Vacation?

I apologize for the delay, but I do believe forgiveness will be forthcoming when you read of our adventures over the next several days...


The first night of our “camping” trip ends at a Holiday Inn in Valdosta, Georgia, not at the beautiful and scenic Stone Mountain campground under the watchful eyes of rebel soldiers etched in stone as according to our original plan.

Why this horrendous detour?

Well, it seems in all of my meticulous planning of clothing, equipment, meals, campgrounds and mosquito repellent for this two week, 3000 mile road trip for 6, I failed to factor in a broken fuel pump and 2 flat tires 250 miles in.

We rented this recreational vehicle--which so far has proven to be more miscreational than anything else--and so I left certain maintenance issues up to that particular firm which collected the fee. I did not expect to do much else than fill the tank up with gas, and empty other tanks of, well, gas, of which we have already done several times. So first day tune-ups were not on our travel agenda.

Our mechanic, “Hollywood,” lives here in Valdosta, but is originally from Portland, Oregon. Ironically, his illogical nickname is quite appropriate since I feel as though we are stuck in some 2000 and late version of a Michael J. Fox movie and the only way we are escaping this fresh hell is to perform medical feats on the residents of this southern town before they fix our motorhome and allow us to continue on our journey.

But our first medical miracle may be reserved for one of our own, as my son just ordered a blackened grouper sandwich from a Holiday Inn in Valdosta, Georgia.

Cross-posted at Whoa Momma.

Not exactly sticking to the itinerary

No, I haven't forgotten you, nor have we fallen from the planet--although we are orbiting around aliens at the moment here in South Georgia.

No, every detail of this is being recorded and will be chronicled beginning Monday here and over on Whoa Momma.

It promises to be just exactly how you'd expect this vacation to be, only with more screenplay opportunities.

Maybe BlogHer '10 can be in Clearwater?

Well, tomorrow every female in the blogoverse heads to Chicago for BlogHer, and I will be heading, well, not to Chicago for BlogHer.

So I'm thinking while everyone else is partying like blog stars, the three of us left on the Interweb should do fun things while they're all not looking. I don't exactly know what that is yet, but you can bet it's gonna use a whole lot bandwidth just because we can.

In other news, Cousin Eddie fixed the A/C problem in the R.V. so "camping" can commence soon.

So stay tuned--both of you.

Blog school 101

On the first day of blog school they teach you a lesson in blog physics: if you write about avoiding the ER one day, you have exactly 3.2 hours before you will return to it in some form or kid or another. It's punishment for not observing some sort of knocking on wood or passing on a chain email ritual.

And so yesterday, it was Stevie who made a visit to our familiar ER docs with a foot injury that occurred on the beach.

Yes, that is quite a familiar refrain around my house. Stevie limped in with Sean and the insurance card limping behind him, and then had three rocks extracted from his big toe and his considerable wound cleaned, treated and bandaged. It was pretty bad. They gave him some heavy antibiotics too since he cut it on a paddleboat in some gross resort water. Ew.

He's resting it and we're watching it while we continue trip preparations.

And as soon as I finish the laundry I'm sending you all an ancient Irish angel prayer and re-enrolling in blog school.

You can, in fact, pick your daughter's nose

You were no doubt thinking that things were a little too quiet around here, medically speaking.

Well, you probably weren't, but now that I brought it up it has occurred to you that no one has made a trip to the ER in a while.

We almost set the "25 days accident-free" calendar back yesterday when Jesso decided to spice things up a bit.

Taking a cue from her older sister who stuck a red hot up her nose a couple of years ago and sneezed cinnamon for a few days afterward, Jess stuck a plastic bead up there.

Running over a little teary, she said, "Ma, Ma...nose." I couldn't see anything at first, but with a shine of the flashlight saw the little white bead perched high up into her nasal cavity. (And if that didn't clue me in, the evidence was in a craft bag opened up on my desk where she was sitting.)

I tried to work it out, yes, that way, but her nostrils are too small and my fingers too big. I thought maybe I could grab it with a pair of tweezers, but she was thrashing around too much and I thought I might pluck her cerebellum. So I let out a huge heaving sigh, and packed everyone up to go to the ER.

