Linguistics lesson

I know where the turn of phrase, "A watched pot..." comes from....

Just wondering....

Can I Fabreeze the dog?

Good Friday

I honestly didn't think I'd be cooking Easter dinner this year. I thought I'd either be in the hospital dining on Similac with Oscar or at home recovering and being tended to by doting others.

It is now Good Friday, and it looks as though I may have to re-evaluate my holiday plans to include cooking for 12 on Sunday.

The upside is that maybe since wallpaper stripping yesterday didn't work, perhaps stuffing a leg of lamb and peeling fingerling potatoes may just push me over the edge.

Do you want fries with that?

I might just have found the one benefit of looking like I have a large medicine ball perched on my hips. At Matty's baseball game the team mom looked at me with those wide eyes of disbelief mixed with empathetic discomfort and said, "Well, you get out of concession stand duty for the rest of the year!"

That might have even made up for the bagger at Publix asking me if I was having twins today.

Spring Break

In an effort to steer Karma in a different direction, (hopefully toward Mease Hospital) I will point out 2 positive events for the day.

1) That 24 pound mark still holds. No, I'm not kidding. Last week I was up to 25, but yesterday I lost a pound. I can only attribute it to the unwitting ab crunches I do every 12 minutes (now down to 6 since I refuse to take any more meds). Not that my waistline shows the effort--that's more obscene than ever--but at least the scale does.

2) Today is the last day of school before a perfectly timed spring break. We all need it. The boys need to be home knocking down all of my nesting efforts, and Amy needs her brothers' attention. They need to be swimming and coloring eggs and sleeping in. On Friday, we will be besieged by family coming for Oscar Easter, and that's a good thing, too.

Let's hope I can give them something to do while they're here...

My O.B. Hates Me

Hiatus

They stopped it.

I held out for days before going to the hospital with contractions 2-3 minutes apart, and they stopped it.

Or perhaps I should say delayed it, because the drugs only make them come at 12 minutes apart which I am supposed to consider some sort of victory.

I don't know why exactly we have to wait any longer, but apparently we do. Or I do, because I am the only one that really is affected every 12 minutes. And the best part is that I get to play the home version of this game, and so I can take the medicine 3 times a day or whenever I feel the need to make my pulse race and shake like a crack whore.

Anyway, the thing is, yesterday I realized I sounded like the angry pregnant woman all of the time, and now tonight I am just the depressed one. I lost the last bit of sense of humor I had somewhere between the first and second shot laying there in the hospital. So I give up. I'm checking out for a while from the fucking relentless pressure of the maternal universe and going to try to figure out a way to think of something else for 11 minute intervals.

Upright

Well, we did it.

By all calendars, we have reached the safe week. We have made it through the shower (more on that faboo event later), we have made it through nesting, fridge stocking, ridiculously ambitious home projects, Jingle semi-training, tax season, reading, photo placement, pedicure, Easter shopping, hair highlighting and bag-packing. We have performed everything asked of us medically. We can now put bed rest to rest and move on to Operation: Evict Oscar.

You are all unwitting co-operatives in this mission. You will start by lighting candles to St. Gerard, and then sending along every wives tale, urban legend, bona fide medical fact or preposterous grandmother rambling on how to induce labor. I have been busy preparing for this delicate operation by doing laundry all day and vacuuming. Contractions are strong and present, but not regular yet. Yet. The casualty of this mission is that inducing labor for someone who planning on a c-section is so not fair, but every war has its sacrifices.

***
But the shower that my gracious friends threw for me was a beautiful event. Everything was perfect and the only thing left I need would be more space for all of the generous gifts. My sis came down for a few days in hopes of meeting niece or nephew #4, but instead got treated to cleaning the garage fridge and making dinners at Dream Cuizine for said fridge. (I went to Florida for my Spring Break and all I got was a case of ptomaine poisoning.)

***

Okay, you all have your dossiers, get busy. This baby is going to be born in March. Defeat is not an option.

Comic relief

I hacked up a lung laughing at this.

Achoo

The only thing that could make this any more fun would be if I woke up with a cold this morning. Oh look, life just started to resemble the freaking circus.

Seriously. How did I piss off the cosmos this much to be punished like this? Whatever egregious offense I may have committed, I am truly sorry and beg your mercy.

Please pass the tissues.

My Tuesday nights out have been reduced to Michael Jackson and toothpaste at Target

I ventured out of the diva cocoon to go to the doctor's. He was running behind, and I found myself sitting next to a skinny drug rep with a bag full of Ortho Novum samples which I almost reached into and threw them to women around the room shouting, It's too late for me, but save yourselves!

But I didn't. Instead, I just timed my contractions on my cell phone wondering how much closer they had to be before I asserted myself to the front of the line. (7 minutes but if they went to 6 I was knocking over anyone who was there just for a pap smear.)

When I finally got in to the exam room, the nurse had to pause taking Oscar's heartbeat for a big contraction to pass. We breathed through it together, and I felt a little vindicated that I had a witness.

The diagnosis was the same, however. Longer is better, gravity is not your friend, and Thriller, was the best album Michael Jackson ever made. (You don't control the conversation when you're in the stirrups, people.)

So what exactly does this mean? Well, if I want Oscar to be on a breathing machine, then I can start the jumping jacks now. If I would like to increase the odds against that, then wait a few more days until I feast on the chicken parm and calisthenics...

*****

Since I was out, I cheated a little more. I decided that I deserved a pedicure since I haven't been able to reach my own toes in 5 months. Let me tell you, it was worth the abdominal pain. It's amazing how a foot massage and a coat of "Dutch Tulips" can brighten one's general outlook.

****

I cheated even more and went to Target to start stocking up on Easter fare, and now as I write this I feel as though the afternoon just caught up to me so I'm back to horizontal for a few days. I need to finish the boring novel I'm halfway through and there are a few episodes of "My Super Sweet 16" that I need to catch up on.

Toodles.

It is time

Well, I think this can be considered the home stretch. Once given the ok at tomorrow's doctor's appointment (which had better be forthcoming lest I rip his spleen out) I will resume normal activity and give birth mere hours after I carry a laundry basket to the kitchen.

I know I am supposed to wait until after Saturday's shower, but I cannot adequately describe how badly I want to be done. It hurts. Yesterday, I made a pan of stuffed shells to freeze, and the contractions came at 7 minutes apart. It's time. Oscar must have a thing for turkey and artichoke stuffing. And remember when I used to be fun? Remember when I accepted your gracious invitations and contributed to conversations? Remember what I looked like upright? Good times...

Besides, I have every contractor and craftsman in the greater Tampa area scheduled to come out for some various last-minute nesting project this week, so it really is time.

Think birthing thoughts....

Highlights and low lights

I know I haven't posted this week--I'm miserable company even in a blog. I can characterize the week in a series of highlights and low lights which will explain my absence from the computer.

Highlight: Doctor's appointment with news of only a 24 pound total weight gain.

Low light: Same doctor's appointment with total bullshit surgery schedule date. I am going to do the at-home version of a c-section with some pinking shears this weekend.

Highlight: I read 3 novels this week.

Low light: I had time to read 3 novels this week.

Highlight: Sean taking Tuesday off and doing an amazing amount of work around the house and with the kids. He even called the 1-800 number for the Scooter Store demanding his free scooter just to get me to laugh.

Low light: Wallpaper stripping in the next bathroom he remodeled.

Highlight: Return visit from the dog whisperers.

Low light: On said visit, one of the dog whisperer's had to look under my bed to get Jingle out from under it. I feel so utterly naked. Also, Jingle is tall enough to jump up on the couch now. We're done.

