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.