Actually, I had to pick up a couple from down the road so that they could watch the other 2 while I went holding just one crying baby instead of four. I made the exchange and carried on the way.

At the traffic light, I was considering ER, pediatrician's office or StatMed--each of which have their own appeal--when I looked in the rearview mirror and saw a little band of white perched close to the end of her nostril. I calmly pulled over to a parking lot (proud that I didn't just turn backwards while holding my foot on the brake like I normally do, aren't you?) and worked my mommy magic on that bead, so it came out in a rather disgustingly-coated nugget in my trembling hand.

And you know what that little cherub said?

"Tanks Ma for helping my nose."

No, thank you Jess, for saving me a $50 co-pay and another entry in the bad mommy file.

I want my money and my split ends back

Sean just walked outside and said, "What smells like old lady?"

Then he said, "Oh, your hair looks nice, did you just get back from the salon?"

At least that's what I thought he said before I ran inside and stopped payment on the salon check and ran the water in the bathtub to drown myself in a shampoo cocktail of Finesse and Fabreeze.

I use the terms, "Date" and "Night" loosely here

Man, do I hate nights like yesterday's.

I don't normally have a problem sleeping--I have trouble staying awake. But last night I was up until 4:45 tossing and turning and watching horrible movies on HBO. (Casino, Michael and Smokey and the Bandit, which the baffling combination of the those three titles alone are enough to give anyone nightmares) and so today I am suffering from one of those lack of sleep headaches that makes my entire head pull to the left--presumably in search of a pillow--but I'm no doctor.

But there's work to be done, so I fight through the haze to take A-Dog to speech and then write pathetic prose before the last errand/date night before the trip. But I'm dragging.

I hope my sleeplessness has nothing to do with the fact that tonight's date night will be the first in over a year that we'll get a table for two since the Intern has quasi-officially moved out.

Luckily, much of his crap is still here to keep me company, though.

Love you, D.

If you've seenchapters 18-23, please send

I've spent the better part of the last 24 hours re-mourning my lost chapters.

Yesterday afternoon the Apple store called well ahead of their repair deadline to tell me that the MacBook had been freed of its Gatorade death shroud and was now working at 100%. They had restored the restorable and I could pick up my new, old, dry computer. I was very excited because not only was I finally getting back, but back well in time to take on the trip.

Yay, right?

Almost. It seems everything was restored EXCEPT the actual new document I was working on when the spillage occurred. Which just happened to be all of the new chapters. The rest of novel had been restored--but I had all of that backed-up and stored in like thirty different places. The new stuff inspired by my Palm Island sun? Nope. That is gone. Forevah.

So I've started recreating that part of the book with lackluster passion. I guess it's good that the hard part of actually coming up with the story parts is done, but trying to piece it all back together from memory just plain sucks and makes me grouchy. But I will finish this this summer if it kills me.

Which judging from our fated progress so far, just might.

Suburban Diva in rhinestones is the new black

After years of requests from Ralph Lauren, Calvin Klein and Tim Gunn, I've finally embarked upon my new empire: Suburban Diva fashion.

Modeling the first SD couture in a dazzling rhinestone-laden top in ebony, is the lovely A-Dog, Suburban Divette.



This unique garment is also available in fuschia.



For anyone interested in wearing me across their breast, please email me for available colors and sizes, and I'll be happy to ship you one ASAP. More will be available soon from the talented women at the All About Me Company which I highly recommend for all of your gift-giving needs. (Remember to mention "DIVA" at checkout and you get 10% off of your order....)

The pictures from my iPhone do not properly capture the sparkle power nor the Samantha Stevens-esque quality of these fun shirts--a perfect gift for any diva in your life.

And it just makes me smile.

Whoa Momma needs summer camp feedback

(Cross-posted from Whoa Momma!)

I did laundry every day last week when my older son was at the Boyd Hill Nature Preserve Pioneer Camp. If you are familiar with it, the kids who attend the camp are generally dirty every day and then get hosed down at the end of the day. So every day he was soaking wet after playing in the mud, getting in the line of fire of squish (it's rotten food than is basically squished by a sledgehammer) or going through the pudding gauntlet. It used to be the pudding pole but the gauntlet is fun too, only maybe dirtier.