Highlight: Amy's speech is really progressing nicely. Granted, most strangers wouldn't be able to pick up what she says, but they wouldn't help but smile at her version of the word, "butterfly."

Low light: First attempts at potty training.

Highlight: Matty getting excited for baseball and going to the hockey game tonight.

Low light: Signing the permission slip for "the movie" for Stevie and having him tell me that I had better hide those Easter baskets in the trunk so Matty didn't discover "the myth that is the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy." 1/2 Highlight: He didn't mention Santa in that sentence.

Highlight: Retiring one pair of maternity jeans to the closet bag.

Low light: Because I look like this:

3 Wishes

If a genie in a bottle washed up on the shore of my bathtub right now and offered to grant me 3 wishes, at this precise moment, this is what they would be:

1.) An English Governess (preferably an ugly one but one that can cook)

2.) Hard liquor. Anything on the rocks--no mixers.

3.) Forceps.

I know I can't have any of those things right now realistically, but I can dream....

You can't imagine how long and how many people it took to code this seemingly simple image and link

Bon Voyage

Ok, so a MySpace profile for Fantasia, my new Siamese/Tabby mix it is then.

I'm checking into a hotel for the remainder of this pregnancy. I am going somewhere with room service, and maids that change the bedding for you so that in the event that you just spent 35 minutes and most of your finite energy changing the sheets on the place where you spend most of your days and nights and someone under the age of 4 comes in with a stash of pixie sticks and proceeds to open them and dump their sugary contents right under your neck so that the excruciating hot flashes that now accompany the contractions transform the powder into blue raspberry Kool-Aid that now coats your entire expanding body in some sort of nostalgic torture/sticky practical joke so thoroughly that even your tears which now flow copiously out of sheer frustration taste like a blueberry sno cone that was made from seawater and a Downey dryer sheet, will be taken care of for you.

So just send me a bottle of Wild Turkey and a leather strap to bite, and I'll give birth at the Marriott. Oscar and I will see you at the Christening.

Home stretch

Although we've had some excellent entries--both here and via email--we are by no means done with group "The Preserve SubDiva's Sanity Project" in which you all are prisoners. I feel like we've reached a critical point in our efforts, and I could either make it through another 7 days or I could start voting for American Idol contestants and creating a MySpace profile for my cat.

And I don't have a cat.

So keep them coming.

Spring Break!

I probably overdid it a little on the activity level today with Amy's speech and a return visit from the dog whisperer, but I thought I could afford it because in a mere 2 hours, help arrives in the form of one godsent nephew on spring break.

For the next week, there will be a lovable young man of driving age wrestling his cousins, running to Publix for milk, taking Jingle for walks, attending numerous spring training baseball games and anything else that should come up in exchange for my car that no longer gets driven, all the food he could possibly eat, unlimited access to the beach and hot tub and even cash bribes.

It is going to be the best spring break EVER. For me.

For him, not so much.

P.S.

Did I mention the poster of the funniest joke wins a prize?

mailto:divamail@suburbandiva.com

Cheer me up

Okay, I didn't mean for my column today to sound so depressing, but I guess it is. Maybe the boredom is getting to me. Maybe the frustration. Maybe the pain.

Anyway, it is up to you dear blogience, to change that. I issue a decree of joke submission, either here, under comments so others can share in the laughter, or divamail me if they are really raunchy (my favorite kind).

Your other option is to send along one must read novel suggestion.

Get busy, you have an awesome and important responsibility.

Day 5

Remember that really long Russian novel I was reading? I finished it.

Remember those tedious taxes that needed preparing? I prepared them.

Remember all of that bad television I was going to watch? Saw it. And the reruns.

Now what?

Bed Rest--Day 4 or something...

...Who knows, they all run together.

Granted, the last couple of days have included a bit more activity than the strict definition of "bed rest" implies, but thanks to the generosity of good friends and Sean's return, life will return to the fully reclined position now. The doctor said yesterday I need to get a little more mileage from my cervix. Then I threw up on him for saying such a thing.

So, what's on tap for the rest of the week from the diva boudoir? Nothing but exhilarating excitement, I tell you. There's spreading out all of the 2006 tax receipts into some semblance of order for the accountant. There's the obligatory putting photos in albums. There is online shopping. There is reading a rather slow tome that even on bed rest is going to take weeks to get through the Russian revolution. There is daytime television--court shows and the Food Network.

And of course, there's blogging, so you can all share in the boredom.

Bed Rest--Day 2

Oscar-2, Me-0

I can't believe that a 3 pound baby is kicking my ass so soundly. If it's a boy, I may name him Leroy Brown.

I do look like a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces gone.

Admitting defeat

I've seen some weird shit in my day, but watching the Blue Man Group last night was right up there with the weirdest.

Maybe I just wasn't in the mood. Because it occurred to me rather painfully and a barely avoided trip to the hospital on the way home, that this was the last extracurricular event I will be participating in until post-Oscar. I admit defeat. I thought I could avoid bed rest, but I can't any longer. I'm done.

And so, if you need me, I'll be working from the laptop from bed for the next couple of weeks extracting myself from bad television and a thick Russian novel for only the absolute necessities.

I don't even have the wherewithal to worry about my roots, either. I may just pull a Brittney and shave it all off.

What they say, and what they mean

You look great! You are just all baby!

You are so obscenely pregnant now, that I can see Oscar eating a sandwich in there.

I'm not unpacking that bag

The hospital staff took one look at those roots and agreed that we needed to buy more time.

Remember that scene in "Pulp Fiction" when Uma Thurman overdoses and they have to give her an adrenaline shot to the heart? I think they used the same procedure last night. I know I had to have had the same medication with Amy, but somehow I don't ever remember it quite so bad. I felt like I was having a heart attack, but I guess cardiac failure is the cure for preterm labor. Who knew?

This morning I feel as though I am in withdraws from like, oxygen or something, and I can't stop shaking. But I am thankful that we have more Oscar cooking time.

I better go call the hair dresser.

"How are you feeling today?"

He asked.

"I just packed my hospital bag," I answered.

I'm dying here. I hope I can make it to March. Or at least until Sean returns from Asheville. Or at least until the crib is assembled. Or at least until I have purchased one diaper, p.j., blanket or bottle of formula.

And most importantly, at least until I've had my roots touched up.

Yes, I speak dog

If dogs could talk, Jingle's first words would be, "WTF??!!"

It wasn't really a literal dog whisperer that came over yesterday, more like a dog growler. That's what we have to do in place of saying, "no." It's ridiculous. It's foolish. It is absolutely humiliating.

But you know something? It works.

By the end of that first session, Jingle was a transformed dog. She stopped eating us. She didn't bolt out the front door. She waited at least 8 hours before pissing in the house. It was unbelieveable. I might actually have a functioning dog in 6 weeks rather than Beowolf.

*No dogs were harmed in this training. Only a grown woman's ego.

Ash Wednesday

I've been thinking of my Lenten sacrifices this year. Since pregnancy is a 40 week self-sacrifice rather than simply 40 days, I've decided to go another route as I have abandoned many of my vices back in August. Besides, I hope to give birth well before Easter, and I plan on celebrating my first meal without heartburn spoiling it with a nice glass of Merlot.

Since focusing on a project is particularly difficult as of late, during Lent I am going to seriously apply concentration, creativity and effort to this book that I declared to the world would be out by the end of the year.

I know you are all breathless with anticipation.

