and ask me to read it and I'll stop what I'm doing with a smile and take the three minutes it takes to make them happy and other times, they ask me and then keep asking me and we all end up in tears because CAN'T THEY SEE THAT I'M BUSY!?! All too often it seems like my they need me the most when I have the least to give.

[QUICK! Mom's patience shields are dipping dangerously low! ATTACK PATTERN ALPHA!]

So yesterday we were at Target so I could buy last minute stuff for my trip (I! Leave! Tomorrow!) and it was after school and the gremlins (the crazy ones, not the cute ones) were hungry, so I stopped at the snack bar and ordered each kid a mac 'n cheese meal. I was visibly tapped-out and complained that they had no uncaffeinated diet sodas and then complained that I couldn't substitute apple juice for the organic milk and I had to shush my children approximately 8,875 times during the 60 seconds it took to place my complainy order. I was being a pain in the ass and I was blaming it on my children when what I really needed to do was take a deep breath, say a few "serenity now's" and chill the hell out.

Anyway, we finally got the mac 'n cheese and Genoa took a few bites and then told me she was thirsty. All I had was that stupid low-fat organic milk I didn't want and I offered it to her even though I knew she'd hate it. (She doesn't drink milk AT ALL). So she said she'd try it and started sucking on the straw until she literally FILLED her cheeks with milk. As she's doing this, I asked, "Are you sure you like that milk?" and she shook her head solemnly, swallowed it down audibly and made a hideous face before stating:

"THAT MILK IS DOG POO!"

It was exactly what I needed to hear because I cracked up so hard that I couldn't stop until tears were streaming down my face. We were alone in the food court except for the security guard and I could hear him laughing every bit as hard as I was. The best part was when we carried on for too long - TEARS, people. That was how badly I needed to laugh yesterday - she pointed her finger first at me and then at the security guard and shouted, "STOP! LAUGHING! BOTH OF YOU!"

It was the highlight of my week.

I've also been writing writing writing, but I've come up against a bit of a wall. I'm putting that part in the extended entry because you should really have to click to be subjected to this level of CRAZY.

Earth day - Argentina edition

Tonight I wore a pair of strappy navy blue patent leather wedges out to dinner with my husband. It was the first pair of shoes I've bought in years that wasn't Ugg boots or flip-flops or tennis shoes and they were surprisingly blister-free.

I had a lemon drop, or three, and a cup of tomato basil soup that tasted exactly like slurping a BLT sandwich from a warm spoon. Dave ordered the calamari and a Belgian beer called Stella Artois, of which I took a reluctant swig. (I'm not much of a beer drinker.) But it surprised me delightfully by tasting EXACTLY like the much-beloved Argentinian beer Quilmes, the very beer responsible for popping my beer cherry.

One sip and I was suddenly straddling the back of an old Honda motorbike, the smell of diesel and burning trash whipping into my nose as I hugged the skinny torso of the thick-eyebrowed soccer player who'd "borrowed" the bike from his older brother. My stomach would punch me every time we caught air speeding through the four-way-yield intersections of the cobblestone town where I spent half my junior year of high school. Our class held an unofficial bar-b-cue that afternoon - knife-split all-beef hot dogs on still-warm baguettes spread thick with mayo. We washed the day away with Quilmes that we drank straight from the tall bottles you could get refilled at the bodega on the corner. Maybe we played a little volleyball in the late-Autumn sun. We were all 16.

When I got home that night, still drunk, with windblown hair and a permanent grin publishing my secrets across my chap-cheeked face, I can still remember what my host father said:

"How many beers did the driver have?" and I have just as little a clue about the answer now as I did then.

"No idea," I answered with typical teenage immortality. Jumping on the back of a speeding motorcycle with a drunken unlicensed classmate at the helm only occurred to me as fun at the time. I never even gave a single thought to wearing a helmet and it was perhaps the stupidest thing I ever did as a teenager that wasn't for love.

Anyway, Stella Artois: my new favorite beer.

T minus four days AND COUNTING

This weekend I'm going away on a very short, but very exciting trip overnight away from my kids. It'll be the first one I've literally EVER taken since Alex was born FIVE AND A HALF YEARS AGO.  The only time I've ever been away overnight was the solitary evening I spent in the hospital the night after Genoa was born and let's just go ahead NOT count that. I was neither alone nor inebriated and the only drugs I got to take that night were NECESSARY, not recreational. THAT DOES NOT COUNT.

So, yeah. PARTY this Saturday. I'm already making preparations. I bought myself a new pair of jeans that, unlike all my existing pairs, isn't threatening to rip a giant hole in the crotch every time I sit down. Today I also got a pedicure since I'm heading to a tropical flip-flop-worthy location ON THE SUN. I don't think I've had a pedicure in two years mostly because I HATE THEM. I find the prospect of anyone touching my feet about as appetizing as touching someone ELSE's feet which is to say: NOT ENJOYABLE AT ALL.

The weather has been absolutely tantalizing and I'm starting to shove the children out the back door and threaten to lock it if they try to come back inside. It's that nice.  In fact, I'm writing this post from the cool breeze of my own backyard. Dave's out at a business dinner. Genoa is painting with water on our cement patio and Alex is watching Disney Channel and eating a hot dog.

Seriously, my life could get A LOT worse.

MIA Report

Sorry I've been slacking so hard lately. I spent a good chunk of the week climbing the peak of Mt. Unbloggable with a pick axe. The air is thin up here and the view rather sucks, but there's not much I can do about it. That and I have so much dirty laundry, I'm starting to fear the spin cycle's going to tear a hole in the space-time continuum.

SO.