And even though I was tired of the daily laundry routine by the end of the week, for the third year in a row my son was as happy as a clam. He couldn't wait to get there every day and when my husband picked him up, he couldn't wait to talk about the expolits, whether he worked in leather, made a shelter with a team of kids or learned a new joke or riddle. If I had some stock in Tide, I would probably send him every week each summer.

So, now we want to hear from you. A few weeks before school ended, Go Momma ran an extensive list of bay area summer camps. But that's only part of the information we want to give you. We want to be able to share what other parents and kids thought about the camps. We want you to tell us about your child's summer camp experience. Did she love it so much she can't wait to get back next year or next week? Or would she rather stay home alone than go one more day? Do your feel like you are getting your money's worth or will you look elsewhere next time? Does it offer extra care or are you out of luck when noon hits? We want to know everything, so Mommas and Poppas, please fill out this questionnaire on your child's camp experience and let us know what you think. Once we have gathered your tales from summer camp, we will share them with readers in the coming weeks.

Thanks in advance for your help. Here's to lots of laundry in your future.

-- Sherry Robinson

*Please leave your thoughts here.

Blinded by the blinds

Not all of my adventures in domesticity earn accolades. Sure, there's the occasional wine rep that wants me to moonlight as a caterer, (yes, flattery will work on me and I'll buy more wine) but there are many, many, many other domestic failures that keep me humbled.

A few months ago at a party, we locked Jingle in our room so she wouldn't molest the guests as they entered the house. She found this imprisonment rather offensive, and proceeded to eat the wood slat blinds that adorn the french door to our bedroom so she could see the festivities outside. Months later, not only was half of the door exposed, but we still had a dog that defecated plantation shutters.

Being the kind of girl that knows this will only happen again and again, instead of replacing the broken blinds with future broken blinds, I spent a ridiculous sum on custom Roman shades from a popular fabric chain. I don't want to drop any names here, but it rhymes with "Balico Forners."

Anyhoo, after spending that ridiculous sum, ordering when on sale and then selecting from every thread, size, fixture and grommet option ever conceived, I waited three months and finally received my shades.

Ahem.

The only thing resembling "Roman" or "shade" is that they look like someone ripped off their toga after a drunken frat party and tacked them to my bedroom door. They are sloppy, unfinished and completely impractical. And the worst part is they are custom, so not only did I pay handsomely for the not-handsome window treatments, it means I'm stuck with them until I can find a naked gladiator that wants to look like a sofa.

So luckily for the world, I'm done decorating anything but a cupcake for me for a while.

I'm grilling Acai berries to counteract my holiday weekend diet

Now that we have all of those pesky parties, parades and illegal fireworks out of the way, let's do some work, shall we?

Sounds good in theory, but I'm having a heck of a time writing anything other than campground reservation confirmation numbers and emails to friends and family warning them of our impending arrival.

I have been scoping out some fun recipe ideas on camprecipes.com, though. Looks way fun. I test-drove a recipe for camp biscuits last night night, and while certainly easy to make, they probably should be used to put behind the back tires of the R.V. when parked rather than ingested by humans. So I need a little help in this department. Got any tried and true camp favorites? Leave a comment here and help a sister out.

We're going on a little tour of our new home on the road tonight.

That's sure to inspire some words.

It seems like just yesterday I was doing his laundry. Oh wait, it was.

Just about one year ago, we welcomed a new arrival into our house.

A healthy baby 22 year-old Intern. We called him Danny.

Proving again that they really do grow up so fast, our little Danny is about to fly (again) on his own.

Officially, he had possession of his new apartment yesterday, but I haven't seen any actual possessions leave here to land at that new address, but we gave him a little farewell dinner last night anyway. He reminded us that he only lives 4 minutes away and he'll be here all of the time, so I'm not sure if he's really moving out or just bought a rather pricey place to watch something other than Spongebob.

But regardless, we're going to miss that boy.

Even the loud parts.