Barefoot Mardi Gras

Yesterday, Sean took the day off and proceeded to work at the most feverish pace finishing the bathroom remodel (of which he did all himself and is beautiful), painted Oscar/Amy's room, picked up the crib, took the boys to baseball, went to the grocery store and looked at 2 houses for sale with a realtor. I don't know if I've ever been so turned on in my entire life.

With all of this nesting going on--Oscar is 1.5 months away--the dog whisperer's arrival tomorrow comes none too soon. I am out of shoes now completely, and we all wince every time we walk past her. But then every time I have her bowl and leash packed up ready to send her to the Himalayas where she clearly must be better suited, she'll do something absolutely irresistible like curl up with Cricket under her chin, or Amy will attempt to say, "Jingle," and I have to extend her lease for 5 more minutes.

Happy Fat Tuesday--I'm taking full advantage of the day clearly named after me this year.

Introductions

I feel as though I need to give a shout out to my new friends in Chicago. For some strange--but fascinatingly delicious--reason, The Chicago Tribune ran my story this week, complete with the picture of me looking like a stroke victim.

So, um, hello. I'm Tracey, Sub D, and in addition to all of the things you already know about me, I am a Taurus and I like long walks on the beach.

And you?

I really don't care how much it costs

I am currently doing the advanced math on paying an embarrassing amount of money for a dog trainer to come in and help me train this freaking needle-tooth dervish--or whatever breed she really is--or paying to replace the carpets,(she is now chewing holes in the middle of the floor) all of my shoes, (she doesn't chew in pairs, only singles, of course) our clothes, (they all have holes in them at nose height) and child limbs (prosthetics might be expensive, but at least I'll save in Band-Aids and Neosporin.)


Dog trainer it is, then.

An assortment of nonsense

Please do not read the following as a complaint, by any means. Do not read it as anything other than a musing, a bewilderment, an internal query, an observation, or a pondering. Choose whatever adjective you prefer, but definitely not a complaint.

It has been 2 weeks since the article was published and life has changed. Not that I coveted my former low profile and not that I expect such recognition outside the boundaries of Safety Harbor or just my own street even, but losing a level of anonymity is a little strange.

Let me explain. I expected a few friends to comment. I expected a few unexpected people to comment. That about covers my expectations.

What I did not expect was for my garbage cans to be taken in and out because my neighbors read about my pregnancy rather than notice on their own. I did not expect mere acquaintances to save, laminate, or otherwise display my article in any way shape or form. I did not expect my book to be auctioned off for money much higher than the cover price.

And I certainly did not expect to stare back at my own crooked smile when I walked into the exam room at the OB's office. OH MY GOD HOW PERFECTLY DISCONCERTING WHILE IN THE STIRRUPS. It made trying to distract myself by looking at myself while in that horrific position really rather creepy.

It feels like I'm stalking myself. Maybe I should get a restraining order.

******

Anyway, the doctor's visit was a mixed bag. Besides the self-voyeurism, I just have not been feeling all that well, honestly. I'll spare you the symptoms but it's starting to make me a little pensive. But no matter what the test results today show, I have officially started one aspect of my freelance maternity leave, as last night was the last meeting I will cover for a while. When they started speaking of the March agenda, I gratefully thought, Yahoo! I can honestly not give a shit! And none too soon as last night was the single most uncomfortable experience of my life trying to fit and stay still in those plastic folding chairs while fighting off contractions and hot flashes. At one point during a diatribe on the difference between beige and tan exterior paint, I thought my water was going to break. And the sad part is, I knew that not one bastard in that room would drive me to the hospital. They would fail to pass the motion by a 2/3 majority.

The good news was, if such a thing is conceivable at this point, is total weight gain--20 pounds. Approaching the eighth month and 20 pounds. I feel like I want to eat cake or something to celebrate, but then that might prevent future celebrations. But it is Valentine's Day after all, so perhaps a chocolate covered cherry or seven might be appropriate...

Happy Valentine's Day.

Weekend

That was fun. Even though I can't wear my Cheap Trick hoodie for a couple of months, that purchase still made the evening worthwhile. And the Audrey Hepburn reference(as opposed to Lucille Ball whom I thought I resembled in that polka dot dress) made the exorbitant amount of money we spent on the Cheap Trick hoodie and spa pedicure well worth it.

Before Sean left for Asheville today, I made him go to the store with me and we ordered Oscar's crib. At 30 weeks, this is the first purchase I have made toward Oscar's arrival. In fact, with the exception of doctor's visits and drinking Evian by I.V., it is the first physical preparation I have made.

I joke and complain about this pregnancy thing, but truth be told, I am more than a little nervous for the actual birth and the actual Oscar. I know they are normal fears that everyone has, but, I don't know, I just get scared sometimes.

But today was nice. Ordering the crib was a big deal--both mentally and practically. And it was nice. I actually teared up right there in Babies R Us. Matty and Amy helped, and since we didn't know what color sheets to buy, Matty promised that he would go shopping while we were in the hospital so it would be ready when we got home. Then he promptly used the new crib mattress as a wrestling ring, but the good intention was there...Anyway, I am on such a roll, I might just even pre-register at the hospital tomorrow since the forms have been sitting on my desk since September.

Tonight's Auction

I'm trying my best to rally for tonight's festivities. I swear. I know I've been less than enthusiastic the last couple of days, so today I am really making an effort. To prove it, I:

a) am drinking several gallons of water to combat the swelling and ensuing sluggishness.

b) not polishing off the rest of the red velvet cake from Bunko last night to combat the the swelling and ensuing sluggishness.

c) wearing a new outfit and swanky hairdo to combat....

d) am sincerely going to try to take a little nap later to catch up on some sleeplessness and combat, et al...

e) enjoy a night out with good friends tonight.

I love my job

I want to know how often you can use these words in a sentence together in your lifetime: I am interviewing the second professional wrestling star of the week today.

Today's subject is a bit different because she's a former WWE Diva, and while I may beg to differ with her on that title, I won't, because she could kick my ass.

A Perfect Excuse

It looks like I'm going to have to buy 2 new pairs of shoes for myself so the boys can make their Valentine mailboxes for school.

This is so the craft project for me.

Super Bowl

Although our family considers Super Bowl Sunday to be an almost religious holiday, that is not the reason why I didn't attend church this week for the first time since before Advent--a streak I was kind of proud of. No, with Sean off in Miami enjoying the SB festivities, I am holding court solo with Matty who came down with Strep throat this weekend.

At least that has given us a good excuse to hole up for a couple of days--the little ones playing video games, watching movies and eating pudding while I get caught up on writing, reading and neglecting housework--3 of my favorite pastimes.(And eating pudding, but don't tell my O.B.) The week has been amazing with much attention and many unexpected windfalls as a result of the article. Crazy.

We're going to get in one more dose of antibiotic and head over to watch the game with friends with empanadas--another favorite pastime.

Go Colts!

Me and SD

What a day....

This is what has kept me happily amused all day.

I was overwhelmed and humbled by the generous response, many good wishes sent my way which were warm and fuzzy and kind of nice on a chilly January day. If these were my 15 minutes, then I am more than grateful for them.

There were only a couple of black spots on an otherwise spotless day, but I have cleaned them away with a bit of club soda and didn't allow them to mar an otherwise amazing experience. However, they prompted a thought which sort of sums up the whole Tracey vs. SubD schizophrenic and bizarre dichotomy...

Perhaps upon first look it appears that I live vicariously through SD. The truth is, it is she who lives vicariously through me, and that is a pretty healthy place to be.

Diva Eve

I'm going to pretend like this is just a normal night. I'm going to crawl in bed soon with my book that I'll end up reading the same paragraph over and over and still not know what it says. I'm going to pretend that it is every morning that I wake up to read about myself in the newspaper. Yep.

