Call Out

Okay, in a rare wrinkle in the space-time continuum; I have nothing to read.

I believe this absence is affecting much more than just my writer's block, but I cannot face 5 days on a beach with no thick tome in one hand, a cold cocktail in the other.

So dear readers, you have 24 hours in which to post your best suggestions. Make it racy, intriguing, and engaging--but make it fast.

Please?

What the hell?

The first named storm of the season, Alberto, (again with the hurricanes named after Flamenco dancers) is heading toward Tampa just to mess with my vacation plans.

We've got a beach vacation planned starting Thursday, and I really would appreciate the beach still being there upon our arrival.

Oh well, I suppose my disaster plan can include the relocation of my drinking if need be.

*****

The only other news in Divaland is that of no news. I mean I just can't write of any lately. I've got nothing. Nada. Zip. It's like a vacuum down here.

Maybe Alberto will blow in some much needed verbage.

Tee Hee

Barnes and Noble has officially decided to stock my book in some of their stores.

Actual stores with actual shelves.

Wow.

My first royalty check came today

It may not be for a big amount, but to me, it is priceless.

Our Shopping List for Palm Island Next Week

1. Beer
2. Wine
3. Margaritas
4. Beer
5. More Beer

Then we realized that we should probably pack something to soak up some of the alcohol.

6. Chips and salsa
7. Vodka punch

Then we thought we may pass out on the beach for hours on end...

8. Suntan lotion SPF 2
9. Skimpy suits (because we won't care what we look like in them)
10. Mimosas

Then we remembered our kids...

11. Juice boxes
12. Pop-tarts
13. Mojitos

Then realized that the sun would go down eventually and we would have to go in at night...

14. Poker chips
15. ice cream
16. Bailey's

And then we remembered we would have to return home on Monday...

17. Advil
18. First-Aid Kit
19. Beer again.

At least the planning dinner was fun.

Not only am I a poet, but a frugal environmentalist

Because the air conditioner has been dying a slow, painful, oozing death for months now, when it freezes up and leaks water from the return in the garage, I fill buckets from the freon-laced a/c bleed, and water the grass, the plants, the neighbor's lawn and re-fill the community retention ponds.

I figure it costs about $720 a bucket in wasted electricity to save the 22 cents a gallon in water.

Wax poetic

Yesterday, I was freaking Pablo Neruda with my "Ode to the Florida Rain" post--today I am regretting my romantic visions of the storm because every one of God's slimiest and most reptilian creatures must be poets too as they all came out in an amphibian symphony last night to enjoy the wet reprieve. Today, I am stepping over lizards, toads and frogs (my worst fear on Earth) and even a snake. I wouldn't be surprised to see an alligator sunning on the pool float with a margarita he stole from my fridge.

Freaking Florida.

Rainy Days and Thursdays

I am watching the rain fall on the street as steam rises and that metallic scent of summer wafts up into the heavy air.

We have not had a drop of rain since February 3, when 10 inches fell in a single day. It has not rained since.

The grass is brown, the flowers are wilted, there are watering restrictions imposed because water is so scarce. Even the glossy leaves of the tropical plants have lost their luster. A film of dust months old now, coats everything.

And so when the afternoon threatened with a few gathering clouds on the horizon, I was not impressed. I was not convinced when a rogue breeze lifted my hair when Matty was in the pool. Even when I had to switch on a light in the middle of the afternoon, I thought for certain it would blow over. But now it comes down in earnest and it is one of the most welcome thunderstorms I have ever seen.

Exhaling

We have just logged in our last early morning (in principle anyway) of the school year. What a blessed relief. I have been looking forward to summer vacation with my boys for weeks.

I started my vacation a little earlier this week though, when I begged out of a basket party (Sorry!) and went to the movies instead. It was a Tuesday--the greatest day of the week--and we all know I haven't seen a movie over a G-rating in a theater since 1988. So we saw "The DaVinci Code" along with the rest of America. It wasn't bad--if your benchmark is how closely it followed the book, it was almost sentence by sentence, which as a reader I appreciate. It was also a good movie, I thought too, but then again my critical cinematic eye is something to be desired since I laughed out loud in "Over the Hedge," and can't wait to take Amy and the boys to "Cars," tomorrow.

And now I can because it's summer and we can go in the middle of the day if we want!

Wooohoooo!

Only 2 more days until school is out!

Long Weekend...Not

On our way to the first of 5 parties this weekend, and I even turned down 2. We were going to be enterprising and paint the kitchen in the 45 minutes we expected to be home, too. This was keeping with my decree to finally finish the kitchen renovation after starting the day after Christmas on this God-forsaken project. So, I even bought a kitchen table this week and a new ceiling fan. We have one more tradesman to finish the gaping hole which is the pantry, and some new lighting to install. After the paint, dare I say we might actually be done? Wow. Had I known it was going to become my life's work, I might have stuck with the pink laminate countertops.

Happy Weekend, all.

Dream blog

Yet another hidden blog reader bears her identity to me...I apologize now for my stupidity.

You may find it odd, but I really did resist blogging for a long time. Really, I did. I thought, "What a narcissistic pursuit to expect people to care what you had for breakfast or that you are allergic to Swiss cheese." But then I figured that I don't force anyone to read this crap, and maybe, in my daily idiocies, someone might catch a glimpse of me and like it. They might catch news of what's going on, and better yet, why it is going on. And I am pretty big into the whys of the world.

So there you have it.

Besides, a little side benefit to this computerized diary, is that I get to write in the margins of all of things that strike me as momentous when I'm reading. And at the moment, that happens to be another try at my friend, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and his classic, Love in the Time of Cholera. It is my 6 month classic selection. But I read this once in college in Spanish--I believe I translated excerpts? but I can't remember exactly. It was a time when I was particularly fluent, and I was reading literature effortlessly, and found myself at many times actually dreaming in Spanish.

So here from the first chapter: "He smiled at her from the far shore of ecstasy," and this which seems particularly apropos considering my insomnia affliction: "Thinking as she slept, she thought that she would never again be able to sleep this way, and she began to sob in her sleep, and she slept, sobbing, without changing position on her side of the bed, until long after the roosters crowed and she was awakened by the despised sun of the morning without him."

I wish I still dreamt in Spanish. Or at least in the margins.

Side Effects

At least I'm getting things done...

I just washed the vacuum cleaner.

How do you know when bleu cheese has gone bad?

Insomnia-Day ? (They are all running together now)

On Sunday, I was tired.

On Monday, I was exhausted.

Today, I don't even have the energy to summon a word that can adequately describe the fatigue that has settled into my bones. Another night of sleeplessness.

Yesterday, when Amy went down, and between loads of laundry, I laid down myself and fell asleep instantly. I probably slept for a solid hour--even dreaming. Even dreaming of my Mom. (A sure signal of true slumber for me.)

I don't know if that stolen hour caused me to stare at the clock until 4 a.m. or not, because it really doesn't matter at this point.

I am just bone-ass spent.

Zzzzz...Grrrr...

Two straight nights of solo parenting and no sleep. I am beyond cranky.

Amy

We haven't talked about A-Dog in a while, have we?

So what is the distinction between seeking a second opinion and diagnosis shopping? Because I have so many differing opinions on this child's ears from so many different professionals, I hear ringing in mine.

