We didn't have too much going ont his weekend...

So I've been absent from the blogosphere for a few days because I was busy planning/executing Sean's surprise party on Saturday and Amy's 5th Birthday party on Sunday...

I didn't announce this prior to the weekend because I knew my friends would then have to plan an intervention when they heard that I had invited 52 of A's closest friends along with a petting zoo of 4 rabbits, 3 goats, a turtle and a sheep and 1 large pig in the backyard for preschool birthday celebrations and I didn't have time to study for the Rorschach test and fill 50 goody bags.






But we did it, and she had a great time and it was nice to see her with kids her own age, talking.

So now onto the next round of preparations: Halloween and a 13 year-old birthday.

Someone wake me in January.

HB,SH

Happy Birthday, Sean!

Sign, sign everywhere a sign

I'm posing a question here, because I really do want to know what you all think about this issue, because I am highly intrigued about this...

The question is on political yard signs. You know the flimsy little stakes bearing the candidate's name planted in people's front lawns as a public announcement of who they are voting for?

Yeah, those.

Now we're not allowed to have them in our neighborhood--it is strictly against the homeowner's association rules. It's always been like that from long before we moved in 8 years and applies to all signs except real estate. I've never seen anyone not abide by those rules (except for a local election a few years ago when a resident was actually a candidate for the city commission) until Mrs. Kravitz put one in her yard a couple of weeks ago.

People complained. A letter was sent.(This is exacerbated by the fact that she is literally behind every single complaint in the entire neighborhood.) She took it down, but then moved it 10 feet to the inside edge of her garage facing out toward the street and now leaves her garage door open so you cannot miss it each and every time you pull into the neighborhood.

My question is this: are these signs at all effective? Do they sway undecided voters? Do they reinforce your vote if it's your guy, or make you mad if it isn't? Does it make you look at the person differently, good or bad? Do most people use them to show support of one guy, or to protest the other? Do the amount of signs from either camp forecast voting trends?

I've read some editorials in the paper recently where opposing parties have destroyed said signs, and again, does this really do anything besides ignite anger and reinforce the owner's ire over the opposition? Methinks this is not an effective form of protest from either side.

I stopped by my local campaign field office and they were out of them. I obviously am not allowed to put one up, but I thought maybe I'd find another locale or depending on how much moxybitchy I was feeling, stick it in my garage. But I don't know--I'm really wondering about this. Do you put have one in your yard?

Thoughts?

Pictures, as promised (sort of)

Remember a couple of weekends ago when I said I vowed to get some good pictures of my kids? Well, one week late and one kid shy, but here a couple:



That seriously might be my favorite picture of Jessie yet.



My boys at the Lightning Home Opener



And yes, I let him get a Rayhawk today since the principal suspended the strict hair length and style rules for one day. (He has to shave off tomorrow) He turns 13 in two weeks and I thought that teenaged rebellion in the form of a one day bad haircut to show support for a baseball team was a battle I would gladly surrender.

Huggies Weekend Wrap-Up

I am now back behind the computer in a dark room with “Yo Gabba Gabba” serenading me in the background rather than the exotic locations of the last 3 days. Bummer, ‘cause I was kind of getting used to being the “celebrity blogger.”

And now I will attempt to blog about blogging, which hurts my head a little, but I will blog on.

Basically, I was a part of this Generation Huggies promotion honoring Huggies 30th Anniversary. This mobile Huggies unit is going around the country registering Moms to win $30,000 (that’s dollars, not diapers) and film these 60 second interviews with real Moms about Mom stuff. I was able to talk to these amazing women and blog, text, video, and email photos to this really cool site TheMotherhood.com. It was so unique. (And as an aside, you can still do all of this online at GenerationHuggies.com)



The first night was in Celebration at an Oktoberfest. The girls and some brave friends accompanied me there. It was really fun night.



On Saturday, the crowd was smaller because we were in a different location, but we still got some good stuff. I got to talk with the crew that was traveling from city to city, and they were amazed at the diverse responses from all of the Moms (and some Dads!) they had interviewed so far.


Sunday we spent at the Winter Park Art Festival, which was bustling with thousands of families! We had no trouble finding lots of Moms who wanted to share their stories and answer my questions and pose for photos.


On the long ride home (which may be the most collective hours I’ve spent alone in 4 years) I listened to a lot of eighties music and thought about what this whirlwind weekend was all about.

*corny maternal reflection alert*

Watching the creation of this mosaic of motherhood was pretty fabulous, and while it is amazing how different motherhood looks on different people, it is more amazing still how universal it is.

And, just so you don’t think I’ve totally become a Hallmark card:


From the Generation Huggies Event in Orlando--The End.

Day 3!

The final day of Generation Huggies Diva Edition will wrap up today at the Winter Park Art Festival just Northeast of Orlando. I'm putting on my lipstick and swallowing gallons of coffee now.

We stayed out late watching the Lightning home opener and I'm crazy tired, but excited for the event today. It'll be pretty nice to spend a day at an art festival blogging away...

Day 2 in Orlando

We had a blast in Celebration last night with Generation Huggies. Please go to TheMotherhood.com and watch the videos, listen to the phone interviews, see the pictures and read the posts--there is so much there, it will feel like you were catching leaves and dancing in the rain with us.

We are now heading over to Pointe Orlando for another round of Diva talks Diapers. You know you want to see this....

Celebration celebration

Packing up and loading up the girls for our Orlando event...

I'll be checking out--and of course blogging on--the Generation Huggies happenings over at Oktoberfest tonight in Celebration, Florida.

If you want to talk imported beer and diapers, I'm your woman.

A Suburban Diva Confession on Suburban Diva's Confessions

Bless me Blogger for I have sinned. It has been 3 weeks since my lastcolumn.

I don't know what's with me lately. Every time I try to write some light humor, it ends up sounding like some horribly angry version of Mad Magazine, although incoherent and forced. I was hoping to put out something for tomorrow like I do every Friday when I have it together, but it just isn't happening.

Which is really kind of a bummer because I'm off to Orlando tomorrow for some events (details to follow) as a "celebrity blooger." A very quiet, word-challenged celebrity blogger who just happens to be in the middle of a dry spell.

Maybe I'll just have to do one of my "Best Of" shows. Ick.

Vote for Me!

The Intern got his Voter Registration card in the mail today.

Welcome to a battleground state with 27 Electoral votes up for grabs. Expect to be wooed like Popeye by the Spinach Lobbyists. Like you are Catherine, and the voter phone bank is Heathcliff. (And sometimes you're Heathcliff to their Catherine.) Like the Treasury Secretary on bended knee to the Speaker of the House. Like a Trick-Or-Treater at the house with the King size Snickers. Like a gas station in Charlotte. Like you are the Olympic delegation and the candidates are members of the Bejing Chamber of Commerce. You=valid U.S. email address. Them=Nigerian Prince. Like Sonja to Simon Cowell; Cloris Leachman to judges we have no idea what their names are.

Welcome to Florida during election season.

(This was a little bit fun to think about--post some more here and I'll see if I can't dig up a prize or two for some winners.)

Win 30k for doing what you already do everyday

It’s a question that doesn’t have one simple answer. A riddle that will produce as many different responses as there are…well, riddles. And although there isn’t only one right answer, everyone wins when we Moms think about the question…

What does motherhood mean to you?

In celebration of their 30th Anniversary, Huggies is offering a forum for Moms to answer that very question in 60 second video clips that may be featured in an upcoming online ad campaign.