Under no circumstances will I admit that I will be tossing and turning all night long waiting to hear the thud of the paper land in the driveway unto when heard, I will rise on the coldest morning of the last five years and creep outside in my bathrobe, rip the plastic sheath and read the story in the glow of the moonlight while my toes (I presume I still have 10) freeze to the concrete. I will simply lie to all of my friends when they call in the morning that no, I'd forgotten all about it, and is it in today's paper? Really? I'll have to take a look later if I get around to it, meanwhile I have purchased every copy in a 10 block radius after 17 cups of coffee and a half dozen donuts.

Okay, the donut part is a lie because I just had the most depressing doctor's visit to date, and donuts--and everything else but lettuce leaves and tap water--are off of the diva menu until October. And even worse, now I have to start going every 2 weeks so my monthly humiliation has now just doubled itself. Yippee skippy.

All right, I'm going to pretend to sleep now.

Excuses, excuses

Really Good Reasons for Not Blogging this Week:

1.) I'm heinously busy with agents and publicists promoting Suburban Diva, the stage show.

2.) We found out that I'm really 10 weeks farther along than I am, and Oscar is being delivered tomorrow.

3.) I'm in Cozumel drinking Mojitos.

4.) I'm writing with such prolific fury, that I can't even pause to switch windows for 30 seconds.

5.) The Bears signed me to play nose tackle for the Super Bowl.

6.) I finally found a pair of shoes that Jingle hasn't chewed, and I'm learning the Merengue.

Now, The Real Reason:

I'm just too flippin' tired.

Religiously speaking

My sacrifices to the Clearasil god and the Pantene god were acceptable, and so they shone down upon me today graciously.

However, the god of Calories did nothing overnight about my figure and I still look 7 months pregnant. He hates me.

It is yet to be determined if my offerings were pleasing to the gods of photogenics and puppy bladders.

Light a candle, please.

Boo

After the big anniversary celebration last night (which was wonderful, by the way, thanks everyone) this is what Sean said to me this morning:

"Some days you scare the hell out of me. Today is one of them."

Boo.

My End of the Week Nonsense in no Particular Order

OKay, I'm trying not to wig out about this photo shoot, but I'm starting to wig out about this photo shoot.

****

These next two admissions should be entered into the "Cry for Help" file: With all of the car switching around that we've done in the last week, I inadvertantly didn't buckle Amy's car seat in properly upon the last movement. I buckled her into the seat, so when I turned for the first time, her seat fell over with her strapped tightly inside. She screamed for 15 minutes straight even after uprighted, re-secured and soothed. Now everytime we get into the car (it's superglued now, I assure you) she holds onto the car dooor and cries the whole way to our destination. I feel so awful.

Matty was giving little effort to his homework the other night. He was purposely messing it up so he could purposely mess with my head. So I finished his spelling homework for him by writing out his sentences for him.

1. My kids feel like wiggling rather than homework tonight.
2. There is no use talking about it, it won't work.
3. Someone take me out to the middle of the road and shoot me.

(I got 2 in that last one.)

I haven't got a grade back on that one.

******

At the Vet visit yesterday, they informed me that Jingle doubled her weight in 1 month. This can be explained that upon further investigation, my "Goldador" puppy has some Husky in her. So does that makes her a "Goldadorusky?"

No, it makes her big.

(And to the answer to my question to the vet in all seriousness was, "No, there is no such thing a colon ligation.")

15 Years

Happy Anniversary, Sean.

I'm like a vampire, I don't photograph

I just finished the interview. I am mentally exhausted from being witty and charming on demand for 2 hours. We'll see if I succeeded in a week or so.

There's just one little problem.

They want to send out a photographer "to follow me around photographing me doing everyday things."

I wonder what exactly that will entail? Me eating a blueberry pie by myself from the fridge. Me cleaning up puppy poop. Me singing badly whilst straightening my hair. Me cleaning up marshmallows. (I clean up a lot of marshmallows everyday for some strange reason.) Or me blogging about marshmallows.

Oh, this is going to suck.

What am I going to wear?

I just got an interview request for the newspaper to do a profile piece on Suburban Diva. On Wednesday. Here.

I'm wondering if these maternity jeans make me look fat?

Oh yeah...of course they do.

Come Monday

It's a lovely Monday off following a lovely long weekend. We're waiting for Stevie to return from his ski trip--missed him terribly--by doing laundry and baking cookies. Amy is painting masterpieces and Matty is watching wrestling. In a few minutes we'll turn on a rare midday hockey game and I'll pen a few lines on the writing project du jour since I finished the monthly assignments ahead of schedulein some strange gift from the cosmos.

I'll start the sauce shortly for a big dinner and if the dog doesn't piss on the newly cleaned carpets, life will be pretty close to perfect.

Thursday

I could fall asleep sitting up typing this. Literally, my fingers would slow and start typing gibberish while my eyes closed and snapped back open, a little longer and a little slower each time until the shroud of sleep hit completely and I could fight no more.

Amy was feverish all night long, which meant we were up too, and I just got back from the doctor because I was afraid it was an ear infection and we can't afford that at this stage of the game. But it wasn't. It was just a fever which was good, but also meant no help.

Stevie is off on our family ski trip sans family. Or rather with other family because this is the no-fun pregnancy. The puppy is terrorizing my shoes and we're almost out of milk, so it's a pretty rotten day so far. About the only bright spot is that about a week ago I got the best haircut of my entire life, and everyday since I haven't had to wear it in a ponytail.

And now, hfhfohoeihfoief hifheohflncjdhf....


ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ....

The limitations of search engines

I need to express my sincere apologies.

I am sorry to anyone out there in cyberspace who goes looking for real counsel and advice and ends up here because of Google's literal interpretation of the world.

I hope the recent surfers who Googled bursitis+in+dogs and allergic+to+swiss+cheese ended somewhere far more helpful than my ridiculous blog.

Godspeed.

Snow and dirt

The puppy is a strange cocktail of the most annoying creature on the face of the planet and wonderful comic relief. Yesterday, I couldn't help but laugh out loud when she came tearing in acting as if nothing was amiss from the backyard looking like this:



So I scrubbed her down in a bath (which she hates) and went on my merry way.

It was not nearly as amusing the second and third time she came in like that.


****

As I was uploading that picture, I found some of our Florida snow day a couple of weeks ago when Santa dropped a load from his North Pole Zamboni in our front lawn.







Actually, that picture of the sad snowman could very easily be one of this damn dog. It is supposed to be sweet and snowy white, but usually has some mud and sticks stuck to her.

Nice.

New Year's Revelations

Things that need to leave this house before they claim any additional victims:


1) The peanut butter pie from New Year's. It is deadly.

2) About 4 inches of my hair and my roots on Friday.

3) That game system the boys bought after Christmas--the little ones succumbed immediately, and now the adults are quickly sinking into its power.

4) Pine needles. In every orifice.

5) The puppy's bladder, kidneys, and colon.

6) The label maker I bought for Sean for Christmas. I am labeling everything as if the shelf with paper towels on it wasn't obvious enough that it had 7 rolls of paper towel on it.

7) About 4 tons of trash.


These items should be replaced immediately with bottled water, a creative and prolific writing streak, the Amazon book order, and a plate of roast beef.

Thank you.

My last 2006 public reflection...

...I swear. Maybe.

While toasting the New Year with good friends the other night, we all announced something we were thankful for in 2006. This was difficult to do at 1 in the morning asleep on my swollen feet, and I'm sure I said something a little cliche.

But now that I've had a minute, I've decided that the tiniest incident the other morning summed up an entire year.