I'm on hold right now with a specialist whom we really need to see, but they are giving me an insurance hassle instead of helping my daughter. I have said that I will self-pay and worry about (or not) insurance later. What do they care as long as they get paid? Grrrr....

Do you think if I start weeping--because in addition to my frustration this elevator music is tragic--it'll help my cause?

Sick Day

We're now onto day 5 of Fifth's Disease here.

In case you were wondering--which I know you are--Fifth's Disease is this crazy-ass childhood viral infection thing that distinguishes itself because kids that get it get a rash that looks like they have "slapped cheeks."

Last Friday at baseball, Matty looked flushed, and it took me 2 innings to realize that he never gets flushed, and it was indeed a case of Fifth's. The fever came over the weekend for he and Amy, and he got to miss Monday from school.

By Tuesday, if Matty's cheeks looked slapped, Stevie's entire body looks as though it was trampled. The poor kid's rash goes from one set of cheeks to the other, and his itches to add to the misery. And mine.

He is so bored today but doesn't dare admit it lest I make him clean his room.

Or work on his Canada report.

And as an annoying Canadian aside, part of the never-ending project is to bring in a national food from the country to share with the class.

What the hell is Canadian cuisine?

If he goes to school tomorrow, he'll be bringing donuts and Labatt's.

O Canada

Canada is the second-largest country in the world. It is also the world's largest producer of low-bush blueberries. The fireweed is the official flower of the Yukon.

I know these fascinating facts as well as a million more (in the metric system equivalent, of course) because I just became one of those parents I swore I never would, and basically just completed Stevie's project on Canada...

I hope we get an A, eh?

(Or the Canadian alphabet equivalent, of course.)

My Mother's Day

I missed my flight home.

Can you believe? I am sure it had nothing to do with the 17 Mother's Day margaritas I shared with my two old pals. I am sure it had nothing to do with laughing so hard for hours about stupid old stories and people from 100 years ago that tears rolled from our eyes as we slapped the table. I am sure it had nothing to do with the fact that between the 3 of us, we have 8 children between us, and we each have lost our own mothers in the last 6 years and it felt so good to be together in that tragic kinship for a few (drunken) hours.





And so when I missed the stupid flight, my friend came back to airport, watched me pay $288 for a one-way flight middle seat back on a different airline and then we dropped another $75 on a bar tab in Detroit Metro Airport, and we laughed some more before the night ended with a long, upright nap back to Tampa.

And speaking of 100 years ago and my beautiful Mom, here are some pictures of us from 101 years ago....

Weekend fun

Well, I'm packing up for my Michigan Mother's Day Extravaganza. Well, not really, but it will be nice to visit with some sorely-missed friends and family for the 36 hours in which I will be there.

I will miss the little ones I'm leaving behind, though. Especially the one that reported to the Kindergarten class at the Mother's Day tea this morning that his Mom was 36, (which he even drew on my shirt in his artist's rendering) and that I "had brown eyes and brownish-yellowish hair, and I like to race her."

Not one word about my idiot savant knowledge of hockey or that I put smiley faces on his snack everyday.

Oh well. Happy Mother's Day.

OMG

You can find me amongst the shampoo and dog food at Wal-Mart.

Oh.

My.

God.

The Signing

I survived.

As a friend and dedicated reader of the idiocy that is this blog said quite eloquently afterward, "It's hard to put yourself out there like that. Sitting in the front of the store--you're not like that."

'Zactly.

That is why these events--although I am forever grateful for them--are so difficult. You're displayed at the door, practically daring people to buy your book. I feel like I have a giant tattoo on my forehead that reads, "Hey! Look at me! Feed the animals! Feed my ego!"

Ugh.

Luckily I have amazing friends and family who did not allow me to have those awkward moments of sitting there without anything to do except dab my increasingly shiny brow from humiliation. Not only did we sell out of B&N stock, but my diva entourage showed up in full force, even displaying signs.

And while we were in the front of the store, the little ones were in the back...



It was a good day, and I think Baby Diva has seen so many covers of that book now, that she's aiming for a children's version...

Seis de Mayo

I consumed my obligatory Corona yesterday (ok, 2 or 3) but it is such a shit beer. Any beer that requires a piece of fruit to make it palatable should not be consumed. The only garnish I need with my Miller Lite is a bottle, and that's pretty ok with me.

Muchas gracias that it is only once a year.

Cinco de Mayo

With the week I've had, it's been easy to forget about the nerve-racking event on Sunday--my book signing.

I don't know, the Keys were different--it was laid back, a small independent book store...I didn't know anyone. Here in the big, bad Barnes and Noble that I've fought so hard to get in--there's a different sort of pressure.

I just better drink a lot starting tonight (Margaritas seem apropos for Cinco de Mayo, don't you think?)

Peeking back in

I'm starting to emerge from my cloud of grief.

My Gram died this week, and while she had been ill for quite some time, I still will miss her terribly.

My progression of sadness is predictable and unchanging, in this order:

1)Cry. A lot. With abandon, often, and unapologetically.

2) Read. A lot. With abandon, often and unapologetically. (In this case I devoured a couple of novels--one of note, The History of Love, by Nicole Krauss, who gave me these beautiful memories: "Her kiss was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering." Or, "so many words get lost. They leave the mouth and lose their courage, wandering aimlessly until they are swept into the gutter like dead leaves. On rainy days you can hear their chorus rushing past:IwasabeautifulgirlPleasedon'tgoItoobelievemybodyismadeofglass-I'veneverlovedanyoneIthinkofmyselfasfunnyForgiveme...")

3) Write. A lot. With abandon, often and unapologetically.

Get some perspective and start living again.

Happy Birthday for real this time.

Can you see this?

Is the layout messed up for anyone else or just me? I can't seem to get anything right these last couple of days...

I wish it was April again

Ok, when I said "significant" I didn't mean so fucking sad.

Happy Birthday to me

I've been waiting to turn 36 my whole life.

I know that's a strange thing to say, but it is true. For some strange reason buried deep within a childhood impression from some unknown yet powerful source; I've had this premonition that 36 was going to be significant.

Perhaps my mother did something particularly wonderful that impressed me at that age (I would have been 12 when things are pretty impressionable). Perhaps I dreamt something. Perhaps it is a genetic imprint from a past life.

I have no idea what it means or what it refers to--hell, 35 was a pretty eventful year in the life of me--but somehow something all comes together at 36, and I feel it down to my hopeful toes.

Not a bad way to start a new year.

The first step is admitting you have a problem

Okay, so every birthday card I've received so far--both in the mail and online--have all revolved around drinking.

Are my friends trying to tell me something?

(Probably priming me that they can't afford to pick up my bar tab at dinner tonight, I'm sure.)

5-2

Looks like I need new talisman in my repertoire...

Let's Go Lightning

I am dusting off all of my playoff good luck talisman from '04 in honor of our game tonight in which we will be in attendance.

God willing, the "Ice Ice Baby" shirt still fits.

Turkey and Swiss on Rye, minus the swiss and rye toast

Did I ever mention that I am allergic to Swiss cheese? Difficult to believe but true. Ever since I was little, every time I eat it, the roof of my mouth itches.