Go to GenerationHuggies.com to get the information, as well as to enter their sweepstakes for a chance to win $30,000 and tell the world about your journey through this beautiful mess we call motherhood.

I’m going to be helping spread--and gather--those powerful words from Moms next weekend here in Florida, (more on that exciting event later) but until then, check out the motherhood.com-- a truly remarkable site that is absolutely going to change the way Moms use the Internet. You really don’t want to miss this…

Weekend Promises

I promise to sleep in on Sunday, and urge my sleepy children to do the same.

I promise to watch a lot of sporting events caring little of the score, but the playing in between.

I promise to relax a little, and encourage my family to do the same.

I promise to stay up late on Saturday to watch SNL past the first musical act.

I promise not to think, talk or otherwise engage in politics except for the SNL vow.

I promise to clean out another dresser, although if I don’t get to it, I promise not to be too hard on myself.

I promise to cook something comforting and delicious.

I promise to take one really great picture of one of the kids doing something they enjoy.

I promise to push J-Dog on that bucket swing every time she goes to the door and says, “Go.”

I promise to kiss my husband square on the mouth for no good reason.

I promise to make bacon for Matty on Sunday morning.

I promise to write the next chapter in my novel, even if it’s just on the pages of my mind.

I promise to breathe. Deeply.

No, It wasn't "Road Rules"

Today is the day that a certain major television show is airing the episode they contacted me about a few weeks back.

It is bittersweet--sort of--because I really wasn't at all suited for this particular topic--thank God--but it sure would have been nice to sit--or jump--on that couch.

I shall wait patiently for the casting call for "Uber Cool Mom Bloggers with a Penchant for Hockey and Pomegrante Martinis.

You have the number...

Stock tip

I'm the econ savvy type that had an account both at WaMu and Wachovia, so take this stock tip with the necessary caution, but I think I'm investing in mattresses and soup cans with false bottoms.

At least that's where I'm putting my actual money.

Looking forward to Monday

I gotta admit to feeling like I'm a pint short of plasma or something this Sunday evening.

Which is odd because on paper, this was a great weekend. Extra long, because the kids had Friday off. Two dinners with good friends, watching Stevie play hockey this morning, 2 workouts and even finally getting around to a couple of annoying projects like painting the baseboards in the family room and bathroom doors and cleaning out the girls' dresser. I even closed a sweet gig for SD that I will have to reveal at a later date. Yet I still can't shake this weird lethargy. And I'm not quite sure what is to blame for it.

So let's curl up with this weird little novel--historic fiction about Errol Flynn shagging some Jamaican girl--and call it a night, shall we?

I'm spent.

Debate-Irate

The Debate is on! Awesome, I will be pulling up a couch and a glass or 8 of wine and enjoying the evening.

Speaking of debates, I wrote a completely non-partisan, unbiased, milk toast column today on the subject. Humor writing, it's what I try to do. Anyway, although I rarely cross-post, I did put this one up at The Times knowing full well that all of the crazies would come crawling out of their mothers' basements to comment because it hinted at politics.

I've learned over the last several years on this Internet thing that there are some people out there who read exactly what they want to, regardless of what the author's true and obvious intent was. And that the anonymity of the Internet provides cover for some real mean bastards.

So even though I made no political leaning in either direction, how much do you want to make a bet that at least 3 people call me bad names, 2 will cite bogus email rumors as sources, and 1 will offer to pray for the wickedness of my soul.

I'll bet you $700 billion....

What New Wheels Should the Intern Get? Vote Now!

So the Intern, a.k.a. The Graduate, a.a.k.a. The Nephew, a.a.a.k.a. That Big Guy That Lives Here Now, is in the market for a new car.

I am behind this purchase 100%. Every morning I watch him shake a battery cable and play a game of 3 card Monte with his spark plugs in order for his car to start to go to work. Every night by some miracle he returns home in said tenuous shell game car with flushed cheeks and wet brow from his lack of air conditioning.

As Rafiki says, “It is time.”

So, now the question becomes, what is a suitable vehicle for the Intern? It must be something fitting for his unique life--driving around my kids, to my friends after a meal I’ve prepared.

Kidding.

He has his thoughts--a Corvette, a Mustang…A truck of some sort.

I’m thinking a nice, safe, practical Volvo or fuel efficient-hybrid. Perhaps a motorcycle with 4 sidecars including room for a carseat and a bag of groceries. (Actually, anything as long as it doesn’t have some ridiculous redneck vanity plate like, “GITRDONE,” I’m good.)

At this impasse--which I know I have no chance of imposing my will I know--what do you think?

I've created the following non-partisan poll so you can vote in this election as many times as you'd like. (We're in Florida after all.)

Powered by vLane.com See more | Create your own!

I Drink for Charity

On to the Saturday recap…

As I mentioned a few dozen times when I hit you all up for donations, Saturday was our High Heel Hike to benefit cancer research.

And can I just tell you, this was one of THE BEST charity events I’ve ever been to.

A few fellow crazies accompanied me on our 1 kilometer journey through a quaint shopping district.




Because of its incredible athletic demands--about every 10 feet or so there was a booth set up with cupcakes or cocktails or presents. Seriously, I think the only thing that would have made this better is if they had wheeled us around on gurneys and gave us cab fare for the ride home. Even the minor children were inpressed.



But it was all for a good cause, and I finally got to meet some fellow writers over at the Times. In fact, here’s my friend Stephanie’s recap with even more photos…

We had such a good time that it almost makes me want to put these cruel shoes back on and go walking down my street to see if anyone will give me mini Mimosas.



Almost...

Cascade Wedding

If you were wondering how we fared, I’d say beautifully. (Not abundantly photogenic, but the sign of a good party is its lack of pictures, I always say, or wish.)



They were great. They made it down the aisle, with just a little help which was to be expected.






The wedding was beautiful, and everyone had a great time.



And they were like Cascade dishwashing liquid--virtually spot free until the very end.

Cutting back

Would you think less of me if I told you I didn't know how I was going to pull off the next 48 hours, because I really don't know how I'm going to pull off the next 48 hours.

We've got a wedding, rehearsal, shopping, tux pick-up (again), baseball game, school orientation, baths, haircuts, minor alterations, homework, deadlines and then the High Heel Hike where I will collapse into a heap of exhaustion in good shoes.

So something has got to give in order to get all of the required tasks done, and I've determined that the cooking and cleaning have to go by the wayside.

Sorry, honey.

Wedding or Cookie Aisle?

My sister in-law, Kathy, says that everyone at a wedding has a job. You may not be in the actual wedding party or have helped with the plans before, during, or after the big day, but even as a guest, your job is to enjoy the party that your hosts have spent months planning.

I agree with this wholeheartedly. But as the Mother of the Bridesmaids and Junior Groomsmen, I think that sometimes the jobs are not very equitable.

Our family is truly honored to be part of an upcoming blessed event for a dear family friend. But as the mother/valet/hairdresser/last-minute seamstress for 2 Flower girls (under the age of 5) and 2 handsome, but young, ushers (8 and 12) I am pretty nervous that I’ll get them all to the church on time.

And not just on time, but presentable and not sticky. I don’t know if we’ve ever managed an hour in which some sort of hazardous chemical or confectionary spill has not befallen at least one of us. Even if we institute a 15 minute fast in the car ride to our destination, they somehow manage to pull a chocolate ice cream cone from their pocket or a wide-mouthed glass of Hawaiian Punch from the trunk. It’s uncanny, really. The kids have to wear lobster bibs on the five minute drive to church. The baby’s car seat has a magnetic field that attracts Tootsie Rolls and Pop Tart crumbs, and the backseat draws its own orbit of jelly donuts.