Amy woke up a little congested and walked over to me sniffling. She crinkled up her face, sniffed, and said, "nose."

It was the first time in her entire life that she actually could tell me what was wrong.

I am thankful for everything leading up to that moment.

Last Day of '06

Admittedly, New Year's Eve is not one of my favorite days of the year. But I am trying to get into into the holiday spirit with my sparkling cider while making my beef tenderloin Crostini for tonight's soiree which I hope finds me still awake at the appointed time. I fell asleep early after another nice party last night, only to combat insomnia from 3-5 by watching infomercials.

I also don't usually do the resolution thing, but this year finds me setting out some goals out of necessity rather than by the turn of the calendar page. I was also rather fond of 2006, so to bid it farewell by cleaning something or giving up a food pleasure is really not apropos. So, I will spare you my entire list of pointless epiphanies, but only record 3 in the blogosphere which should do wonders to bore you all senseless. In no particular order, I have given up my daily allowance of Coca-Cola, decided to reorganize the entire house and to take more pictures. And I also just placed a huge Amazon.com order lining up my reading selections for the next couple of months. Seemingly meaningless, these things will improve my spiritual being tremendously I believe.

Tomorrow, the boys are off to some snack food-inspired Bowl game that lasts most of New Year's Day, so Amy and I are going to begin the de-decorating process and make fondue for dinner.

Wishing you a very wonderful 2007.

6 Months and 6 pounds

I just returned from the six month check-up. Everything is fine...except I gained a tad more this month than my previous boasts.

In my defense--which I didn't voice to the scale Nazi--my activity/exercise level has been considerably diminished due to the tsunami size contractions that occur whenever I walk more than 5 paces.

I also failed to calculate that last glass of eggnog and plate of German Twists would go on this month's total and not January's thighs.

Damned new math.

Recap

Digging...my...way...to...the...computer...

I'm dragging this fine Day After. Full Day After fun, family and food. We feasted on all things to excess, and today we make paths through the chaos. Highlights from the day included the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse that was my Tickle Me Elmo for 2006, the video iPod for Stevie, and Matty's wrestling game. I received many a pineapple-wrapped package from Williams Sonoma including an entire new set of cookware that cost more than our first house. One 8" saute pan weighs more than our first born. They are so beautiful...

Grandpa and the Aunt and Uncle took in the scene bravely. I was proud that they didn't turn around and leave when they saw our living room after Christmas morning and a new puppy. I fed them prime rib, Yorkshire pudding and German Twists, so that persuaded them to stay much longer than I thought. It was nice. We finished the day like all Christmases should end; full and exhausted in the hot tub under the December stars.

Merry Christmas, all.

Xmas Eve Eve Eve

Yesterday was one of the nicest days I can remember in a long time...

It was the boys' first day off of school, and I had visions of everyone sleeping in late. Unfortunately, we were all up earlier than usual, but the morning was fairly busy so I guess it was ok. Because by the time the afternoon rolled in, I was done with all of my errands and shopping for Christmas. *do victory dance*.

I had a carpet cleaning scheduled (thanks, Jingle) so when the guys showed up, we were knee deep into the gingerbread house made from Graham cracker Witch Project, which is particularly messy. The kiids were all assembled around the table in the midst of gumdrops and sprinkles--even Amy--and Jingle was catching half of the scraps beneath while my pregnant belly was catching the rest. The phone was ringing with good news that my great neice had been born, and the TV was blaring the princesses Christmas on a continuous loop since last Tuesday. Cricket slept through the whole thing.

Oh Observant Stanley Steemer man said, "Boy, you sure have a lot going on here, don't you?"

Ya think?

But after they and their penchant for the obvious left, we curled up on the couch and watched movies, spoke to old friends on the phone, made a big pasta dinner, and I slept more soundly than I had in weeks.

Christmas Eve Eve Eve was pretty great.

Just to prove I am true to my blog word...

Twisting the day away

Well, the first step in the German Twist marathon cookie project is underway. But Trace, what about the baking embargo you promised us? We were happy to hear that you wouldn't be bitching about cookie sheets for at least 2 weeks?! And now we hear that not only are you hovering around the stand mixer, but you are choosing the most challenging and time-consuming culinary wonder as the German Twist? Why, Trace? Why???

I guess you didn't read the escape clause of the embargo which states that if 90 year old grandfather is going to be spending Christmas Day with you for the first time in 15 years like every Christmas Day of your youth, then you may approach the oven again with the oldest family recipe you have that will warm his belly and his heart.

I'll let you know how they come out when they are done on Sunday.

Mail call

Regular readers of this blog of idiocy will instantly know everytime they check the mailbox and see the stack of Christmas cards in their mailboxes and the one from our family conspiculously not among them that the reason for this seeming slight is not because I have forgotten you, but because the freaking photo of my children that did not materialize like the ghost of Ansel Adams on the card until, oh, I don't know...say the 15th or so? That means Shutterfly.com--the official sponsor of the Divacard--is in a rush mode (I hope) to get it out to me post-haste so I can afix the pre-purchased stamps and enclose the first annual Christmas letter on annoyingly blinding red paper because when you wait until the 19th to buy Christmas stationary, your choices are limited to leftover pumpkins and easter eggs.

That was a long-winded way of saying the card is coming, if you want holiday snail mail from moi (again, regular readers will know my French reference is more than a cute colloquialism) then email me your address and you too will receive pictures of my kids Photo-shopped around a yule log.

Nomenclature Alert and Purposely Vague Update

OK, "Vanilla" just had one too many syllables for a puppy's name...it's too linguistically complicated to shout, "Goddammit Vanilla!" every time she squats in a corner. So we changed it to, "Jingle."

*****

It's an exciting day here in Divaland. "But Trace, we know you. It's rarely exciting there and especially on Mondays because we know it's laundry day, and you spend 8 am until midnight washing, drying, folding and putting away so you don't have to do it again for the week." Ordinarily, you'd be right, but today in between loads, I have a conference call. It's not too often I get to use those two words in a sentence next to eachother like that anyway, but it just so happens that this call is with a certain network that is affiliated with a huge media mogul that can catapult literary careers into the stratosphere...

I'm just sayin'.

Vanilla

Well, the puppy finally has a name. It is "Vanilla," which is Latin for "shitbox."

I have never seen a creature defecate so much and often. I just walk behind her with a roll of paper towel and bleach. Cricket, the 14 year old black lab, is laughing at me. She's giggling dog giggles and shaking her head in reproach. "See? No good can come of this. I told you, you stupid, stupid human."

I agree.

This morning was a little prayer service at school. Matty played Jesus, and I was not the only one who wondered at the logic behind choosing the first grade class clown as the Messiah. Tonight is the big Christmas pageant, followed by a dumping of the yuletide scrubbed kids with the babysitter, and the rest of the evening spent at the company Christmas party at the beach. In the next couple of hours, I am going to attempt to paint my toenails red for the occasion.

It's going to take me that long to reach them.

Something I've always wanted to say, but never believed I'd actually have the opportunity:

...Suburban Diva is very popular in Europe right now.

(Don't ask me to explain how or why the above statement is true, because honestly, it baffles me into a speechless stupor, and please don't ask me to quantify 'very' either, because it is probably just one French guy in his Mom's basement that has an American housewife fetish, but I just like to imagine repeating that sentence over a steaming cup of black coffee that has just been poured from a samovar at a bistro table on a sidewalk with a poodle at my high-heeled feet.)

Because we are insane...

...we added this little furry branch to the family tree...




We "saved" her from some unspeakable other loving family torture, I'm sure. It was getting too quiet around here...