Well, I must have unwittingly eaten some lately because I have that tell-tale burning sensation in my throat.

Or maybe I just talk too much.

The Final Chapter

I'm going to wrap up what Sean has dubbed, "Media Week" in Key Largo with a short little entry on our departure.

By the time Saturday morning rolled around, I was rested from my solo sleep, but a tad sore from my sunburn that I keep insisting is a tan despite its determining scarlet color. But not to worry, as of today, the top few layers of epidermis are peeling off--completely ignoring the sticky aloe that I have lathered myself with over the last 4 days.

We all met for a breakfast at a diner where I had a Keys version of eggs benedict which is still residing in my colon as a little vacation souvenir. Quick poll: how many people reading this (both of you) a) have ever ordered, consumed or heard any other human request rye toast? Or b) had 2 people at the same table order rye toast? I believe c)never is the correct response.

We did some last minute souvenir shopping for all of those sad children I left behind, and one of our stops was at a giant sporting goods store which houses Ernest Hemingway's old boat, the Pilar. What a way to end a book weekend than running my hands along the well-varnished railings that the Old Man did. It was a little surreal, actually. I bought a hat there, too, something I think that completely transforms me.



On the way back from Shell World, which I dropped a handsome price for some cheap sunglasses and shells for the boys, I noticed the tire dangerously low. I filled it with air, but after about a mile, it was as flat as my hair was under the new hat, so we pulled over to a convenience store and before we had a chance to call for some professional help, some nice gentlemen offered to change the tire for us. It only cost me a couple of twenties and 2 books. As I went back to fill the spare with air, one of the men came running up. "Hey Tracey, will you sign this book for me?"

Can you stop me?

This time I had a pen.

Chapter 2--The Signing

That night, in the big, soft hotel bed, I slept alone for the first time--well, ever. I was well worth the almost 4 bills I paid for the privilege.

The next day, I had coffee on my balcony (see chapter 1) and greeted the day island style. I took my time getting down to the pool, but really didn't see the need to wait very long to lay on a beach chair with a brand new book ("The History of Love," by Nicole Krauss) and a daquiri, (strawberry, if you must know.) My friends joined me shortly thereafter, and after I thinly and sloppily applied coat of sunscreen, we spent the afternoon much in the same position, changing only every so often to cool off in the pool or with another round of drinks.

(I would include a picture from the pool, except that the only one I have is a rather unattractive one of me and Sue with wet curly hair in these insane J-Lo diva sunglasses I was forced to buy poolside to save my retinas from spontaneous combustion.)

After hours of grilling in the sun, it was time to get ready for the signing. We primped; both our persons and our livers and all headed down to Cover to Cover books--an enchanting bookstore that would have captivated me for hours anyway--where I happily spent the next two hours signing books and generally feeling pretty damned content. The only time my true colors showed--a bright naive green--was at the very first book, I realized I had not brought a pen. What kind of author doesn't bring a freaking pen to a signing? So, like the entire weekend--Janet saved my ass again and bought me a fancy pen. Thanks, Janet.






So, we had fun. Lots.



And then we all went out to dinner at this little place on the water and between the tropical breeze, the nursed margarita, all of the expelled adrenaline, I was pretty much spent. I ended the lovely day as I began it--in that soft, expensive bed, sleeping one of the best nights of my life.

Tomorrow's entry will include the momentous ride home, including no cell phone, no tire, and gas at over 3 bucks a gallon. Yippee.

Diva Weekend--Chapter 1

Well, we're back.

Let me recreate the 2 days in the Keys for you in loving, rich detail, complete with a pictorial of events and moods...

As you are aware from our last episode, I, and 3 friends (Janet, her husband Todd, and Sue) made a road trip down to Key Largo for my first book signing/radio show.

After leaving early Thursday morning, we made the 5 hour car trip down south. Easy drive--Sue had the horrific task of accompanying me and my neuroses, as I was so freaking nervous about this radio interview.

Part of it was that I had absolutely no idea what to expect. Details--much like clothing, sobriety and clocks--are scarce in the Keys. So I had no idea if I was to prepare with a dossier of wit and one-liners for hours of diva amusement, or if I was going to be given two seconds to spit out the title of my book and an ill-timed crack in my voice. I made Sue shoot possible questions to me across Alligator Alley while trying to remember Sean's (a seasoned radio veteran) advice.

I had a few minutes once we arrived to change and throw-up at the hotel before getting on to the show which was at a restaurant/bar on the water. Here is a picture of the view from my room:



I didn't have much trouble finding the place, but there were 3 other bars I had to walk through before finding mine at the back of the restaurant on a deck on the water. I had no idea if I was in the right place, as there was no equipment, no obvious show biz types, no satellite station or anything else I thought might be required for broadcast. A small banner across the palm-thatched roof said "The Turtle Club Radio Show," but it could have just blown in from the last hurricane and no one bothered to take it down yet.

So I waited. I waited for my friends, and I waited for some clue that I was in the right spot, as all of my prep work in the car began to melt under the blazing sun. But pretty soon, an old sailor-looking guy pulled out a black suitcase looking thing, and four microphones which he set up on a plastic lawn table, complete with several bottles of Budweiser.

This was the show. And I was even more scared than before.

All of a sudden, there was a flurry of activity, as people began to arrive--no additional staff mind you--but friends and other bar patrons. The bookstore owner also arrived, with whom I then found out would be accompanying me on the radio. Whew. At least I wouldn't be alone, I thought.

Lack of company would not be a further fear of mine for the entire trip--least alone this radio show. In addition to the two DJ's, the store owner, and a very-nervous me--Janet and Sue got to accompany me at the table. Here's me pre-show--thank goodness the camera didn't capture the bile that is forming in my throat.



But a funny thing happened as I sat there trying to listen carefully to the questions, or some sort of never-uttered instructions...I relaxed. I relaxed just a little bit to enjoy this moment of talking about something I sure do know a lot about--my life--and even though he didn't ask many questions that I had anticipated or rehearsed, I answered well; and I was witty, and dare I say, at times, even quite charming.




It went on for quite some time.



I have no idea how long it lasted or what I said, but my friends lied and said I was great, and the DJ said I was, "a natural."

A natural what, I don't know, but I'll take it as a compliment.

The evening continued with music, food, drinks and wonderful conversation in an outdoor bar on the sea.




Don't miss tomorrow's episode which includes highlights from the signing and trip home such as a flat tire and rye toast.

6 Candles in the Wasabi...

Our little Matty is 6....

The party at the final regular game of the season was a huge success. Just what every 6 year old birthday should be made of: hockey, a suite, sushi, and beer. Oh well, at least the parents of the assembled guests had fun. Matty did too, complete with a ride on the Zamboni.




And, of course, his siblings are seasoned veterens of the hockey birthday party.



And tomorrow, we are off to the Keys for our little book signing/radio show. The latter which I am a tad nervous about. I just don't know if I can be charming and witty on command.

Well, of course I can.

Happy weekend everyone, I'm on island time now...

This Week

Easter may have been yesterday, but this week is significant for 3 other reasons:

1) Matty’s birthday is Wednesday, party tomorrow, and so the perpetual countdown that has occurred over the last 11 months will end soon, and the new one will begin. 2 days until I’m 6…one day until I’m 6…364 days until I’m 7…

2) Bathing Suit season begins. I hate this time of year.