So some jobs at a wedding are a little dirtier than others.

I have no idea how I am going to get four kids to walk down the aisle looking as though they haven’t visited the cookie aisle first.

This is

These are the faces that check on Amy on her first week of school and call me to report on her progress. These are the faces that take on my extra passengers to baseball games and hockey practices. This is Thirty Thursdays. This is birthday lunches. This is who has adopted the Intern. These gals look as beautiful as Doris Day, but have Dean Martin livers. These are the ladies that you want on your side. They can cook. They will make you laugh.

They are my friends.

Let's Dance

Two magazine articles, 2 Times blogs, 4 normal blog entries, 2 product reviews, 1 column and innumerable emails in the last 4days, and frankly, I'm all written out.

Which is okay because I've got nothing due for a couple of days, and so I've got some family time to enjoy. It's the first Middle School Dance of the year tonight which makes me want to do my own little dance at the sheer awkward adorableness of it all. Remember what it was like practicing dancing in the mirror, worrying about what you were going to wear and who was going to ask you to dance? Yeah, I think it's still the same today.

Only with one added nuance: slow dancing while leaving room for the Holy Spirit between them.

Christmas in September

I don’t know about you, but I could use a little early Christmas spirit right about now…

I got this preview package from Tiny Prints of their holiday collection, and let me tell you, my mind is racing at all of the possibilities….

You know I never think of holiday preparation until it’s too late, but this inspires me to get a little jiggy with the cards this year….



I think I’m leaning toward this one because it’s hard to find the 4 framed cards….



But then this one is 20% off if you order before 9/15.…




They are all beautiful and feel really substantial and elegant. I probably won't go wrong with any. I might even invite those strangers in the cards over for rum balls and egg nog.

Happy Holidays…eventually.

Christmas cards, Holiday, Business

Why I should stick to writing fiction today

Happy Birthday Intern!

Last night's festivities proved once again that I have the most generous friends who embrace my family like it was their own, and for that I am truly blessed.

(And so is the Intern for being lavished with expensive gifts!)

But today it's back to business. I've been in this writing funk the last several days with a million thoughts running through my head with no where to go except the keyboard. Yesterday, I spent the chunk of my writing time trying to capture these conflicting thoughts--mostly on politics--into some sort of coherent commentary.

I failed miserably.

I read over what I had thought to be the brilliant Jerry Maguire manifesto which would change American politics as we know it. I crafted my arguments while doing the dishes. I came up with witty yet poignant metaphors while vacuuming. I wrote and wrote this brilliance most of the day, and then when I reread it at midnight, I discovered it was crap. It made no sense even to me who penned it.

But I got it out of my system and spared the world yet another glimpse into my mind rants, so I guess it wasn't all bad after all. You can thank me later.

But today I had better get my literate freak back on because it's meeting night and deadline week. Tonight's kind of a biggie, too, and if you thought the national political scene just got interesting, you should see my local one.

Stupid is as stupid does at the Mall

The Intern and I are arguing on whether or not it was a stupid question that the clerk asked me if I needed any instructions on how to burn the $40 candle I bought. I think if you pay such a stupid amount for a candle, then lighting it should be all that's required. The Intern is talking about wick heights and thinks I'm stupid for buying a $40 candle and then just letting the wick stand the size of a California Redwood in autumn leaves scented wax.

(The Intern and I spend a lot of time together and I have noticed that we argue like a couple of little old ladies much of the time.)

But I think we all can agree that the morons working at the cookie store at the Mall are stupid.


Seriously, you just try to do something nice for a friend and all of a sudden you're going to dictionary.com on your iPhone in the food court. Idiots.

Please tell me it's Friday already

Is it me, or was this an incredibly long week for being an abbreviated one? I feel like I’m dragging around a couple of bags of wet sand in each shoe.

So I didn’t write a column this week--still processing amongst the many new topics that have just opened up in the world of satire and humor--but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been busy. A short list below, since it involves audience participation.

~I was asked to participate in the High Heel Hike to raise money for breast cancer research. If you want to join us on September 20 or donate to the cause, that would sure be nice. I think we all get to dress in drag and walk a mile. It’ll be fun, and who doesn’t love the idea of pushing a stroller in stilettos?

~And if you are crazy about Disney, then there is this Disney Mom Panel opportunity that you can read about here. A sort of Mrs. Disney Mom 2009 thing. (Don’t worry, I cannot fulfill my duties as the Queen, so someone else has a fair shot.)

~The Intern’s birthday is on Monday. I need to bake and frost something. And we need to figure out how to celebrate that event. So get busy, party planners.

~And check out this little distraction, or rather Category 4 distraction. Looks like Ike is looking for a showdown with the Gulf coast. This does not bode well for those of us looking to do anything after 8 p.m. on Wednesday…



~There’s like 755 more things I want to address blog-wise, but that whole bag of wet sand thing has just traveled to my fingers and I should chop a carrot or something for dinner before I atrophy.

Must Not See TV

I don't think it's good for me to watch this much convention coverage. I go to bed angry, don't sleep well and then have nightmares about angry white people chanting, "Drill, Baby, Drill!" I need to stay away from the tv and blogs tonight.

I know, I'll write instead. What a novel novelty.

(See? My old punny self will replace this cackling, twitching, crazed version that wears my shoes and argues with herself in the shower soon enough.)

The good news and the bad

The one downside of having my wisdom teeth all healed is that my summer diet program is officially over.

Since I had been relying on relentless, excruitiating pain to prevent me from putting anything in my mouth all summer, I realize that strategy is now obsolete and I will have to rely on more traditional methods of portion control.

Which pretty much sucks and makes my thighs sore just thinking about it.

September

I've been ignoring the calendar page flip to September for quite some time.

I've not thought past Labor Day in one of my ill-conceived mental protests that only hurts me in the end. Even school was just pre-season since we had hurricanes and a holiday.

We puntuated Summer '08 with good food, good friends, and a weekend o'fun in general. We had a late night swim last night (from which we are all dragging from today)and there are enough leftovers to carry us through until I make my way to the store again.

But now I can no longer delude myself into thinking we're still in summer. I've got to get my butt on a treadmill, my fingers on a keyboard and my mind on that autumn schedule known as "crazy." The girls both have colds and J's nose needs to be chilsed for air holes, so I'll probably be going to the doctor at some point this week which will make re-entry into responsible motherhood complete.

Hey September, be gentle.

Breakfast anyone?

Time to move up the cereal another shelf...

Of course

We had to return to the doctor’s office for M’s foot which doesn’t seem to be healing all that quickly, and I was running late--of course--so I had to park in the garage. Which only cost $1 but I didn’t have any cash--of course--and the thing didn’t take debit cards. No biggie, right? Just scrounge up some change from the counsel. Yeah, um, I had just cleaned that out to clean out the car the day before so there was no coinage.

Plan B--scrounge the bottom of my purse. Okay, that--of course--wasn’t recently cleaned out so there should have been plenty of silver there.

Of course there was.

But it was covered in chocolate.

I had forgotten 3 party favors in there from Sunday, so there was about 16 ounces of chocolate-covered nickels stuck to the bottom. It was gross, and--of course--I had no baby wipes. No napkins. Nothing freaking to wipe 100 cents off with.

The cars started to line up behind me, and at long last I find a Chlorox wipe in the glove box. But--of course--the package lost its resealable sticker on top long ago which keeps the wipes moist, so I dried 2 quarters, 2 dimes, and six nickels with a dry half paper towel that smelled faintly of bleach and hot cocoa.

