Contest

For the past few days, I’ve been going through old photos. Not old, so much as neglected. You know the ones, the hundreds of digital photos that are stored on your hard drive that you email out once (if ever) to the grandparents, and then forget about? Yeah, those.

So anyway, I used this HP Photo Book where you simply drop your digital pictures in a program, select a design, and then the little scrapbook fairies that live in the computer (they’ve got paisley wings and their wands are pinking shears) arrange them into amazing memory books. I added text, and Voila! Jessica’s baby book was complete! While she is still a baby!

This coming from a woman who has never printed a digital photo in her life.

So Matty came in and obviously impressed with my unprecedented creativity asked, “Where’s mine?”

Since he’s only seven, his baby book still isn’t complete. So then I made a Matty book. And so all things are equal, Stevie and Amy books, too. I took photos from photographers, other family members, my phone…What I didn’t have stored on a computer, I scanned. I put them all in these seamless pages that looked as though we’ve been followed by particularly creative paparazzi our whole lives.

And it only took me 4 minutes.

No, it probably took a little longer, but not much since you know I don’t have much time these days.

So I thought I’d offer up a contest of sorts.

The first person to identify these people in this photo wins a Photo Book (a blank one for you to fill, not of my children of course!)



A winner for who can tell me what happened to the dog in this picture:



And still yet another winner for the cleverest caption for this:


Post your comments here and we’ll judge shortly. I’ll even throw in a copy of my book, so start getting creative!

(P.S. The kind folks at HP have offered a 20% off coupon for the Photo Book which will be available starting next week!)

Some Interesting things I've learned this week:

1. The mere suggestion of a clean shirt and matching shirt to a seven year old means that I'm "trying to be the worst mom in the world again."

2. Pine nuts are aphrodisiacs. (No, not personal research but an informative waitress last night.)

3. I need a hair cut. No, a real one. I passed a mirror yesterday and thought, Who let that basset hound in the house? I need serious length taken off, and I'm considering going short.

4. Some of my best ideas come on the treadmill at the gym. There's a happy little bonus. And my clothes fit better, too.

5. We eat really well at restaurants when we don't have the kids with us. But spend 8 times as much.

6. I am really nervous for Amy's hearing appointment on Monday. And I don't know why.

7. Every once in a while, some of the things in my scattered world actually come together into a happy circumstance.

Research

I don't normally do must research when I write column except for some basic spell checks, but since I am smack dab in a dry spell of suburban wisdom, I decided to put a call out to my diva posse.

I should have done this years ago, because you crazy ho's are cracking me up with your replies. Thank you--your comments are being compiled into the cistern of my brain.

This shouldn't be surprising coming from the crew that chose these colors at the pedicureallooza on Saturday: Katharine the Great, Midnight in Moscow, and An Affair in Red Square.

Slavic whores.

*My apologies for the hapless soul who just Googled slavic+whore and found an aging, overwhelmed mom talking about nail polish.

Yabba Dabba Do!

Oh, in a couple of hours I am going to slide down a brontosaurus' back, punch my card in that dodo bird's beak, and end this week of the nebulous work that I do. Pucker up, Wilma, I'm hoomee!!

It's a party tonight, Matty's first baseball game in the morning. Pedicure/beer with the girls, Lightning game, then a Buc's vs. Rams game on Sunday.

And an $18k babysitting tab Sunday night.

Brain iPod

You know how everyday you've got some sort of life soundtrack playing in your head? Today mine was skipping on an annoying Scritti Politti chorus.

Not that it was a bad day, but it was just one filled with B-tracks and long live versions of self-ingratiating guitar riffs.

So I'm ending it now with a good book hoping that tomorrow will be a little bit more in tune...

G'night.

We're outta milk

Well, I didn't make it to Publix last night. Now the kids are going to have to put orange juice or heavy cream in the cereal for another day.

No, instead after the obligatory Target run for posterboard for a school project, I criss-crossed two counties in order to find some bar in which to meet my husband and some old friends. And instead of spreading out construction paper shapes across the table and gluing them to recently-purchased posterboard to help me in my quest to catch my breath, we littered the table with huge burgers and copious bottles of Miller Lite while watching amateur boxing.

Yeah, amateur boxing. Not really on my agenda for the next 40 years, but what can you do? And, I will deny this later so don't bring it up, but it was a good time.

However, now I can fit a wallet in those hot pants with nary a seam.

Still on the inhale

I am stretched so thin right now that I should fit into a size .5 pair of hot pants.

Please join me in my daily afternoon rain dance so we don't have to lug them all to batting practice. I need my Tuesday night.