What CAN I talk about?

I managed to file our tax return on time! We're getting a big refund and while most people think that's a GOOD thing, it makes me stabby and all I can think about is the $100 it cost me in lost interest.

I was going to weigh in on the Oprah thing and how I don't think being a mom is so terrible and so WHAT if I can't always stop for a pack of gum when I want to, but that's old news now. I'd like to think that while ALL moms love to crab, most of us aren't actually all that crabby. If anything, I think there's unnecessary pressure put on us to complain about how hard it is. I mean, if you can admit you find motherhood actually  FULFILLING, god-forbid, then what are you saying about feminism?  These days it feels like it's against the rules for women to admit they're happy doing women's work.

In other news, Genoa is about one month away from turning three which means she's not quite old enough to sit through an entire Hannah Montana movie (no matter how much her mom wants to hear the final song) (I love Hannah Montana) (No, I'm not joking), but she's too old to take a friggin nap.

WOE. IS. ME.

To Do

Today's list includes:
1. Write Alpha Mom column.
2. Finish taxes (also relevant: START taxes).
3. Catch up on dishes (until I run the dishwasher we're completely out of: spoons, forks, knives, cups, bowls, those other bowls).
4. Do approximately eight-hundred forty-seven BILLION loads of laundry
5. And put it away.
6. Buy milk, light bulbs and garbage bags.
7. Regular homeschooling stuff (we're working on double-digit addition right now, carrying the one, etc).
8. Make dinner (or not).

What I'm actually doing right now:
- writing a sex scene.*

PRIORITIES, people! I haz 'em.

* For the record, I'm not writing smut, I swear. It's just that my protagonist rather desperately wants another baby and GUESS HOW THOSE ARE MADE.

Easter redux

Genoa loved Easter and the little puppy in a purse the Easter Bunny brought her.  She was quite a handful over the weekend and Dave's cousin John will forevermore refer to her as "The Screamer." Sometimes it takes an outsider to step in and make you notice what's right in front of you, but this girl? She's exhausting. One minute she's screaming bloody murder (usually because you BREATHED next to her or something similarly offensive) and and the next minute she's climbing up on your lap to snuggle you and tell you she loves you.

Having the cousins around was great, though.  I forgot how nice it is when they just disappear and play all day.  We barely even had to leave the house to keep them busy.  On the one day we had sunshine, the kids spent the entire afternoon hunting and collecting worms. It made me really grateful for a lot of things, not the least of which was our backyard.

The full set can be found here.

In which I unintentionally hit pause

Cousins have descended for the weekend holiday. We're knee deep in legos and organic meat (I'll let you know if it tastes any better than the stuff we regularly buy).  I'll also try and take some photos.  Or something.

Back soon.

Best. Weekend. Ever.

Dave and I spent Saturday doing little more than reading, drinking and eating.  Not a bad way to kill your time off, if you ask me.  I finally broke down on Friday, in a fit of weakness, and purchased a $5 paperback off the shelf at Fred Meyer.  It had been TOO LONG since I'd read anything and I figured a quick chick lit wasn't going to hurt anything.  And I was right!  If anything it made me want to write more/better/faster and that can only be a good thing.  Maybe I can chew gum and walk at the same time after all.

Yesterday Dave and I performed our own little game of Trading Places and I woke up and went to his office and he stayed home with the kids.  It was the one thing I wanted for my birthday - a day all to myself to write without interruption - and I can now say with confidence that my own personal heaven on earth is an empty law office on a Sunday.  It was so quiet and peaceful and best of all - there was no wi-fi - and did I mention it was QUIET?  I found myself a comfy spot in the conference room (Dave's office is too messy - he's a Piler with a capital "P") and wrote and wrote until I started seeing letters on the page that weren't actually there. I didn't even check my e-mail ONCE.  Of course aside from my iPhone, I technically couldn't, but I was too involved to even think about it.

In the end, I vomited up a little over 5,000 words (about 20 pages or ten times the length of this blog post) and I haven't experienced that kind of writingasm since I was a college student and I wrote all my research papers the night before they were due.  (I literally ALWAYS did this. I've often hypothesized that I do my best work under pressure, but seeing as it would require at least ONE control group in which I didn't procrastinate, it's a theory that may never be proven.) Don't tell my kids, but apparently all that last-minute cramming was really just good exercise for a muscle I'd need to resuscitate and rely on later in life.  Let's just hope it still earns me A's like it used to. Although here's where the analogy breaks down - I may have slammed out 5k yesterday, but I still have 60,000 words left to go, more pages than the sum total of EVERYTHING I produced in five years of college. And to think I'm doing this FOR FUN.

Anyway, I wrote myself right up to the CRUX of my story.  My protagonist has just learned that the only living person she's let herself trust has betrayed her in a most evil rotten way and yada yada yada, I need to put my ass in the chair a little longer and snake the drain of her misery, but... the! sun! is! shining! and I'm all chipper and wretchedly happy inside.  I'm finding it impossible to give her personal tragedy the angst and melancholy it deserves because did I mention that my house is currently 70 degrees WITHOUT THE HEATER ON? And her tragedy takes place in December, in the snow. 

People, THE SUN IS SHINING.

I'm out!  Catch ya when the clouds are back.

You know, tomorrow.

(This is Washington after all.)

If this doesn't make you chuckle, you're pretty much dead to me

I've had a bug up my ass to have this made ever since I bought my SUV.  Last week I finally got around to calling some places and Familystickers.com was fantastic.  They actually took me seriously when I said I wanted a stick-figure grim-reaper to represent the old man and I received the final product in less than five days. 

WIN.