And that pretty much summed up the entire day. Seriously mildly annoying, but nothing earth-shatteringly tragic. Throw in Groundhog Day toy messes, a letter from the school nurse alerting us to a case of head lice in preschool, and a really shameful display of bad manners by adults who should really know better; and you’ve got this Wednesday.

So I’m going to bed now hoping that tomorrow will be filled with plenty of fresh Handi-wipes, a clean family room, and nicer people.

And a pocketful of nickel-free chocolate. Of course.

I think I like the Viagra spam better

I've mentioned this before, but my spam goes to quite unbelievable lengths to get me to open it.

I’m sure you too delete all of those emails promising you misspelled drugs, replica watches and di$count designer handbags. I know you have also trashed untold numbers of foreign lottery winning notifications and bogus eCards from “a friend.” You are like me--a savvy, sophisticated dweller of the Interweb who can smell a phishing scam a mile away and who knows darn well your family tree does not include a Nigerian royalty branch to whom you should send your bank account numbers.

I delete these things every day in my morning computer ritual which includes checking my favorite blogs over a cup of coffee and

But today my inbox was downright scary. And I don’t mean just the fake frightening headline spam like, “Paris Hilton Stars in Movie Life of Mother Teresa,” but a spam subject line that stopped me dead in my tracks.

From some made-up name, the subject read, “We have hijacked your baby, see the photo.”

Now my rational mind knew it was a hoax, but my heart sank to my stomach as I leapt up to check on the baby who was of course safe and sound sleeping in her crib. I didn’t open the link, because when I moused over the words, it showed a pretty suspicious .zip file that would surely send screaming flying monkeys from my computer screen as I spontaneously combusted at the keyboard, never to be blogged from again…

I joke now, but I was pretty spooked there for a minute. The thought that spammers could go from appeals to ego, greed, and sensationalism to preying on my greatest fear as a mother is the single most terrifying thing on the Internet.

Even scarier than Paris Hilton starring as Mother Teresa.

It's Monday so I must be in the laundry room

Okay, so I’m trying not to think about the thing I can’t write about, but my mind keeps wandering there even though I’ve put the baby gate on that topic.

So I guess I’ll do laundry instead.

Even though this is technically a short week--no school on Friday!--it is going to drag. This getting up early thing is really aging me quickly. I need a nap by 8:30 in the morning. We’re still not far enough into a rhythm yet to maximize those three mornings of 1 precocious 16-month old.

But what I really hope these mornings will provide is a little writing time. I realize that my revised revised novel deadline is Labor Day, and since I don’t think I’ll be able to write 150+ pages for Monday, I’m going to have to revise that deadline once again. Because I want to write like this:

Standing on the stoop, he tucks his gloveless hands in his pockets and looks out onto the dark street. How unyielding is that space between connection and interruption--one false move, one misspoken word, and you find yourself on the wrong side of things.

That’s from Daia Sofer’s, The Septembers of Shiraz, which is heading toward depressing disaster, but passages like that keep me reading anyway.

And writing. How’s Thanksgiving work for everyone?

Happy day to you.

Sometimes the world smiles upon you...

At the last minute, we have found:

a) an available babysitter for a Saturday night

b) good friends who also found an available babysitter on a Saturday night

c) $400 in gift certificates at local steakhouse

d) a reservation opening at said steakhouse

e) $300 expired 2 weeks ago but the manager said she would honor said gift certificates

f) One very happy woman.

The Blog That Shall Not Be Named

Whew! Mad crazy around these parts.

School finally started after that terrible, brilliant sunshine and frigid 87 degrees blew through. And ¾ of my beautiful babies went to that place away from me.





So yesterday when it was this crazy whirlwind of activity: packing lunches and snacks for three backpacks, breakfasts, clothing, driving, dropping, bottles, Tasha, accompanying A-Dog to her preschool for the first time, I was posed an interesting question: Are you an overwhelmed Mom?

Yes, I am. But I am of a different lot who enjoys that sort of chaos. I thrive on it actually. But there are probably some mothers out there that don’t, and really might feel differently.

I was asked this by a major media outlet that you have no idea how badly I want to drop the name in casual conversation that my blog was even in the same building as this greatness--but I gave my blog oath that I wouldn’t, and if one doesn’t have their blog word, then truly, there is nothing left--but I can and will leave you with the following anonymous email and phone line if you have had an experience of being overwhelmed and over-stressed and you are willing to share.

(312) 421-2713

Or:

overwhelmedparent@gmail.com.



Because although this may not be my story of motherhood, it could be someone else’s.

(And if that major media outlet is looking for my story like the one I’ve told so many times in my Pulitzer Prize acceptance speech in front of a mirror with a hairbrush, well, you now know where to find me. :) )

Fay At Bay

Okay, this town needs to seriously step away from the Doppler Radar.

Despite tales of doom and woe from every media outlet in the state: Fay was a bust. And when I say that, it is not to say that I invite natural disasters, it's just then when you shut down all business, school, hospitals, and commerce (except for Home Depot and Zephyrhills water) then make sure there is one coming.

Not only didn't we get hit, we didn't even get the feeder bands. Not a drop of rain nor a gust of wind. Mobile homes perched on windmills didn't budge. It was the biggest non-event since The Sopranos Series Finale. That one blew so much more than Fay...

And again, I don't wish it to be more destructive, I just wish someone could either accurately predict the weather, or just admit that you can't predict the weather.

I'm off to fish all of the patio furniture out of the pool now.

Vacay Pics

Before I start posting pictures of Fay or the first day o' school, I thought I'd share a few photos of our vacation. While there are many of various points of interest, I have chosen just a handful to represent the family road trip. You use your imagination to fill in the blanks.



I was trying to get all Ansel Adams with Jessie in a field of sunflowers. Unfortunately, my camera was doing this very ill-timed and annoying impression of the Blue Man Crew.



There are about 50 of us wearing matching red T-shirts. Said T-shirts were more of a production than the Opening Ceremonies of the Oympics. With more fireworks.



This is us in front of the White House on our second to the last night of our trip on a totally impromptu side trip to Washington, D.C. It was probably my favorite.



And finally, if you find yourself at this stage of your life wearing shorts this short and all of your business out at a family show, then I suspect you want the attention and don't mind your backside embroidered on a blog.

Fay--the Indian Giver

So yesterday when Fay started heading up the pike inching closer and closer to the Gulf coast, I flipped on the news to see if there were any school closing updates.

Lo and behold, our little coastal county was emblazoned across the bottom of the all-news channel as closed on our first day of school on Tuesday.

I cheered. I quickly ran to the boys to tell them the good news. My wise oldest--always the cautious skeptic, "They can't change that, right?"

"Of course not! They can't change it after a public announcement on Bay News 9!! Call all of your friends! Write it in a Sharpie on your calendar! Get a tattoo! WE'RE OFF OF SCHOOL ON TUESDAY!"

*pause party celebrations in abrupt fashion*

They took it back.

Seriously, they rescinded that announcement and said that state officials misspoke at the news conference, and that school officials would decide Monday afternoon what to do.

You can't take something like that back. I had already started my considerable procrastination. I was planning my hurricane menu. I was drawing back the sheets to sleep in.

So we still may in fact be canceled tomorrow (my guess is yes) but I have to pretend like we are still on and pack backpacks whilst throwing all of the patio furniture in the pool.

Jerks.

The Stormy Week ahead

This weekend isn’t going as I had planned.