And not even to do anything selfishly fun--just to run to Publix for milk.

Hapy Birthday to...lot of folks

We celebrated some birthdays last week amongst the Diva posse..



Unbeknownst to me, it is possible to celebrate birthdays at restaurants without ball pits.



So in between reading the remaining 800 pages for the book review that was due two days ago, we had a little fun.

Pep talk to myself

Take a deep breath and focus. If you are smart enough to figure out that Amy has been yelling "Underdog is here!" rather than "What the hell?" then you can figure this little puzzle out.

Friday Minutiae only fit for conversations in my head, and my blog

It's Friday? How did that happen?

It's been a busy week. But the kind of busy that's pleasing. As I've been exercising my thighs on a regular basis, I've also had all of these little happy projects that have exercised my mind as well. So it's all good.

On this Friday, I will wrap up the gajillion things I didn't complete before. I only have 300 pages to read for the review that's due tomorrow...but before that, I will report on the idiocy of the title:

1) Why do they call it an open house if it not a house, nor particularly open?

2) I don't know if it was a freak occurance or the cosmos colliding, but Rod Stewart was on 6 channels simultaneously on Sirius radio yesterday at 3:14 p.m.

3) I need a new desk.

4) At this month's meeting of the absurd, I found myself embroiled in the controversy of their own making. I formed opinions that I had to keep in check. I followed up long after I turned the story in. I actually cared about the election, and was genuinely shocked at the results. I am an idiot.

5) With a few rogue exceptions, I hate most of my neighbors. But this week we got a Halloween invitation from one, and another one (practical strangers) knocked on my door yesterday to check on me because I had left the back of the car open with groceries in there. (I took out all of the perishables and then either got busy with something else or knew perfectly well there was more out there but too lazy to retrieve it.) I was shocked at the random act of kindness and concern. But touched.

6) If I do nothing else this weened, I will find the correct smoke detector with the low battery and then shove the phone up the ass of the operator at ADT that calls at 2 a.m. to tell me all about it. As if the constant beeping wasn't enough of an alert.

7)At the gym, the crunch machine on the right is considerably more difficult than the one on the left despite no weight on either. I will be the unplanned blonde on the left if you need me today.

Jumble

I am currently trying to escape the wing fluttering of the biggest dragonfly I have ever seen caught in my bedroom. It's like a pterodactyl, and it's giving me the heebie jeebies. This will probably take me two hours to write since I have to keep running for cover...

And now life can begin again because it's football season, and if you know me at all, you know I loves me the football. And when football season starts, that only means that hockey is right behind, and if you know me at all, you know I love hockey even more than I love football. And speaking of hockey, we went to a nice banquet on Saturday featuring some stars of the sport which we were only going to stay for 10 minutes, and ended up there for 7 hours. I'm not kidding. It was so late when we left that all of the lights were out the tablecloths stripped. Nothing was open for dinner and I was STARVING, so we ended up spending all kinds of cash at The Palm when really, after 6 pitchers of beer, A Grand Slam breakfast at Denny's for $4.99 would have worked out just fine. But that's really not us.

This morning I took Amy to the ear doctor. Sigh. She really is doing so well, but she has to work so hard. So now we have to go through another big hearing evaluation at a different hospital in a couple of weeks. I hope they can give her the push she needs to just get over this last plateau. Last night, for the first time EVER she said, "Love you, Ma. Love you, Da," and I swear, nothing could have sounded more beautiful in the entire world.

On screen rather than in front of one

Lately I've been running in some pretty funny circles.

Which would probably be more like squiggly ellipses than actual circles, but I digress....

My usual interviews take place over a paper cup of Starbuck's latte with an ordinary member of the community, and somehow I have to twist and turn 900 words to make a compelling story. Readers usually give up on word 4, and flip to the veterinarian's ad with a coupon for deworming.

Well, not last night, my friends.

Last night, over a smoky neon glow and a few bottles of Miller Lite at a cramped little table at a Tampa comedy club, I got a fabulous treat and a challenge. A treat to meet 3 Blonde Moms, and a challenge to hold the cold nachos down, and to interview these hilarious women on camera.

That whole "on camera" thing is new.

But fun! I think I held my own pretty well, and I had great hair so my measures of success have bravely been met.




Check them out some time if you get the opportunity, or watch for the interview on Newbaby soon!

Wanna see our acting debut?

I am so going to get an Emmy nod for this.

Weekend Update with SubDiva

It was a weekend of withs and withouts...

Without hair dryer and straightener. I decided my hair needed to rough it, too.

With electricity, plumbing and a coffee maker. If you are going to camp, do it at Disney in a 32' R.V.