Thank you all for coming yesterday and supporting the boy's home once again this year. It was a great party for a great cause, and we really appreciate everything you do for these special boys.

I have to go collapse now.

Cookie Embargo

You all know me cyberly-well enough by now to know that I really do love Christmas. The whole crazy, sparkling, nostalgic, frantic package tied up with tinsel. But if I had to choose--say an anti-Santa was holding a --2 elements of the season that can send me over the edge of sanity, I would choose the Christmas picture and baking cookies as my least favorite yuletide tasks.

I don't know why Amy hates to be photographed, but she does. SHe can be a Lladro statue of beauty one minute, and the minute she hears the chime of the digital camera turn on, she's suing the tabloid papparazzi and pulling a pair of Jackie O. sunglasses from her diaper. Her ten word vocabulary includes, "no comment." But every night I subject us all to getting a photo for the Christmas card. And every night I get 10 blurred curl shots or pictures of the boys being perfect and Amy's leg as she runs out of the frame. I don't know why, but this is something stuck in my maternal craw as the definition of a good or horrendous mother, of which I need no more evidence of the latter.

So I'm giving up baking. Oh, I'll cook. I'll roast. I'll flambe and I'll broil. I'll saute, pan-sear, grill and braise. But if it involves the oven and a can of Crisco, I'm not doing it.

Happy weekend everyone, it's going to be a busy one around here.

Doling out gifts

You know how I usually relish my Tuesday Night Out, but lately since I have the stamina of Bob Dole in the 80's, it's not as satisfying as it once was. But Lord help me, I needed last night so badly--sort of like Elizabeth Dole needed prescription insurance in the 90's.

I shopped, (really, I am almost done) and even managed to pick up a little something for myself. A beautiful Christmas CD from Sarah McLachlan, Wintersong. Might I suggest, "Song for a Winter's Night," if you feel like weeping copiously in the Publix parking lot?

And the list goes on

Well, it's a few days of solo Christmas cheer as Sean is away for baseball meetings or some such thing. So we made him pick out the tree at 9:00 last night and set it up by midnight so as not to fall behind on yuletide preparations. Amy is helping by adding new words like "Rudolph," and "Mickey," the toddler ambassadors of Jesus' birth. Matty is on that Advent calendar like Father Time, while Stevie is adding entry after entry to the social calendar quite generously. If I could get one blessed photo of all 3 of them doing any of these activities, I would be on track.

In the name of the Father,

It's not always easy being a Catholic school Mom during Advent...

Like many of you reading this, I sent my son off today in his makeshift saint costume that we waited until the last minute to complete. Stevie did his report on Pope John Paul II.

Since he was considered the "people's pope," (as well as an 8 language linguist and stellar soccer player, things I learned "helping") I am hoping that His Holiness will forgive his likeness as a table cloth, an old bridesmaid's wrap and Amy's beanie fleece cap serving as his vestments.

My apologies to the Holy Father.

You're a Seasick Crocodile

I am currently lunching on some amazing Lebanese food that my friend's mother in-law deliciously donated to the Oscar Fetal Weight fund. However, I can't deny that I have a craving for the last can of Who-hash and a slice of roast beast after listening to How the Grinch Stole Christmas 177 times in the car DVD player since Wednesday.

Let this craving not be confused with a 3 decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce that is also mentioned in the film.

(I am 75% done with the shopping, my friends...)

Pot roast and ultrasounds

Sorry to worry everyone--Oscar and I are fine. A little visit to Atlanta's finest women's hospital confirmed 3 very important things: 1) Oscar is healthy. 2) The contractions didn't do anything this time to progress labor. (Which, as an aside, I paid extra not to go through, remember?) 3) I will eat anything, including hospital pot roast and warm fruit cocktail. Oh yeah, and 4) No more long car trips until the summer of 2007.

So let's throw out some other little tidbits just to lighten the mood, shall we? We could all use a good laugh I'm sure.

*Sean is getting a bucket truck this weekend to put up our Christmas lights. I'm going to be standing (nay, sitting or lying down per doctor's orders) with a camera and a pen writing my next column.

*My doctor just told me to "Listen to my cervix." Hmmmm...Shhhh..let's try to make out what she's saying...I hate you, you fertile bitch. Yep, that's the exact translation.

*Another piece of medical wisdom I got today was that I was doing really well on the weight gain. Only 1/2 of an ounce since last time. I'm on track to fall in the 15-25 pounds total goal. Now the funny part--it's not even December 1 which means Christmas cookies have not been baked and I'm only in month 5. OK, stop laughing now. That egg nog is going to come out of your nose.

*And the biggest joke of all? Bed rest. At Christmas. With 3 kids.

I slay me.

Bed rest

Well, this isn't the Thanksgiving weekend I had in mind.

I'm lying prone in an atlanta hotel waiting for the contractions to stop. I've pretty much destroyed the entire nuclear and extended family's big plans, and now I just wait and watch the clock timing them. This sucks so much, but I guess giving birth at the Hawks game would have sucked more.

I'm going to read my book now--I hope everyone else is enjoying the holiday weekend.

Thanksgiving

Well, my pretties, we're loading up and heading out early in the morning for a Thanksgiving north. Stevie and Amy both have colds, Matty is getting over his impetigo and I'm having some pre-contractions so the ride should be perfect :). Maybe Sean could have an allergic reaction just to make it a complete family holiday.

Naw, kidding. I am looking forward to this holiday. I hope you all have a very wonderful one as well.

Poll question: Favorite Thanksgiving Food? Mine is pumpkin pie.

Quick Post

Hey--if you are around the tv today, check out the Montel Williams Show. We think NewBaby.com is going to get a national mention.

How cool!!!

Come Monday

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays of the year. What could be better than a day dedicated to giving thanks over food and football? Not much in my book.

Since we will be traveling for the holiday, we had a pre-Thanksgiving dinner yesterday with some friends. Very nice day. I am on the third load of dishes with the fourth in the sink waiting since I must use every dish in the house when I make a big meal. The kids are off and it is a freezing cold day so we're huddled around the dishwasher and washing machine in our sweatshirts with hot tea and leftovers.

A perfect Monday if you ask me.

Here I go again

I know I bitch a lot about maternity clothes--and I'm about to do it yet again--but I really do try to help myself every once in a while.

After a recent tragic purchase of a black maternity velour jogging suit which rendered me akin to a beached seal (please someone club me), I decided that there had to be something cooler out there in cyber space. So I went online shopping today and found this cute little maternity boutique that I thought looked promising.

I wasn't put off, er...much, by the pregnancy belly rings; I took out out mine when I was with Amy, but perhaps some women would only want to go through that initial piercing once and therefore keep theirs in all nine months, so who am I to judge? I guess. Anyway, there were a few hip items--relatively speaking--and I even ordered a pair of jeans and a top. However, amongst my rock star wardrobe choices were some rather tastless T-shirts that I wondered who in the hell would order? Bold illustrations of a fetus attached to an umbilical cord. The "Got Milk?" visual. And then, my particular favorite, "Laid down, knocked up." I pictured myself wearing that at the next Catholic school elementary meeting with the kids asking,
"what does that mean, Mommy?" Nice.

Is there a happy medium in between Amish school marm and pole-dancing whore?

Oy.


*************

Today was the last day of school. Oh happy day. A whole week off from packing lunches and waking up early. I am going to sleep like the dead, my friends. I hope you do, too.

Deadlines, schmedlines

You know, not reading anything but recipes for the last couple of months has made my job as a book reviewer needlessly impossible. This month's column (that's already a day late) is being created from suggestions from friends, really old reads, and thin air.