In a dizzying frenzy, I attempt Back to School shopping and hurricane shopping simultaneously. As Tropical Storm/Hurricane Fay heads toward the Gulf and the First Day of School churns in our area, preparing for both these storms isn’t easy.

In my shopping typhoon, I may have gotten confused.

I packed their backpacks with extra batteries. Their lunchboxes are filled with canned soup and water for three days. And I may have inadvertently thrown their desks into the pool and covered their textbooks with plywood.

This is challenging all of my skills as a Floridian mother, and I wasn’t ready for a test this early on. These two thunderous events have no business near one another. Seriously, who plans a hurricane to coincide with the first week of school?

Obviously, Mother Nature must have home-schooled.

The Uniform Store

Call me a slacker Mom. Call me last minute. Call me crazy--but I waited until 4 business days before the first day of school to go to the uniform store.

It was reckless, I know. But I hate going to the uniform store. It is annual trip into shopping hell.

Picture, if you will, a warehouse. A charming, dank warehouse housed in the middle of an industrial plaza. It rains only over this building each and every time I go like its the Munster's house on 1313 Mockingbird Lane. Now throw in some bad clothes and really long lines, and you've got the uniform store.

The saleswomen (and I use the term "sales" to refer to the hand written cutout tax table they consult rather than a computer, not in any sort of service aspect) are gathering starched clothing from bags around the room. They bark out, "How many kids you got?" and "Oh, you sure did wait long enough," or "I bet we're all sold out of that." It makes a girl get all warm and fuzzy inside.

So we begin the process of finding clothes that fit. There is no rhyme or reason to the sizes--a small gym short will reach Matty's ankle while the same size polo will reach his belly-button. After 4 hours and 37 different size designations, we come out with a wardrobe that would do any preteen tax accountant proud. And then she writes it up.

No, literally, writes it up.

With a clipboard and form in triplicate, she writes out every style number, sku, price, price extension, vendor number, style number, wage of the loom worker that wove the scratchy pants. It goes on and on and on...

The bill turns up at $357. I have absolutely no idea if this is wildly exorbitant or amazingly reasonable, because I don't know what I actually got in that bag--I'm afraid to reach in for fear of being bitten by one of the baby polyesters that were harmed in the making of that skort.

I pay (by check--I figure if they can't conduct commerce by 21st century means, than I pay with archaic methods to match) and go home to launder the brand new clothes at least a dozen times to make them pliable enough for human limbs.

Don't even ask me about the shoe store...

'Tis I, the road-weary diva

Well, I've returned to the domestic den.

We drove all night from Washington D.C. because we couldn't face night #15 in a hotel bed. Actually, I couldn't face unloading and re-loading the car for 809th time in the last 2 weeks, so fueled on caffeine and sheer selfishness, we made it home in one piece.

It was a great vacation. We did so much. Williamsburg, Mt. Vernon, Manhattan, Long Island, family reunion in Pennsylvania and Washington D.C. was quite an aggressive agenda, but for our road-savvy travelers, we did just fine. Never a peep of discontent from any of them. Remarkable children I have that make me proud every single day.

And now, marathon catch-up time. The kids--including Amy!--start school in 6 days and I have a few straggling school supplies to procure, 6 pairs of shoes, about $700 worth of uniforms and no less than a thousand crayons to buy. There are haircuts, room cleanings, lunchbox fixings and a whole lot of other painful procedures to re-enter academia. Sean is finishing up the family room floor, so I am hoping to put everything else back together soon. I'm tired of fetching toys from the china hutch.
Oh, how I hate this week....

Checking in

I have not fallen from the face of the earth despite having traveled to the ends of it.

Currently in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania about to embark on Day 1 of Family Reunion. We have made stops in Williamsburg, Virginia, Mt. Vernon, Times Square, Long Island and now here. It's been fun, busy, crazy, exciting, exhausting, and thoroughly enjoyable. I find myself with little time or opportunity to write; for business or pleasure, so forgive this hasty post.

Little time, but lots of material so stay tuned--you are not going to want to miss the recap.

Vacation Eve

I'm sorta ready. Packed loosely--like basil leaves.

We plan on leaving at some unholy hour tomorrow, which I have written about here. Why? I'm not sure.

Meanwhile, I need to tie up some loose blog ends, so here goes:

~Matty's cast came off today.

~I have a new contest up on SuburbanDiva.com to win a new Land's End Backpack. Make sure you enter.

~The floor looks amazing. We were a couple of boards short because one of the boxes was defective, but it looks smokin'. And so do the muscles of Sean and the Intern after cutting and nailing for 15 hours yesterday.

~We're missing two Thirsty Thursdays which I'm none too pleased about.

~I will never eat popcorn again.

~Make sure to read Whoa Momma! while I'm gone because I'll be posting there, too.

~I really should finish packing. Or make pesto.

You do the math

Receptionist: Are you taking your pain meds?

Me: I can't take Oxycontin during the day and still take care of 4 kids.

Receptionist: What about a half of a pill?

Me: Okay, which two shouldn't I watch?

Now I'm done.

She used to be fun

“You really should have met her before she got her Wisdom Teeth out.”

That’s what I’m afraid people are going to be whispering at my wake someday. So I’m not going to talk about it (because I can’t move my mouth) anymore. You’ll just have to read every post with the mental caveat that I am typing with one hand whilst holding my jaw with the other.

Because I really have been busy with other things. Like the dumpster.

Yep, we gots one parked in the driveway. Why? Because last weekend Sean did a Clean Sweep/Dirty Jobs thing out in the garage, and threw away a cubic ton of old crap. Like broken lawn chairs, hurricane supplies from 2004, about 45 broken hockey sticks and 11,000 golf balls. So then the city came and took it the next day and brought it back empty so I could go through all of the closets, toy boxes, junk drawers and other clutter collections I have distributed around the house and purge us of all evil. 2 dumpsters of junk may not be too green, but then Al Gore can get over here and find me a couple of working AA batteries and a freaking ballpoint pen. We needed a good cleaning. So we can buy more.

No, I am determined not to come home from our 3000 mile road trip with anything other than healed dry sockets, a knock-off Prada bag from a genuine NYC street vendor, and a renewed appreciation for flying.

And just because we don’t have enough going on, I picked up new flooring for the family room that Sean and the Intern are installing this weekend.

I’ll post pictures.

Trip Preparation 1

If you were wondering what I've been up to these last few days, I've been getting ready for our trip while holding my jaw from the unrelenting pain.

I know it’s neither fashionable nor practical to take a Road Trip in the Summer of aught eight, but since when do I follow convention?

We love our road trips. Love. Them. I will not give up this pleasure despite it costing the same as a fortnight luxury spa vacation in Cabo. I also figure that the cost to fly 6 people to multiple destinations and subsequent car rentals makes this trip a bargain by today’s ridiculous standards. The luggage up charge alone for 6, +car seats, strollers, portable crib and sand toys for two weeks would cover a tank of gas. Besides, we’ve got places to go, reunions to crash. We’ve got family to irritate, and rumors to fester. We are going.

I have decided to try and limit as much costs beforehand as possible, though. I figure my top expenditures on a road trip are: 1) gas, 2) lodging, and 3) Cracker Barrel.

Gas--can’t do much about it. I will get the oil changed today, inflate the tires to their proper PSI and hope for clear traffic because I know my husband won’t be driving 55 with four kids in the back seat. For lodging, we have made some arrangements with our 4 bajillion Marriott points to defer some of the expense, and we’ll turn up the air conditioning real high so that snuggling in July won’t be so uncomfortable.