3) My starvation diet officially ended yesterday when after an amazing Easter dinner I shoved the last piece of apple pie with a jelly bean chaser after Big Love last night.

4) #2 and #3 should never be simultaneous events.

Happy Easter.

Mysteries Solved

The following startling mysteries were solved tonight at dinner with 16 other divas and 432 margaritas:

1)My blog audience was more clearly defined. (Hi Bern and Kathy...)

2)The urban myth I've been perpetuating and my lame "brush with fame" story about a lead singer of a popular 70's band being the mother of a fellow student at the school is completely untrue. (Damn, now I'll have to retell the one about the drummer from The Who--again.)

3)Catholic school elementary teachers have as impressive of livers as those belonging to the room moms. (You go, girls.)

4)We are going to have to hire full-time sober nannies for the Palm Island trip this year. It could get very ugly.

5) Our husbands and children will go hungry at Palm Island this year, because cooking does not seem to be on the agenda.

6)If Suburban Diva is the biggest celebrity we know, we all need to get out more.

7)The whereabouts of some truly embarrassing photos are now known. (I will burn them.)

8)My sons are ladies men. (I knew about #1 son--it's #2 I'm having a tough time believing.)

9) I have "The Talk" to look forward to next year, which is already making my mouth dry and palms sweat. (Maybe this should be sooner--see #8)

10) We'll miss our dear friend, Lynn. Best of luck to you and your family.

Mary Lou Retton I am Not

Yesterday, at Baby Gymnastics--futile exercise (literally) in Baby Diva energy harnessing--I ran off to snag her before she could complete the emergency room visit portion of her floor routine. As I did, I tripped over my own graceless feet, and ended up doing quite an impressive tumble of my own, with the exception of a rather sloppy dismount which had me face down on the mat in front of the other 2 year-old participants and their mothers who held up binary number cards in judgment. I was mortified, but picked myself up and continued toddler pursuit.

However, today, I realize that the result of not sticking that landing are black and blue arms that feel as though they are going to fall off. I seriously cannot get over how much they hurt considering that I carry a 30 pound weight around for 14 hours a day and those muscles should be in much better shape.

Matthew, in his Kindergarten sweetness held my right arm in his sticky fingers (which I bit my lip not to show the excruciating pain) the entire way to his baseball game reassuring that, "We'll take of you until Monday, Mom."

I wonder what happens on Tuesday?

Secret Book Review

I could never recommend this selection en masse in my column amongst the pretty people, however I must exalt this somewhere, and I know the likes of whom read this...

The Crimson Petal and the White, by Michael Faber is so wickedly delicious in a beautifully perverse way. I hate to give away even one of its 900+ pages, however, but to sum up, it is a brilliant tale of prostitution in higher English society in the 1870's.

Huh? But how could this subject matter captivate us, Trace?

Oh, it can. And it will.

If you are not easily offended (which again, I daresay anyone reading this is not) then sink in to this tome.

Grrrrr....

You know that phrase, "If you want anything done right, you have to do it yourself?"

Well, no matter how true it is, it still makes it no less annoying.

Good Thursday to you.

Outings

Last night I attended another Book Club meeting, where my friends kindly and pitifully chose my book for their respective clubs to read. As a member of various book clubs over many years, I fully realize that this is an act of mercy and novelty on my behalf. I accept this no less graciously than if I were James Frey incarnate.

So last night, I was treated to dinner out at a restaurant (with a full bar) and a friendly crowd who were very complimentary and complete liars, but I appreciate these evenings more than anyone can know. What has stricken me particularly is that people love to share their stories, and if the only thing that comes from this endeavor is someone feeling a little more comfortable sharing theirs, well, and then it was all worth while.

In a not-so ingratiating task, I have begun to select summer camp activities for the boys. Don’t give me that look! Not sleep away camp or anything so creepy—just little day trips to Busch Gardens and make your own pottery studios for a couple of hours. So I have some information materials spread out on the table and I am reading the titles of fun aloud.

Stevie: Oooh!! I want that one! “Eskimo Camp!”

Me: Not Eskimo camp, Basketball camp. (I have a cold. A very bad one, apparently.)

Stevie: Obviously disappointed he won’t be building igloos and clubbing baby seals in June in Florida. Oh, well then how about Volleyball Camp?

Me: Sorry, that the same week as you will be going to the camp at a country club.

Stevie:He’s rolling his eyes just like you are now… Oh great! What am I supposed to do there all day?

Me: Well, I think that’s ascot-tying lessons day. Maybe we can sign you up for the deluxe extended session to include “Paper-Mache with 100 dollar bills” and “Servant Trashing Talking 101!”

Whose kid is he?




P.S. Amy’s next scheduled hearing test isn’t until April 25, so I am taking the time off from worrying until then. (It’s exhausting, I tell you.)

Happy Birthday

Mom. She would have been 60 today. We're having cupcakes in her honor.

However, a not-so nice present of a phone call from the accountant (on a Sunday, that can never be good) alerting us that we owe a ginormous amount of money this year, despite my best efforts in losing so much and or not making squat with my writing career.

New Digs

A couple of weeks ago, I received notification of the approval of my trademark for Suburban Diva; ownership papers, if you will. Yes, I own her.

This got me to thinking of the difference between she and I; me and that which I created many years ago. The column on Backwash and the book are all her. Her outrageousness, her outspokenness, her fearlessness.

But perhaps this blog, is not hers. Perhaps this is the place for Tracey; the imperfect, the flawed, the Lois Lane in the Hall of Justice.

So with that outlook, and an extreme blog makeover, I begin anew on this eve of April.

See you soon.

Short Hiatus

Just need a little time to gather my wits about me, so I am relieving myself of all blogging duties for a little while while I do that.

All is well, I assure you--we are back on track after a little slip, I just can't help but breathe misery and depression into this little outlet, and that just shouldn't be.

So, I'll check back with you soon--have some fun, will ya?

It's 80 degrees and I cannot get warm.

Oh, Amy...

Yeah, Yeah, I know

I know, you can't post something like that and then go away for a week without an update.

I can.

I can because I just don't feel ready to talk about it yet. Tomorrow morning we are back at the hospital for another test, today I await a return call from 2 different doctors, and I still can't shake that moment of the therapist signing to her out of my head. At that precise moment, the problem which I knew existed for quite some time deteriorated from, Amy doesn't talk, to Amy doesn't hear. I've been wistful for a year that she's never said, "Mommy," or "I love you," but that was the moment when it occurred to my idiot self that she hasn't heard me say it.

And I cry again.

But that won't do either of us any good, so I'll tell you of my newest habit.

I've been taking long evening walks for months now after the kids are in bed when Sean's schedule allows. It seems that clearing out my head late at night and a little exercise is rather helpful to my inner being. Sometimes I would write stories in my head. Or I would work out a problem or think. Or even cry in the dark.

Well, lately, I've picked up the pace--literally--and started running. It's a whole different feeling. You can't think about anything but your lungs burning and your heart seizing. For the first time I have some blessed nothingness where I can really turn off my brain function for a minute.