Maybe I'll get a good book or 2 for Christmas.

Hint.

I second that

I wonder if it's too soon to begin maternity leave for these HOA meetings that can try the patience of Job.

Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes-Benz

I bought a new Mercedes Friday night. I had that new Mercedes stolen less than two hours later.

It was a silver convertible—a two-seater. It would have gotten really great gas mileage, and I only paid $425 for it.

Maybe I should back up. The car in question was a “Baby Benz”—a toy car that I pictured Amy’s curly head sticking out of the top of. I thought would make a great Christmas present when I made my first bid for it at a silent auction charity event we attended on Friday.

I normally don’t spend that much money on auction items, nor do I usually have in interest in anything offered. I find myself making a choice between paying over $100 for a fifty dollar gift certificate to a restaurant I’ve never heard of, or tickets to the Monday matinee of “Oklahoma” at the condemned community theater. “But it’s for a good cause,” I say to appease myself.

The Mercedes was a popular item. More than a few put their name down throughout the evening, and I had to stand sentry several times in increments of $25.

After a few passes of the mini beef Wellingtons trays, my friend put down my name one last time before the bidding was closed, and the Mercedes was mine! Or Amy’s, actually. But it was for a good cause.

I happily plopped my credit card down to purchase the item I had won. Sean helpfully reminded me that the very act of swiping the Amex meant I didn’t “win,” I “bought.”

But it’s for a good cause.

During dinner, we watched a heart-wrenching video about pediatric cancer patients—the cause we were there to support. It really does make you thankful for the blessing of good health when you think about how many who aren’t as lucky. The live auction commenced over Key Lime pie, and Sean held my hand under the table—not out of affection, but to hold my paddle down. We escaped a bidding war for an abstract of John Lennon that went for 20K. My $425 Mercedes was beginning to look like the bargain of the century.

Unfortunately for me, the options on the Baby Benz included a sippy cup holder in place of a Lojack. Because when I went to retrieve the paid car with a receipt, panic overtook the auction staff. It could not be found.

After a brief investigation, it turns out some bitch unabashedly carjacked my Benz. Walked out with assistance, had valet load it into her Benz; knowing full well the entire time that not only did she not pay for it, but she was stealing from kids with cancer.

There is a special place in hell for people like that.

And I don't even feel bad about damning someone there because it's for a good cause.

Do I ever shut up? Ever?

As if I don't have enough blogging going on...I added another one.

This one is different though, I swear. First off, it's more pregnancy related--as if you really want to hear my daily thoughts on that subject--but they are banking on the fact that you (or someone else) will.

So if you really are bored; have already read everything on your nightstand including the bottled water label, then you can read more here. And if you find yourself in the family way (or still have a young one or two) sign up on the site and we can blog together....

Just say no

My 5th grader had his D.A.R.E. graduation this morning.

Now I am all for drug prevention and awareness and the like--fond of this program I will add--but I couldn't help but wonder how an 11 year old "graduates" from such a thing. Were they going to dip their urine? Blood draws? Field sobriety tests? Perhaps they were going to import gang members from the city and tempt them with an 8 ball of crack? I truly was perplexed over the matter.

Turns out it was just an excuse to read essays and eat donuts.

Hey, remember me?

OK, I admit it--a weakness, a flaw, an Achilles hormone. I've been so blue for the last week, that I've been miserable company. Just down, which I know can be easily attributed to hormones and the like, but that explanation made me even more depressed because it was either such a cliche, or such a helpless admission.

Anyway, there have been a few bright spots over the week that has saved me from total meltdown into the ice cream carton.

1) Amy passed her hearing screening with flying colors. The first time. She's also been mimicking words--something she's never done before--and she's actually trying to sing. This may not seem like a big deal, but she's never done that because she's never heard music properly. Or at least she's never enjoyed it. So that's pretty big.

2)Stevie's party was a big success on Saturday. Everyone had a great time, and there were no claims on the homeowner's insurance, so I claim victory.

3) Through my reluctant sobriety, I have become much more in tune with my inner gambler. I am one of the last contenders in the football pool.

4) My new job starts soon, and in addition to a nice contribution to the family RV fund, they think I'm a big Internet star and are sort of courting me as such.

5) I heard the baby's heartbeat today for the first time, and that is another sweet sound. (I also have only gained 2 pounds, and that makes me irrationally proud. And before you say a word--I am as healthy as a horse, I just won't weigh as much as one.)

6) I never thought midterm elections would please me as much as they have. I am brimming today with patriotism as I await the word from Montana and Virginia, but the ousting of Rumsfeld a few short moments ago might suffice to bring me to total nirvana.

I'm coming back; slowly and with a new waddle to my step, but back nonetheless.

Happy Birthday Stevie!

It is difficult to believe that 11 years ago today would be the last day that I slept the entire night through.

Even more unbelievable is that I will have an 11 1/2 year old and a newborn at the same time...

Happy Halloween

I love this day.

The chili just started on the stove--our traditional Halloween feast despite being a balmy 87 degrees--and the candy bowl has been restocked and we're just waiting on the boys to come home from school.

Speaking of the boys, I realized this morning that I don't do that often enough, and they are pretty great. Amy has taken up a lot of the attention around here, but they are so great with her that I am continually amazed by their genuine kindness. The delight in every new word, provide endless encouragement and have never uttered a complaint or a frustration when having to figure out what she wants which isn't always easy. They are true blessings.

So, after that mush-fest, Happy Halloween, all.

Miscellany in pictures

1.) I don't know if our "Halloween in Florida" theme complete with "Bone de Soleil" suntan lotion was enough to sway the judges when parked two Hummers down was our favorite ex-rocker in full pirate regalia.




2.) The boys had a good time, though.



3.) Even Amy found a costume since she wouldn't wear the one I brought.


4.) Congratulations to all of you bums who are Cardinal fans. I hate you.

5.) Um, there were several of you that I dined with last night who let me leave the restaurant looking like this:



I realize that after 4 hours of Trick or Treating in a sandy parking lot, 37 pounds of melting candy, veal picatta and a one-handed attempt at lip gloss with a 3 year old in your lap does not lead to my best appearance...But hells bells ladies! I looked like a dirty table cloth. You might have at least thrown a napkin over me or sprayed a little Shout on my neck. Jeesh.

Today

Well, despite the hay and raffia embargo in the greater Tampa area, I have managed to concoct some sort of scarecrow from a lot of yarn and duct tape. It ain't pretty, folks, but it'll have to do. I also pulled an Indian buckskin vest from my ass, so at least they will be dressed for a picture or two before they strip down because it will be 850 degrees in the parking lot this afternoon.

But if I really pull it together in the next 6 hours, the crowning Halloween achievement will be a championship trunk decoration and some killer appetizers in which I sculpt a skull from cream cheese.

It's not much of a life, but at least it's mine.


Thinking of you today through pumpkins and Snickers bars, Mom.

It's me who is scary

If Halloween actually fell on Halloween this year, I'd be ready. But instead, it falls tomorrow when we have our annual Trunk or Treat event at the school. You decorate your trunk, and the kids go treating through the parking lot. I really enjoy it, but I've expended most of my creative energies on the trunk theme so I can win whatever prize I'll never use, so the boys' costumes are only half done. Which means Matty's Indian costume will have to be a loin cloth and Stevie the Scarecrow will end up being a crow. Or just a scare, since his mother has lost her brain.

(I'll post pictures.)

Big Day

The only benefit to Amy not speaking yet, is when I asked her what she wanted for her birthday dinner I heard her distinctly say, "Pork medallions encrusted with mustard seeds with a red wine sauce." So that's what we had.