Which simply leaves the jaw-dropping Cracker Barrel bill. In every past road trip, despite knowing full well what we are getting ourselves into, we stop at this den of evil. After waiting 6 hours for a table, we buy illogical stuff in the store, and never finish a plate of food. But somehow on a vacation, this seems like a good idea.

So to avoid this expensive pit stop, I have replicated the experience at home so we can drive past every exit. I cooked country-fried steak tonight that no one ate because they were too busy playing the I.Q. Game with the golf tees I put on the table. I bought the kids a bunch of cheap crap from the dollar store, let them break it, and then sprinkled the pieces all over the backseat. For extra good measure, I mixed some nostalgic candy pieces and a bag of ginger snaps to make it extra sticky. And because I realized I hadn’t spent anything close to our average bill, I bought a retro Coca-Cola napkin dispenser and then forgot it on a wooden rocking chair on the porch after playing checkers.

Voila. It’s like we’re already to Gatlinburg.

Friday in the Nuthouse

It's been a crazy, emotional, often painful, sometimes silly week around here, kids. I'm worn out.

My face is numb from the crazy dressings packed in my mouth so I look like I had recent Botox injections. Which is why registering emotions is difficult. You'll just have to trust me.

My friend and I took a bunch of kiddos to Hollywood Studios on Wednesday because we are insane. I don't know if I'll ever have full use of my arms again after carrying Jess or Amy in the rain for 15 hours. But we had a good time.

Anyhoo, I'm blogging my fool fingers off over on Whoa Momma! and writing the column of the week and then just figuring out everything else as I go. Maybe I'll get caught up this weekend.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OMG, I'm laughing so hard right now with out even moving my face.

OOOOhhhhh, those dry sockets

Well, I figured out what a dry socket is. Where there is nothing covering the exposed bone in your jaw so that it feel like there is someone offshore drilling in your head 24/7.

I fugured it out cuz I gots 2 of them.

Seriously. Give me a freaking break. No wonder I'm so grumpy, my skeleton is showing!

So, he is putting some weird dressing there that tastes like an old postage stamp was forgotten on my tongue, and I have to get it changed out every 48 hours. Seriously.

But it least it only hurts half as much.

But bonus!!! I went to the other kind of doctor that I really don't particularly care to see too often, and he said that I didn't have to lose any weight! Ha! He said I was "unamerican" for him not to have to let me go with a stern warning to drop some l.b.'s.

Wooohooo!

(I did not tell him that I haven't eaten in 7 days because of my toothache, but please don't spoil this moment for me....)

Still cursing the dentist

I'm still miserable so let's not even go there. It's amazing how a mouthache can ruin your whole month. I totally admit to this character flaw, but I can't apologize for it because that would mean moving my jaw to form words and that isn't going to happen until Halloween.

Cookies, who doesn't want a big bouquet of some?

I interrupt my excrutiating mouth pain in attempt to rot your teeth out. In a good way. :)




Who couldn't use this sweet treat to brighten their day just because? Well, our friends at Cookies By Design are going to send one lucky winner a delicious treat just because you rock. So, the only thing you need to be eligible for this yummy treat is to email me something like, "Hey, SubDiva! I could really use a big bunch of cookies delivered to my door." And you will be entered to win. All entries must be received by July 18, 2008, and I will draw 1 winner at random.

Because I'm a giver...with a sweet tooth.

Divamail me! (Oh yeah, and you have to be a Suburban Diva subscriber, so get over there for free newsletters, tasty treats like this and no spam. SuburbanDiva.com

I want my teeth back

There is about to be a new arrival today here at casa de la diva. No, not that kind, and no, I haven't yielded to the requests of the guinea pig from Amy.

No, our new bundle of joy comes in the form of the return of the Intern. (Sounds like a horror movie, doesn't it?) Technically, he is no longer an Intern since he has since graduated from college and he returns to our home as a full-time employee here in Tampa. As he looks for a place of his own, he will be crashing here for a while, so big fun for all, and a lot less trips to Publix for me.

I gotta tell you friends, not feeling real great after this mouth thing. I wasn't all that thirsty and yesterday was Thursday. I can't open my mouth more than a quarter of an inch and there are these beautiful empanadas stamped with my name that I couldn't eat. You'd think that my teeth came out of my liver because I didn't even finish one pink cocktail. I just wanted the ice to apply to the outside of my mouth. This is putting a serious damper on my street cred.

We'll be home this weekend huddling together. Weird week of events and sometimes you just need to gather the people you love around you and remind yourself that life is all too short.

Hope yours is great.

Day 2 Post-Op

I may look like a drunk chipmunk, I feel like a hungover crocodile.

This. Sucks. Beyond. Clenched. Words.

1 day post op

I look like a drunk chipmunk.

Nothing after midnight

We're back.

*heaving, satisfied sigh*

Just took off to Orlando for the weekend to watch fireworks from a hotel balcony and hang at a pool other than our own for a couple of days. I love the 4th of July for exactly that reason. It is the quintecenticial non-obligatory holiday. You get to party with whomever you want, not have to buy a single gift, and have huge pieces of grilled meat. What's not to love?

But now we're back and it's laundry day, but that isn't even the worst of it. No, tomorrow I get my remaining 2 wisdom teeth out, so I think I may be out of commission for a couple of days, because at my age, that's what happens.

So I'm preparing for that long day of drug-induced slumber tomorrow with the sobering tasks of taking a day off.

See you Wednesday. Maybe.

I bet it tastes like sand too

Matty and I need to step away from the Family Fun magazine...

July Resolutions

Ah, July.

So I’m trying to get into this summer rhythm. I haven’t quite made it there yet. Basically, my functioning clock is operating somewhere around January.

It’s been nutty in the nuthouse lately. Next to the big things I can’t blog about, (you are thinking, what could that possibly be? That girl never shuts up!) I’ve been trying to get everything organized. Both physically and mentally. The house--that never-ending pursuit of futility, but also life stuff.

I’m not complaining, really. I think organizing life stuff is good and healthy. It means that changes are happening and you are either preparing for them, dealing with them or cleaning up after them. I think I am solidly in the one and two category which is good.

I’m loving my new job. LOVING IT. But again, that is taking some getting used to. In a good way. Challenges are good, and after years of thinking one way, it’s fun to create by way of a new angle. That’s kind of what I’m about.

So maybe July isn’t a traditional “start fresh” month, but it is around here. We’re looking at July by way of a new angle, because that’s what we’re about.

The Perfect Family Reunion Souvenir

For the last year and half, Sean's family has been planning a family reunion.

I will spare you the details, because I already owe the entire world an apology for using up the entire Internet for 9 months on the family T-shirt logistics.

Said reunion is about 1 month away, and I've been racking my brain trying to come up with a little peace offering gift for each family to celebrate such an event. (I've had to keep my plans to myself however, just in case anyone had any online banking or term paper research to do with the world's bandwidth.)

I've come up with the perfect plan.

You know how I love my HP Photobooks. For the craft-challenged like me, they are a lifesaver to preserve family memories. So what if each family were to receive a photobook? And then, because they are easily added to, we each supply one another with our own personal family page? And then we can all switch photos online and add them our libraries and print them out at home in September? How great of a second cousin thrice removed would I be??



And did I mention they're on sale?


I got an email from HP saying the Photobooks are 25-50% off right now until July 5th. That means you could get a 5x7 book for $7.49 each. With free shipping.




So like I could really make this happen for not a whole lot of green.

(And so could you!)

Put some Windex on that, it will be fine

Our first Thirsty Thursday injury...