I think this is good, actually.

But it's Tuesday, and I am ready for an evening sabbatical. A little strength for tomorrow, my pretties.

Heart break

Baby Diva failed her second hearing test today.

Not a surprise--I was expecting it. We were sitting in the examination room, and there were two therapists administering the test. They evaluated the way she responded to different sounds.

They were kind and able women, you knew that they had obviously worked extensively with hearing impaired children. At one point during the test, Amy was sitting in my lap with earpieces in, and the lady was speaking to her, and out of habit, she signed to Amy as she spoke.

My heart broke into a million pieces then.

How does it feel?

It's such a roller coaster ride. You're either exhilarated at the top or crashing terrified to the bottom only to climb up again after you've thrown up.

We are nothing if not true Floridians

Taken a week apart:

In our element.





Out of it.

My Newest Idiotic Pleasure

Cheap Seats, on ESPN.

OMG.

Too freaking funny.

My book was on the Today Show!

Okay, maybe not in the comfy confines of the NBC studios being hailed by Katie, Matt or Al, but my very dear friend did manage to get not only the cover shown on the outside crowd shot, but delivered to Ms. Couric herself as she stood outside.

It's these messages in the bottles that you throw out there with the small hope that they will wash ashore somewhere...

And in other news...

The party on Friday night was a smashing success, and I am truly humbled by the turnout and support of some truly wonderful friends. This has been an amazing ride, one that I will cherish forever no matter what happens from here.

A Literary Review

This is the text message I received on my phone this morning from my darling nephew, D:

Done with the book, it was really good. I didn't realize you drink so much.

A little subtext I wish he didn't pick up on.

How cool--or how hot--is this?

Well, I've secured my first book signing.

I have to chuckle because it is not the obvious and convenient local Barnes and Noble nor the Tampa Borders; but rather it is a small independent bookstore in the Keys--as quirky as SD herself.

So, April 20-21, if all goes according to plan, I will be somewhere in the Keys not caring whether or not I sign a single copy since, well, I'll be in the Keys.

Cover to Cover Books
Tavernier Towne Shopping Center
MM 91.2, BS, 91272 Overseas Hwy., Tavernier, FL 33070

Home

The flight was well worth it, I was treated to some amazing meetings up there in the snowy North.

I finally got to meet my friend Spoonman, who was as charming and delightful in person as he is online.

But the real treat was meeting my new nephew Adam (picture to follow), and spending a whole lot of newborn snuggling time with him. He is so sweet and perfect.

And as I was holding him, feeding him and generally inhaling him--my older nephew, D. called on my cell phone. He chatted about college, his job, his current reading material (my book and Al Franken--smart kid) and I thought, I hope my baby nephew grows up to be as sweet as my big baby nephew.

I hate to fly

But despite that, I'm off. Amy and I are packed and ready to go up to Ohio for a long weekend with my new nephew. I am quite looking forward to seeing everyone, even though I hate to fly. I hate to fly even more so sober, which I'll have to be with Amy.

I do feel quite badly about leaving, however. It seems like I'm abandoning the men folk around here at a particularly busy time. It's then end of soccer and start of baseball, so things got a doubled up for the weekend. And, I hate to fly.

I borrowed a laptop (mine is being repaired) so I won't be totally offline, just more so than usual, which isn't necessarily a bad thing.

But flying is. Did I mention I hate to fly?

Tuesdays

Tuesday is quickly becoming one of my favorite days of the week.

What began as an attempt at "date night," a babysitter has been secured for every Tuesday evening. Sean's current travel schedule has made the original date night idea a physical impossibility, so these Tuesdays, I date myself.

After running a few errands which are considerably easier to do without help from a two year old, I usually end up wandering the aisles of a bookstore followed by dinner alone somewhere with my nose in a book.

So...

Tuesdays taste like a warm tall mocha latte.

Tuesdays feel like a newly cracked spine of a novel.

Tuesdays smell like Jasmine rice.

Tuesdays sound like whatever I decide plays on the car stereo.

Tuesdays look like heaven.

I'm Baaackk..For a Minute Anyway...

1500 miles, 5 days, 8 inches of snow.

We're home. Not too long ago, as a matter of sad fact. (Sad that I felt compelled to write at 11:00 at night after waking at 4:30 this morning to drive home from the snow-capped mountain.

Anyway, we had a great time. The introduction of snow into the children's life experience was a positive one. Nature did us a huge solid by providing a beautiful snowstorm for us to enjoy from the mountain condo. We tubed. We sled. We skied. We ate. We drank (a lot. There were two other families who drove from Tampa to BFE to do so.) I slept. Some.

Other highlights included:

Stevie learning to ski. He took right to it, just like his mother whose muscles remembered which way down was.

Matty tubing by himself. This was a major victory since he was less than excited at the prospect, but after a couple of runs on my lap, decided he could not only go it alone, but become the Safety Harbor Flying Tomato.

Amy in a snowsuit. Needless to say, she didn't exactly love the cold stuff on her bare feet, but she was adorable with only frozen curls peeking out. She did love tubing, though.

Good friends. Spending a long weekend with lots of people is a good time.

Me finally giving up Dr. Zhivago in earnest. I figured that if snow falling all around me, hours of uninterrupted reading time, hot cocoa and Olympic hockey playing in the background couldn't coax me into this book, then nothing will. I opted for a 6 year old issue of Country Living, instead.

I returned to a full plate of fun news, my nephew entered the world a month early, so I will fly up in a couple of days to meet him. I am looking forward to that more than I can say.

Missed you, though.

And I am outta here...

Well, tomorrow we're headed off for the mountains for an introduction to this thing they call, "snow." 2 out of the 3 minors have never seen it, so we're going to submerge them in it for a few days in NC.

I'm sort of looking forward to a getaway, although the 12 hour drive to and fro will be no picnic, but I suppose I will get into the spirit as soon as I chew on my first Twizzler going down I-75...

Have a nice weekend, folks.

Back to Reality

OK, I've come down a bit after the weekend fun. Now that the number is 3 and sometimes four digits, I care less for it than when it was a dozen. ;)

So, that leaves the rest of my life which is busy enough. Another round of tests for Amy this week--hearing this time--so that is joyous fun. I finished a nice read, Best Friends, by Martha Moody, and I've picked up Dr. Zhivago again for the tenth time. Earlier this week I had a raging case of insomnia, and the good Russian doctor is curing it nicely. I just feel too gulity not to finish a book.

That's my Thursday story, folks. Weekend fancy doings and then a little getaway to the mountains next week. I know you can't wait to hear all about it.

117 was soooo yesterday...

I ate 117 for breakfast.

This morning, it remains at 15 on the B&N "Hot List"--which is based on sales for an hourly period. I am beyond any measure of excitement and complete humbled awe over that.

117...

117?

This number could represent the number of hate letters delivered to Barnes and Noble.com so far. It could designate the number of lashes with a bamboo cane I will receive. It could even be the enjoyment tax charged yesterday for being so happily overwhelmed at the book release.

I have no idea what the Barnes and Noble Sales Rank Number is, but I suspect that 117 is respectable.

Right? (And please don't kill my self-delusional buzz if it's not.)