The cake was not homemade.


I bet she wished she didn't have pork medallions encrusted with mustard seeds with red wine sauce for her 3 year old birthday dinner.

Kung Fu Fighting

I will sum up the weekend by confessing that Sean and I almost were arrested for felonious assaults. He almost killed a man who gave us the wrong directions to the hotel on Friday night contributing to the normal 90 minute drive to be an 8 hour excursion into the mean streets of Orlando and I almost went to blows over a pint of milk at Mickey's Toon Town.

But instead we used the bail money to buy swords from Pirates of the Caribbean and the Little Mermaid DVD.

Happy Birthday Amy.

TGIF,S and S

To celebrate Amy's 3rd birthday and to assuage my maternal guilt over her next few weeks of doctors, tests, evaluations and other invasive humiliations, we're off to Disney World this weekend. It's the last 2 day in stretch before Martin Luther King Day that we don't have plans. Next week's Halloween festivities--it has now become a week long festival rather than just one evening of Trick or Treating--will be busy, but there still is a slight chance in the cosmos that we will be dumping those responsibilities on our good friends and running off to St. Louis for a wedding/World Series junket....

I guess that will be determined if we have any money left after dinner at the Polynesian resort.

Stupid is what stupid cooks

After noticing the two side effects of my condition--one being I am losing brain cells at a rapid pace now and can't remember my own name most of the time--and second, my new habit, nay obsession with cooking, Sean asked if I was nesting.

"Only in the kitchen so don't expect any miracles in the rest of the house," I answered over a saucepan of Bernaise sauce.

"Don't get me wrong, I am certainly not complaining," he said, shoveling a forkful of rosemary (yes, but I planted a ton of other herbs a couple of weeks ago in the courtyard) and garlic roasted potatoes in his mouth.

"So you won't care if I am stupid as long as I am stupid over a pan of asparagus tips?"

His non-answer was my answer.

Weekend Report (Because I know how much you care about these mundane details)

Some weekends earn their reputation for fun.

The boys all traveled to Miami for the Lightning game on Friday, so I went to Bunko, which is always a good time. Even sober. Even when I lose. Which I usually do.

We all took in the hockey game on Saturday, and they won, which makes the evening even better. Amy even enjoyed it. The air horns were louder for her than last year, but she didn't cry and stayed content with the bucket of popcorn in our laps.

Yesterday, we took in the Buc's game, which I hardly care about, but the weather was so perfect, it was nice to be outside, if you count the open windows of the suite to be outside. When we got home, we took the kids down to Main Street--what a cute little hamlet Safety Harbor is becoming--to eat at the new restaurant and ice cream parlor and take a walk on the pier. It was just nice.

This is a big week for birthdays and the preparation for even more in the coming weeks. I have to figure out how to sew WWE costumes for the boys and bake a Spongebob cake for Amy. Woot.

Do you want fries with that?

I worked lunch room duty today, and not one kid asked me for my autograph.

Dread

Not that I have any concrete proof, or, for that matter, any reason whatsoever to believe anything other than the normal boring evening is in store for me, but...

I feel like the swim and tennis center that normally houses the HOA meeting I am hired to cover may be my slaughterhouse tonight.

In fact, I am so neurotic that I already have an entire scenario played out in my warped mind where the normal glares they cast at me are followed by accusations and an ugly confrontation. One demands that I answer impossible allegations. Another demands a retraction and my resignation. Yet another throws me out and calls for a tar and feathering. One makes a motion for a restraining order against me keeping me from a 10 mile radius of the community limits. They put my caricature up on the telephone poles and alert the authorities of my license plate number. (Someone even throws a mythical bottle of water that is only half-filled with the label peeled off, and shouts, I knew Bob Woodward! Bob Woodward was a good friend of mine! And you, sir, are no Bob Woodward! )

Paranoid hormones, perhaps. Or maybe I am just taking this way too seriously.

Jambalaya Cocktail, Jamabalaya Scampi

The best part of cooking like a crazy person all week long, is the crazy amount of leftovers there are tonight while we sit back and watch the Lightning on our new billboard size High Def TV.

After jambalaya omelets for breakfast, jambalaya wraps for lunch, and now jambalaya once again for dinner...leftover night officially ends soon.

Brush with fame

Stevie: Mom, do you know who the band, "Cheap Trick" is?

Me:Mind immediately propelled backward to the summer of '93 when they toured with AC/DC and I was selling their trademark black bandanas from a stand next to the stage to the melody of I want you to want me...

Yeah, I've heard of them.

Stevie: Well, I got the lead singer's autograph at lunch today.

Me:Wondering if he performed an impromptu concert over sloppy joes How did you know it was him?

Stevie: He had a sticker name tag on and long hair. He had lunch duty today.

Me:Every teenaged fantasy of black leather pants and whiskey replaced by image of aging rock star in a hair net and Salisbury steak.

I am so freaking old.

Mile High Club

Well, not really, but I am pretty aroused over my latest stroke of luck...9 airports have just agreed to carry my book baby! Wooohoooo! I could be in carry-ons across the country shortly.

I suddenly love to fly.

Good appointment

We went to the follow-up appointment this morning for Amy's surgery--she now has lots of air traveling over those eardrums. They said the normal space for that cavity that the adenoids are located measures about 1 cm. Her adenoids measured almost 3...she is breathing and hearing a lot more comfortably without them.

We will follow up with a more extensive hearing test in the next few weeks, and her throat is taking a bit longer to heal, but things are looking very good and healthy at this point. While she has yet to start speaking in long missives, she has started caling me "Daddeee," which is light years ahead of the sign language of a week ago.

Parsley, Sage Rosemary and Rosemary

I'm staring at about 400 bushels of fresh rosemary in the laundry room.

The original purpose of so much of this herb was that they were in the shape of little Christmas trees last December when we replanted the front landscaping. Over the course of the summer, they have grown from cute topiaries, to a massive flowing forty acre field. And while I love a rosemary-crusted rack of lamb as much as the next gal, I would have to slaughter Old McDonald's farm to use up a fraction of what I have just harvested.

So unless you have an ingenious use that I haven't thought of, here is the plan:

1) Rosemary-infused olive oil and vinegar.

2) Rosemary soap (although I have no idea how to make such a thing.)

3) Wreaths.

4) I've got nothing after that.

Maybe I'll just have to roll them and settle for rosemary cigarettes rather than cloves.

I must be feeling better

I spent about 3 hours yesterday making chicken empenadas, knowing full well that I was the only one who would appreciate the laborous process these take. Then I spent the next 3 hours reading--something I have not been able to enjoy for two long, quiet months.

At midnight, I put down my book and ate another cold empanada straight from the fridge and it was the single most delcious thing I have ever tasted.

Hit me

Despite not drinking a drop, I still had to drag myself through the rest of the weekend feeling as though I frequented that open bar on Friday. But we all had a great time. (I had battery issues with my camera, so this is the best I could do for a photo, courtesy of Sue.)


We ended up spending most of our gambling time at #17's table. I managed to keep my fan adoration in check, not bringing it to the attention of my table mates that we were in the presence of Stanley Cup greatness--this being the player that scored the winning (and only) two goals in game 7 against Calgary on June 7, 2004....He was as charming and gracious at the tables as on the ice.

Today we're getting a late start, Amy was up all night again. I have to get to the grocery store despite going at least 3 times that I can recall this week, we are out of absolutely everything. This will give me a chance to shop for dinner items for tonight as Sean returns and I think I'm going to treat him to a feast courtesy of the Barefoot Contessa that I've watched all week for some odd reason.