I really thought it was sprained. I thought when he fell out of the tree last Thursday, that an ice pack would suffice. Even at the ER, they put him in the walking boot and told him to stay off of it, I thought we were in the clear. Not exactly, said our favorite orthopedist this morning.

Fractured fibula. (Say that 5 times fast).

Hard cast. He's in heaven--it's a rite of passage for any 8 year-old boy. But I'm a little sheepish after this conversation to the Intern on the way home:

Matty: Danny, I got a cast!

(Pause.)

Matty: Yep! I fell out of a tree at Thirsty Thursdays!

I love the bar vernacular. It's my proudest moment as a mother.

Sunday tale of woe

I'm purging the house of crud. Decluttering. Summer cleaning. Deep cleaning. Organizing. Simplifying.

In other words, going out of my flipping mind.

Why did I start in Stevie's room? Why....

Alternative titles for this post:

*3 miracles occurred here: 1) I clipped coupons, 2) I remembered to bring the coupons to the grocery store, 3) I then remembered to hand over said coupons to the cashier.

*Look! I just saved enough for 2 teaspoons of gas!

*Cutting coupons is so unDiva-like, I should be cutting limes for my Mojitos instead.

*I remember when you used to be cool.

*Seriously?

Is it wise?

In my quest to visit every medical professional I can think of this summer, I've finally decided to get my last two wisdom teeth out. I only have two left because the first two over 15 years ago didn't go well.

Anyway, after waiting 1 full hour for a consultation with the oral surgeon--if I didn't want to be completely euthanized I could have skipped this formality but I want to wake up 3 days later under a cloud of Percoset and ask if it was a boy or a girl--I finally get in to meet the doctor.

Very nice, and I am immediately sheepish about being so bitchy about waiting (if only in my indignant mind) because he is so apologetic and starts telling me of all the good drugs he is going to give me before, during and after the procedure. I ask if we could just do it now?

But I tell him that while I appreciate his impassioned speech on the risks and benefits of general anesthesia, I am already dentalphobic and will be signing up for the coma option, thanks. I am scheduled for July 8.

"July 8? Is that a Tuesday? You may want to reschedule because I leave for vacation on that Thursday."

"Um, isn't that after the 8th?"

"Yes, but I would hate to leave town just two days after. It's not that your case is particularly complicated, it's just that at your age, it's going to take you longer to recover."

At my age? What the hell?

I was just about to launch into my 4 c-sections, heart trauma and misc. other surgeries in which I am chasing toddlers and dogs 15 minutes post-op when he gives me a Valium to take on the morning of the 8th before I even get there.

I smile with 2 teeth more than I will after the 8th.

Quiet

It is so dern quiet here. Unsettlingly so.

This is week 1 and only of camp. They are gone from 8:30-3 everyday. (Except to attend one of the dozens of doctor's appointments scheduled...) But this year Amy was old enough to go with her brothers.

This is strange for both of us. There are times when I feel she is still physically attached to me--more so than the others because she just has needed so much more in her short little life. There are precious few others she trusts--some good friends and our beloved Tasha, but basically it's the Mom and Amy show all day every day. And I love that, I really do.

But there are moments when I realize she needs to be away from me to do normal little girl things. And today is one of those moments.

And in a sort of related aside, Stevie--the old guy, the almost teenager texting 3600 times in one month--is still my big baby and I love it. Here's proof:



Armed with some downtime and his sister's sidewalk chalk, he made an entire NHL official ice rink in our street.

It was the sweetest thing I've seen in a long time.

What a week...

Jeesh, it's been kind of a big week around here. I'm still sort of hanging on an inhale. When I wake up from this crazy dream, I'll be more coherent. Maybe I'm still suffering the after-effects of suncreen paint fumes.

But here's some Friday blog love and contest news so you'll have something to do until I collect myself again.




I'm coining this a "Weestakes": a chance to win really great prizes just because you have a wee one...

Sign up for free on Newbaby.com today! Not only will you be instantly part of the most in-the-know parenting community with the largest expert video library for new parents on the Web, but for the next 30 days, we're giving away great prizes every single day to our new members.

So sign up today--it may be a "wee stakes," but we've got big goodies for you!

And just when you thought it couldn't get any better...


We have a new contest! In cinematic celebration of the DVD release of "Definitely, Maybe," (a film by the makers of "Love, Actually" and "Notting Hill") I'm asking for written submissions for your proposal stories! Witty, touching, tragic…anything goes. Just divamail me your story (doesn't have to be long, mind you) by Thursday, June 26th, and you can win a prize pack of all three movies. We'll post the winning entry on Suburbandiva.com.

Blognouncement

Deep breath…

Okay, so out of complete left field, I get a call from the St. Pete Times last week asking me if I’d be interested in contributing to their new parenting site Go Momma as a “celebrity guest blogger.”

After the EMS revived me, I managed, “Sure, what time?” “Can I bring the wine?” and “How do I spell your name so I can tattoo it on my ankle?”

And so coming soon to a theater near you will be my humble blog contributions a couple of times a week on parenting Diva style.

I’m thinking I’m the “before” shot for the real experts…

More Divas in the house

A friend of mine has a new blog.

So? Who doesn't? You ask youself. Blog is the new black.

This one is different for exactly that reason, blog is the new black, and at 50% off.

The Deal Divas over at the St. Pete Times are dishing out fashionable deals, but making me split my seams in laughter while doing it. Seriously, hip bloggers that not only tell you where to find discount designer shoes, but make you laugh hysterically while doing it? Not only will I read daily, I might weave them each friendship bracelets.

If it matches their outfits.

Home, reluctantly

Well. I'm home. And none too pleased about being on the mainland again.

Technically, I'm peninsula-side, but it's still not the same as island time. At all.

We had a fabulous time. Beyond fabulous, like crazy fantastublous. We spent 5 solid days on the beach collecting sand dollars and shark's teeth, playing in the waves, making sand castles, watching dolphins. We spent out nights with friends, eating great food, drinking island cocktails and watching sunsets. It was perfect. Jessie is completely blond, Amy learned to wade out pretty far in the surf, Matty is the color of hot chocolate, and Stevie put more miles on his bike than Lance Armstrong. If beachcombing was an Olympic event, I'd be a gold medalist. Sean won silver for lugging all of our equipment to the beach and back everyday.

We got home late yesterday but we'd all still be there if it weren't for that job-because-we-need-to-eat thing. Although if we could trade in all of these sand dollars for actual green ones, we could retire right now and be millionaires.



(These aren't all mine, I was just the banker for the team of diggers.)



And this is one of only 3 pictures I took the entire time. I hate bringing the camera to the beach for so many reasons, but my iPhone was handy one evening, so here you go. (If some of my more photogenic friends send me good ones, I'll post.)

Okay, let me go back into my decompression chamber so as to re-acclimate myself to land.

Sigh.

Gone Fishin'

Dear Blog:

We're on our way to the beach, thanks for minding the store while we're gone.

Please take out the trash on Friday and don't forget to feed the dog and take in the newspapers.

We'll be back on Wednesday, and the neighbors are watching, so no wild blog parties.

I know how you are.

Bon Voyage,

T.

Island Eve

It's officially Vacation Eve. And I am completely and utterly unglued.

Besides running around like a crazy woman who needs a vacation (and an eyebrow wax, but that's beside the point)last night was my monthly meeting. Oy. I know I complain of this, which begs the question, why Trace, why do you do it? Well, it's complicated. In a Machivellian sort of way. I feel like I need to pay my dues here so that my other really fun and fulfilling gigs will continue. Because I really, really like writing the other stuff.