The 5th greatest day of my life

My Book

OKay, behind the births of my children and wedding day, of course.

But this was like giving birth in a way so it’s right up there.

It was so surreal to see this—my mind hasn’t fully grasped it yet. I am curiously calm, but with the knowledge that my composure is short-lived and will soon dissolve into joyous tears when the full impact reaches my nerve-endings.

Point of Order

If Donald Trump is successful in his lawsuit against the writer who said he wasn’t a billionaire, he then, in fact, becomes a billionaire.

Poetic Memory

I'm slowly returning to my accustomed reading pace, after about 3 months of simply inching through novels. The book I just finished, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, by Milan Kundera, reminds me why this is such an important part of my life. The beauty of words is my breath more often that I can to admit.

The brain appears to possess a special area which we might call poetic memory and which records everything that charms or touches us, that makes our lives beautiful...I have said before that metaphors are dangerous. Love begins with a metaphor. Which is to say, love begins at the point when a woman enters her first word into our poetic memory.

I Got Mail Today

I am holding it.

In my hands.

It is glossy and sleek, and it is mine.

It is within a week of being set free, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry or throw up, so I am doing all three.

Another Weekend

And chock full of excitement, I tell ya!

Sleepover tonight--no sleep for most of the house, actually.

Baseball tryouts tomorrow--our lives are about to completely be at the mercy of that relentless schedule for the next 3 months.

Sean off to Asheville on Sunday--our new weekly routine, most difficult on all, but especially for him. I feel bad that he's traveling so much.

If we could just throw in a fever, a hockey game and profuse vomiting, we'd have a typical Henry weekend.

Enjoy yours.

Happy Anniversary

Yes, it's our Anniversary today. The 14th as a matter of fact.

In the past, we try to be traditionalists when it comes to our anniversary gifts. We like to creatively give the traditional material that etiquette dictates--for example, for the paper anniversary, I subscribed to the newspaper. I think he got me a curling iron for our sixth. That sort of thing. Well, the 14th is the ivory anniversary. What do you do for that?

He doesn't play the piano, nor do I want to spend hundreds on scrimshaw for whimsy. I suppose I could give him the complete Keenan Ivory Wayans DVD box set...but that's not a whole lot of fun, either. A trip to the Ivory Coast? I am really looking forward to next year when crystal is on the calendar. I ended up getting him some ivory-colored silk shirts and ties.

So instead of a traditional gift exchange, we are going to the Tampa opening of "Wicked," and dinner at a fancy restaurant.

Maybe I'll order the elephant ears.

2006 is Messy

I am a bad blogger, I realize. However the following update will also serve as an explanation, I assure you.

Of course we had a wonderful holiday. We were all spoiled, and it was a relaxing time. That controlled Christmas chaos was then replaced by noisy and messy chaos on the 26th when the kitchen demolition/remodel began.

Everything had to be taken out of the kitchen and laundry room to clear the way for the cabinet dismantle. I will spare you the sawdusty details, but suffice it to say banquet tables were lined up in every spare corner of the house (already overflowing from new Christmas gear) and the contents of the two busiest rooms in the house were piled upon them. We have paths from one table to the next. We have no kitchen sink, so no cooking, ergo take out containers and paper plates and forks are everywhere.

While I am very excited for the end product (as of today the new cabinets are installed and we now await the granite counters on Monday) I am having a hard time living in this mess. My mind just doesn't seem to work well in this amount of disarray...

But at least it distracts me from the no book news. The last update was the Library of Congress assignment--I do not believe much governmental business was conducted during the week between Christmas and New Years. I fully expect movement any minute to the presses and eventual release, but I've been saying that for a month now, and I don't believe me either. So I wait on that.

I take Amy to the doctor again shortly. This was supposed to be a well visit, but guess who is running a fever? Oh, you're so intuitive!

So I guess there are some constants in my life.

Merry Christmas

I wish you all a very Merry Christmas--mine was wonderful.

Good night.

I'm late, as usual

The Christmas/Easter cards have not arrived yet!!

They were shipped on 12/13, and it is now the 21st after the mail has come...Happy New Year everyone.

And to add to the seasonal mayhem, the kitchen is scheduled to be started on 12/27. Yes, 2 days after Christmas, I need the kitchen and laundry room cabinets, drawers and counters emptied and void of all of the crap I've been squirreling away in there. The washer and dryer broke yesterday, so not only do I have piles of unlaundered laundry, I had to shell out some hard pressed December cash on appliances that only cause more work for me. I hate that.

And now, a slight delay in book release. I have no idea what "slight" translates into, but hopefully it just means we'll be celebrating New Year's with hot copies of SD.

Oy. I'm going to have an egg nog.

The Week Ahead

I am staring ahead at the week of Christmas eves and evenings bravely.

In a mere 6 hours, this house will be filled with people for the annual Wrapping Party. Tomorrow is the company Christmas party and Tuesday is the scheduled finish shopping target. (Christmas cards are going out sometime in there, too) Wednesday and Thursday are the detail attending days--wrapping, shopping, baking...and Friday Dad arrives for Christmas.

I had a weak moment last night--a dent in my holiday armor--where I thought I had perhaps over-committed and that I wasn't going to be able to pull this off in typical unflappable fashion.

I have since buffed that dent right out with some royal icing and a stick of unsalted butter which I actually have enough left to whip up a batch of cookies for the party today.

Bring it, beyotch.

This might have to do for a Christmas Card

It's not the shopping, wrapping, or decorating. It is not the schedule shuffling, partying, baking, or even shipping of the gifts. The cooking or arranging of babysitters won't even be my downfall.

No, this holiday season, I will be defeated by the kid's Christmas picture.

I tried a month ago to bring them all to a photographer to get the annual Xmas/Amy birthday photo taken. That was an utter disater. Amy would have nothing to do with capturing her image on film that day, so we left picture-less with the thought that I would complete the task myself when she was in a better mood.

Apparently, this is a far deeper issue with her, as every subsequent attempt has been met with the same fit of screams and tears. How she can be laughing one minute at the Spongebob Christmas special, then in a fit of un-Yuletide tears when she spies the camera the next, is beyond me.

So here it is, December 10, and if I don't find some way to record their images today so the Shutterfly order can be placed before New Year's, you all might be getting the generic Happy Holidays sans graphics. My humble apologies.

How can this face deny the world of her beauty???

I'm Done!

Well, not really, actually, not even that close...but I have reached a major milestone in my Christmas shopping.

I have all of the out of town gifts purchased! Woohoooo!

And I am quite happy with my purchases to boot.

So now the wrapping and the shipping--the bane of my holiday existence--but tonight I will relish in my consumer accomplishments.

Closer...

I'm alternating between weeping and giggling.

I have my ISBN for the book! And soon a Library of Congress number! Yeehaw.

I'm thinking of changing my name to, "0-9771003-7-5." Well, maybe just my middle name. Or maybe I can change my phone number and all of my PIN's to that...

Doh. Never mind.

(But I'll be playing those will be my Lotto numbers this weekend.)

It is time

Obviously, I am not a traditionalist.

Therefore, it should come as no surprise that I do not partake in shopping on Black Friday. Nor did I attempt holiday gift preparation during the entire long weekend. I didn't even shop online on Cyber Monday.

But today, Giving in Finally Tuesday, I will begin what will define my being for the next several weeks. Shopping commences tonight at 5:30 after the babysitter arrives and the alcohol has time to course through my bloodstream before I head to the Mall.

Oy.

Happy Thanksgiving

Certainly one of my favorite days of the year. Looking forward to being with all of my blessings.

I am thankful for a great many things, and a great many people, and I wish them all a peace-filled day.

Hipster

Thinking I'm quite hip, I buy a pair of Old Navy's "Boy Cut" jeans yesterday.

All day, I've been pulling them up, tripping over the too long pantlegs, and I am reminded why unisex clothing is not a good idea.

Because not only am I hip, but I have a pair of them that hold up girl's jeans.

Stealing my kids' toys

During the day when my kids are in school, there is one thing that I rifle through their things to play with when they are not around...

No, it's not the Ninja turtles nor the hockey equipment. It is not even the leftover Halloween candy that I am dutifully ignoring. And rest assured, it is not the Gameboy or Playstation or chirping electronic dog.

It's the iPod Nano.

Stevie got it for his 10th birthday, and I am absolutely hooked on its meoldic charms. We have downloaded all of his Radio Disney, Shrek and Shark Tale soundtracks, but with enough space for 10,000 songs, I have snuck in a few of my own. So again, a little Sarah MacLachlan to get you mellow for the weekend:

Answer

I will be the answer at the end of the line
I will be there for you while you take the time
In the burning of uncertainty I will be your solid ground
I will hold the balance if you cant look down

If it takes my whole life I wont break I wont bend
Itll all be worth it worth it in the end
Cause I can only tell you what I know
that I need you in my life
When the stars have all gone out
youll still be burning so bright

Cast me gently into morning
For the night has been unkind
Take me to a place so holy
That I can wash this from my mind
The memory of choosing not to fight

If it takes a whole life I wont break I wont bend
Itll all be worth it worth it in the end
Cause I can only tell you what I know
That I need you in my life
And when the stars have all burned out
Youll still be burning so bright
Cast me gently into morning for the night has been unkind

OMG

How cool is this?

My Understudy

I'm using my cartoon body double for all of the art stunts in the book.

Hey, It's been awhile

I haven't been around much, but I've missed you.

This blog thing often makes me feel like I'm speaking into a vacuum, but there are times when I have an idea who is reading and I appreciate that.

Even when I don't have much to say.

The End.

And it is done.

Well, at least the majority of my initial portion, anyway.

I'm talking about the book, silly. After 2 weeks of utter neglect to anything but my well-caressed keyboard, I have finished the writing for the book. It is now in the capable hands of my editor, while the art gets finished, (which is absolutely delicious, btw) website constructed, (another amazing measure of coolness)and the marketing begins.

I am taking a brief respite from column writing to finish up the assignments o' the month, and reaquaint myself with this beautiful family of mine that I write so much about, but haven't quite seen in the last few weeks.

And as a sweet aside, I received a beautiful sculpture from a beautiful sculptor today. I feel blessed to have written it, but humbled by his thank you gift.

Well weekend wishes all.

Quote of the day

I've been madly scribbling out the last of my material for the book which is proceeding nicely, albeit quite quickly. In the midst of the writing, editing and designing, another unrelated piece gets accepted into another unrelated publication by an unrelated editor. Yeah--I don't really have time to be excited.

But I do have time to be annoyed.

Looking over the proposed edits, it doesn't resemble the original piece I submitted, which makes me wonder why they even accepted it in the first place. But--whatever--my ego has long since taken a latte break during the editing process anyway.

Until I read this:

Sometimes with humor writing, it is okay to go a little over the top as I have done here.

Really?!? Because I've been confused on that particular nuance after writing a humor column every week for the past 3 years. Maybe I should send you my manuscript and you can look over that to see if I've mastered that particular skill. Thanks for the tip.

Beyotch.

Dear Mom,

I miss you everyday, but today I miss you an extra scoop.

I love you.

Same Old

I've been remiss on the updates, but they seem to repeat themselves, so you can simply refer to previous posts to see what is going on:

1) Hurricane
2) Amy sick
3) Writing/working on book.

Gosh, I haven't even been reading much to report on, either. I really wish I had more variety at the moment to constitute a fun post, but I simply don't.

Perhaps by the end of the week there will be a plethora of interesting material.


Let's hope for all our sakes.

"The strongest hurricane on record"

Back from Disney, the stomach flu and storm preparations. How about you?

While in the happiest place on earth, was less than for many of us. It started with Matthew's digestive system and quickly spread to everyone else. I cannot remember ever being so sick. I prayed for death and its sweet release from expectoration hell. Amy, of course, got it the worst, and her 24 hour stint is now going on Day 4.

That brings us to today, and Wilma. Another storm; another flurry of preparations and worry.

It's Wednesday, and the storm is not expected to hit until Saturday, so that means that the projected path will change at least 6 dozen times until then. It is the nature of the beast. So the only thing a reasonable mother can do is to prepare for both scenarios: staying and leaving. Both with its own set of pros and cons.

No decisions until at least tomorrow, my friends.

Party

I think my hangover has a hangover.

We went to a big glitzy event last night. All of the players and playahs were there. My recollections:

Free draft beer. Gambling. Free beer. Hockey goalie dealing blackjack. Toasting player with free beer. Spending $600 on a hockeystick toybox. More beer. Stanley Cup. Beer. My favorite hockey player signing said toybox. Beer. Headache. Advil with beer.

We got this beauty in between rounds apparently.

"But that's what I've always called you."

Tears are brimming in my eyes from this kindergartener's request and declaration:

Matthew: When you come into my class, could you not call me "Moo" or "Moose?" Just call me Matthew now.

No.

Why I am Writing This Book

Because on the day when I need to become serious to sit down for hours to write--concentrate and focus on a job that needs to be done that almost makes me feel like a grown up--Amy toddles into the kitchen with a bottle of iridescent purple nail polish (which God only knows what decade she found it in) which she drops on the tile floor and nail polish, glass and my sanity shatter.

I just spent the last 45 minutes scrubbing the grout trying to make it not pink anymore.

I guess at least it matches the kitchen now.

What a difference a week makes

It's been a week now since Amy's sickness and my book news...wow, no wonder I'm tired.

Amy's infection is gone, but I am more than a little surprised how long it took for her to really feel better. Usually, they always bounce back rather quickly after the strong meds, but this one really took its toll. She spent the week resting--not a typical almost 2 year-old activity. Her sleep patterns (the little she had) are completely out of step, which has been tough as well.

Last night, we went to the Lightning pre-season game--our first game in a year and a half, and our first outing in more than a week. We had a great time,(Oh, how I've missed my beloved hockey!) and Amy enjoyed the 2 periods she stayed awake for. Tonight, we'll be going to a friend's house for communal play while the husbands are out, so I suppose we're back into the social swing.

In between, I'll be here at this keyboard, typing away. I am almost done with the editing phase, and am working on some new material to include as well. I hope to get a sneak peek at the illustrations this weekend also. I will be putting a stamp on Ver's letter project, too....

Thanks to everyone for their mad props and their concern for Amy. We appreciate it!