So I was hoping this month would be easy--they'd have not a lot to say so I could just write out the article in between laundry loads and trips to the car. Not so much. It was a long, convoluted and particularly contentious 3 hours in which to write about.

So that seriously put a damper in my Olympic training for events like the beer luge, the 100 yard dash across hot sand and how many items I can pack in a Rubbermaid bin. So I am kind of scrambling tonight, but much calmer than I was this morning.

Because when Amy and I went to the grocery store, I decided to get a pedicure at this place Val told me about next door. She literally salivates when she speaks of it, and I'm thinking, I've had pedicures before, really, how good could be?

Oh. My. God. She did things that shouldn't be legal or at least require a luxury tax, a permit and a pact with the devil. There was parafin and salts and then this hot rock thing that was A.MAZ.ING. I didn't understand a word she said, but she spoke the language of love with those rocks, and I think I want to date her seriously. She had me at, "You want deluxe for $28?"

Menwhile, Amy sits next to me and they paint her nails and toes. Pink. WIth flowers. She is mesmorized and has not taken her eyes from her fingers since. It was wonderful.

So I still have an incredible amount to get done tonight, but somehow I do not care as much as I did 6 hours ago.

I cannot wait to squish my newly-beautified toes in that sand tomorrow.

T - 3 Days...

It's Monday. We leave on Thursday for the annual best trip of the year. That means 3 days until my ass is on a deserted beach with only Tom Collins and Jose Cuervo keeping me company.

I'm kidding of course. My family will be there and about 20 others. It's awesome and I seriously cannot wait.

But, preparing for a vacation on an island where there is little by the way of amenities besides your condo refridgerator, makes packing for Palm Island an art form. We womenfolk have elevated the packing experience to an entire month-long event. If you run out of something or have to leave the island for some reason, it takes about 6 hours by ferry to get a gallon of milk or more vodka. But worse, it is considered a personal failure.

So to that end I will spend the next 3 days cooking, washing, packing, shopping, writing, organizing, washing, packing and more shopping so that I can do none of those things for 5 days straight.

I have 7 people (the Intern arrives tonight) in which to pack, shop, cook, and provide for every possible meal and situation. 3 meals x 7 people x 5 days + Happy Hours, rain days and sunburns is a mind-boggling algebraic equation that equals a whole lot of sangria and sunshine.

It is such a bargain.

Off to stuff some pasta shells.

A new one on me

So Girl's weekend is going swimmingly--I'm getting a whole lot done, and we're having a fabulous time. I have a solid 1/3 of my novel complete!

So I am about to embark upon my evening eggplant parmesan project (as a recent recipient of about 20 farmer's market eggplants, an eggplant parmesan project would obviously follow) when there is a knock at the door.

Stupidly, I answer.

"So, are you interested in some furniture?"

"Excuse me?"

"Furniture. Brand new. 70% off retail. Right there in my truck."

Sure enough, there is a huge semi in the street right outside my front door.

Now I've chased away magazine salesmen. Super cleaning product salesmen. Meat and seafood vendors. Children with Christmas wreaths, candy, candles and cheese. But this is the first door-to-door furniture salesman I've come across.

"No, I think I'm all set on furniture. Thanks?"

"No problem."

He gets into his 18-wheeler and pulls next door.

I kid you not.

(I wonder if Mrs. Kravitz bought a settee or a china hutch...)

Girl's Weekend

Despite the Thursday Binge, I did complete the Thigh Manifesto.

And a lot more. I have already cleaned a bit and made some of our dinners for our trip. The boys left for a weekend doing boy things--scratching, baseball and eating poorly--so it's just us girls until Sunday. I suppose we should shop and clean, but I am planning on writing and packing for next week's pilgrimage to the beach. We leave Thursday, but I so wish it were sooner.

So that's about it for the afternoon. If you need me I'll be writing in between rented chick flicks and diaper changes.

My Writer's Group

Last night I met with my writer's group.

I don't know if I've mentioned them before, but I have one and we've been meeting the few of months. It's funny because I didn't think I would get much from this group when I first started, having never been in one before. But since we've been meeting, I've really enjoyed it, but also feel like they are elevating my work. And I hope to pulling my weight of adding helpful commentary to theirs. We've all got very different styles and projects going on, so it's pretty fascinating to be a part of something like this.

Right before leaving for said meeting, I was writing a column on my thighs being Communists. (You can read about that tomorrow if I ever finish.) Anyway, it's ridiculous of course. But then I go to the meeting and I get to bring my novel, and share this whole other side of my writing that is really gratifying, and well, grown-up. And don't get me wrong--I love talking about the political philosophy of my ass, but sometimes it's just nice to write about things a bit less...um, idiotic.

But speaking of idiocy, my rear end and margaritas (okay, so I just threw in the margarita part) it's another edition of the Thursday Quench today. I've got Teriyaki chicken wings going into the oven, and on my way to the next ho'tess' house.

(If I can finish the Thigh Manifesto in the next 2 hours, of course.)

4 out of 5 dentists recommend hippo floss

So my kids share my disdain for the dentist. So sue me. They'll go every 6 months, get a lecture (although either one still has never had a cavity) and then we'll commiserate over lunch afterward like we did today.

Me: They are a little nicer than the last dentist, right?

Matty: No, meaner.

Me: Meaner? How could they be?

Matty: She kept telling me to open my mouth wider.

Me: How is that mean?

Matty: Because I'm not a hippo! She should just do her job.

Touche.

June!

Summer showed up today.

Spring was so yesterday with its mid 80 temps and somewhat lower humidity.

But not today. Today was that 90 something day that hurts your eyes when you open the door and burns the back of your thighs when you sit in the car. It was a day complete with street mirages and flushed faces. Heat lethargy. A real need for antiperspirant.

However, we risked 3rd degree burns and loss of our retinas so that the kids and I could make our first summer field trip to the paint your own pottery store. Big fun. Made birthday gifts for my Grandmother, and the kids painted undetermined ceramic animals. It took 3 hours. And cost $110. I'm freaking exhausted. And poor.

But a couple of the other goals of the summer were also completed. I wrote 2 more pages in the novel. Boys have dentist appointments tomorrow. (I don't know if I mentioned, but we're seeing every doctor/health professional I can think of in the next 2 months to take full advantage of insurance.) And tonight I will have cooked three nights in a row!

And so the season begins on a high (tempertaure, mileage and pricetag) note.

Summer '08

Stick a fork in the second and sixth grades, they're done.

Woot! The boys graduated, and our first Happy Hour was a hit. If we keep up the pace we did last night by repeating our excess weekly until Labor Day, we will all be 20 pounds heavier, have rap sheets, cirrhosis of the liver and probably a nasty sunburn. But we will be happy and know all of the local gossip, so who really cares?

Here's a before picture:



I can't send the after because all of the ladies haven't signed their release forms yet, so maybe next week. But please note those fancy cupcake cones. I made them--it's a rare example of my baking efforts.

We had a full agenda on our first official full day off with speech, art, baby yoga, hockey...but the pace slows starting tomorrow. I swear. I am tagging this summer as one of the Written Word, and I'm going to be so prolific you won't be able to stand it. I'll have participles dangling from my fingertips and I'll diagram sentences during casual speech. I'll type all of my grocery lists in MS Word and I'll correct the spelling on license plates at red lights. And hopefully, by the end of Summer '08, I'll have a completed manuscript to go with that rap sheet and extra 20 l.b's.

Happy Summer to all of you whether written, spoken or blogged.


(I started here.)