Signed, Sealed, Delivered...I'm Yours

My signature is going to be somewhat shaky, but it will still bear the mark of joy.

With trembling fingers and tears in my eyes, I signed a contract today for the publication of my very first, (all mine!) my name on the cover, my work on all of the pages, paper and print, bound in a glossy cover--actual book.

(Dramatic pause while you all wrap around the magnitude of the announcement.)

Suburban Diva, my precocious pen-name, is going to be publishing some of her past works and a few new ones, in a book soon to be available on Amazon and the like, by Christmas, 2005.

(The crowd gasps, women fan themselves to keep from fainting.)

If I can pull this off--which I have every cell of my being on full creative alert--this will be available for everyone on your holiday gift list.

(Yuletide gratitude is heard over the Internet.)

There are many details to be attended to, but the most significant one, I am going to be published, seems to be the only one I can remember at the moment. There is soon to be a website bearing details and press releases, but for now, you can contact my publisher. (God, how sweet those 2 words are together!)


Author: Tracey Henry.~Me, today on my contract.

Come Monday

What an insane weekend.

First off: Amy. The little chicken's fever spiked to 105.7, (sounds like an FM radio station) and we went back to the doctor for another shot of the antibiotic. Her blood work showed that her infection was responding to the medication, even though her temperature indicated the opposite.

It finally broke Saturday night, but she is still wiped out today. Cranky, exhausted...just like her mother, only I didn't get 10 needle sticks over 2 days.

But another literary event occurred which helped to quell my exhaustion into euphoria. I am not at liberty to reveal the exact contents of my secret at this moment, but suffice it to say, I may be in the column to your left sooner rather than later, my well-read friends.

Wink.

Typhoid Amy

Oy. Last week you'll recall Baby Diva getting pink eye and an ear infection? Well, here we were on day 9 of the antibiotic regimen with clear eyes, but a raging fever of 105. So, being the observant mother I am, I think, this is probably not normal, better get her to the doctor.

After a particularly long examination, it is determined that eyes, lungs, ears and throat are clear. They take a CBC which indicates an elevated white cell count: infection.

Without being told, I know this stunning revelation will now require my baby to be catheterized. I then predict that no medical professional will be able to catheterize her (as we've been done this road before) and that it won't matter anyway, because I know she doesn't have a UTI.

I am a freaking soothsayer, because after 7 hours at the hospital, all of said things are true.

She did get I.V. antibiotics and several blood draws in the interim, so the preliminary diagnosis is a blood infection. I have to take her back in tomorrow to repeat the tests after 24 hours and get more results.

As soon as the last drop from her IV seeped into her tortured veins, she started to feel better. Her fever has come down some, but certainly still boiling.

There is nothing worse than holding your baby down while someone hurts her, no matter how necessary the procedure may be. Or not.

I will update more on Typhoid Amy this weekend.

Rain

It may not be the most prestigious publication, but a story of mine was just accepted to an online site. (I'll post the details and link in a week or so.) The triumph here is more that I have finally started to submit my work again, after a long hiatus from the mailbox. I guess I didn't realize how long it had been since I was out there, so it feels good to stick my little toe out there again, anyway.

The outer rain bands of Rita are coming through--scary when you think of how far away the actual storm is from us and how heavy the rain and wind gusts were on the far edges. We even lost power for a short while. It's going to be another nasty one, unfortunately.

It's nap time, so I am off to write or watch Court TV all afternoon.

Books

So, last night I finally finished, Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides. It was the Pultizer Prize winner a year or so ago, and often after reading an acclaimed book, I ask myself, how in the hell did that win?

It was well-written, don't get me wrong, and I suppose the subject matter was ground-breaking (a suburban hermaphrodite), but Pulitzer Prize material? I'm not buying it.
(Well, actually, I did buy it, but it was the paperback edition, thankfully.)


The weekend was wonderful--Phoebe was an amazing performer and a very special time was had by all.

And now, I am off to enjoy the last remaining moments of Amy's nap, with a shut eye session of my own...Sshhhh...

So, What are you doing this weekend, SubD?

It occurs to me that perhaps I've been a tad more political than my usual carefree self these past couple 'o weeks. Well, that's because I'm a political kind of gal.

But as a nice respite from worrying over the state of the union, I shall report on my upcoming weekend plans for any of those still reading.

My nieces and Bro in-law arrived in town last night so that my niece, Phoebe, can perform tomorrow night. Who will she be the opening act for? you ask, voice full of wanton curiosity. Oh, just a little artist, really. You've probably never even heard of him. Paul McCartney? I think he was popular with his band in the 60's.

PAUL MCFREAKINGCARTNEY.

Quite a talent this girl is. She's been treating us to impromptu concerts that, I kid you not, send chills up my arms.

This afternoon, she was at Starbuck's and broke out her guitar for a little practice for tomorrow night. 2 agent types just happen to be in the joint, and took notice. After giving her father their business cards, he gets a call about 10 minutes after arriving home with an offer for a local performance tonight. They are there right now.

Unbelievable.

So, I will be enjoying these melodic sounds this weekend--hope you all have some harmony as well.

Dead lines

The 15th of every month is scramble day, as I once again have one assignment for the magazine left undone by my own arrogance or laziness, or a lethal combination of both.

I need about 250 words, and at 8:30 p.m., I am up to 96 having expended all of my needless adverbs and adjectives after the first sentence. Oy.

I got nothin' here, folks. Nada. Zippo. Zilch.

There's 3...


Writing comes more easily if
you have something to say.

~ Sholem Asch

In my Inbox today...

This was from The Onion back in January, 2001, it recently resurfaced as prophecy...

Mere days from assuming the presidency and closing the door on eight years of Bill Clinton, president-elect George W. Bush assured the nation in a televised address Tuesday that "our long national nightmare of peace and prosperity is finally over."

"My fellow Americans," Bush said, "at long last, we have reached the end of the dark period in American history that will come to be known as the Clinton Era, eight long years characterized by unprecedented economic expansion, a sharp decrease in crime, and sustained peace overseas. The time has come to put all of that behind us."

Bush swore to do "everything in [his] power" to undo the damage wrought by Clinton's two terms in office, including selling off the national parks to developers, going into massive debt to develop expensive and impractical weapons technologies, and passing sweeping budget cuts that drive the mentally ill out of hospitals and onto the street.

During the 40-minute speech, Bush also promised to bring an end to the severe war drought that plagued the nation under Clinton, assuring citizens that the U.S. will engage in at least one Gulf War-level armed conflict in the next four years.

"You better believe we're going to mix it up with somebody at some point during my administration," said Bush, who plans a 250 percent boost in military spending. "Unlike my predecessor, I am fully committed to putting soldiers in battle situations. Otherwise, what is the point of even having a military?"

If you didn't laugh sometimes, you'd cry.

One of the problems...

...is that the only sense of urgency ever expressed by officials on all levels was the furtive nature which they cover their own asses.


But I'm fighting a summer cold and am perfectly miserable at the moment. The only highlight of my week came when I heard on the radio twice The Sugarhill Gang's "Rapper's Delight," which, I'm poud to say I still know all of the words--to the long version no less.


I don't mean to brag, I don't mean to boast, but we like hot butter on our breakfast toast.