Without bugs. I think Disney banned them.

With transportation. Part of the time, anyway. We were one of the families benefiting from Disney's new promotion of granting a million dreams or something. They randomly select people to receive something cool. Ours was a hummer golf cart on the busiest weekend of the year in which every wheeled vehicle was long sold out. We drove around like rock stars for a day, and then got entered into a drawing for a million bucks. If we win, we might be able to buy one of those golf cart for ourselves...

Without T.V. For 5 days. And none of us missed it. The iPhone even ran out of juice and I didn't care that I couldn't recharge it. No Internet. No email. Heaven.

With sore muscles. I carried those girls for 5 days straight and I am feeling every step today. I have bruises and a sunburn, but I still worked out last night. (I'm pretty proud of this, so you're going to hear about it a lot.)

Without pictures. Temporarily, that is. I can't get the memory card in or you'd be seeing Amy with Mickey Mouse and the boys making s'mores.

With friends. Got to sit around a campfire and a pool with some of them. Nice.

Without much patience for many of my fellow humans who seem to choose amusement parks as their stage for bad manners.

With an almost potty-trained toddler!

With a smile on my face because if doctors ordered those types of things anymore, then this weekend would have been one of them.

Labor Day weekend

You: So, what are you doing this long Labor Day weekend, Trace?

Me: Oh, nothing, probably some chores around the house and swimming. You know, basically taking it easy.

Me:We rented a huge RV at the last minute and are parking it at Disney's Fort Wilderness for a little "camping."

Another mini-vacation courtesy of National Lampoon.

It'll be fun. So today on my morning out, in addition to the workout (yay for me!) I'll be stocking up on supplies since the beast comes home tonight so we can pack it up for le weekend. Apparently, it has little in the way of ameninities, so we'll be packing large this weekend.

But what else is new?

Have a nice weekend, all.

The Self-Aggrandizing Post

You may choose one of the many reasons below to praise me copiously this mid week:

1) I worked out last night. As part of my new and improved fall schedule, the wonerful babysitter has resumed Tuesday nights AND added Thursday mornings, so I have time to actually complete other tasks than Target and eyebrow waxes.

2)The house has stayed reasonably organized since I last posted on those efforts. Wow.

3)I got the girls photographed! Jessie was easy since she has had previous professional modeling experience, but Amy hasn't smiled for a photo in 3 years. That's why I don't care that her hair looks like this.





4)I started a new writing project that I am most excited about. Yay!


5) I didn't laugh out loud when the bug guy said this: "Sorry it took so long, I was playing with the light switch in the bathroom. It's cool how you just touch it and the light goes off and on. Off and On." Nor did I respond in any other way except to make sure I didn't inhale any of the poison fumes too.

Well-wrapped pine nuts

Last year, you were all kind enough to contribute to the Pine Nut fund--my privileged childrens' fundraiser for their private school needs. What those could be, I can only guess since I have receipts for $827,000 worth of uniforms, paper towels and pencils that tuition doesn't apparently include. My best guess was so that these children could have pine nuts on the elementary school salad bar.

Well, thanks to your generous donations, that delicacy has been added, and this year we search for a new cause. A cause worthy enough to ask my friends, relatives, neighbors, strangers, and blog readers to purchase over-priced wrapping paper and stationary products in its name. Google stock? No, their personal financial consultants suggested T-bonds instead. Our Rodeo Drive field trip? No, we do an Easter fundraiser for that. New Pottery Barn desks? (No, that's me....)Hmmmm...

Well, since I do not know the official cause, let's have a contest to come up with it. Everyone write your best guesses in the comment section and the winner gets a pine nut.


Good luck!

When does the fun start?

What a week...

I keep hearing this whisper from store clerks, childless neighbors and barren strangers: What are you going to do with all of your extra time now that the kids are school?

Um...What? I didn't know those words could be arranged to form a sentence.

It sort of sounded like there should be some time during one's day not spent in car line. Or running to the store for yet another freaking pencil. Or baseball practice. Or packing backpacks. Or unpacking them.

And this cat is tired. I've still got an infant and toddler at home all day, there is no break from that. So, when I hear of this "free time" (and I actually form the exaggerated air quotes, thank you) I am supposed to have, I want to spit.

So in that vein, I have not been willing or able to comprise a new schedule. I was giving myself a pass for the first week, but for week 2 I've got to figure it out. It's contributing to my general melancholy I think. That, and the fact that I'm having one of those private girly meltdowns which happens to women every 35 minutes or so. I want all of my hair cut off. I never want to hear the tail end of this sentence, You look great, for just having a baby. WTF? Can't I just look good without the qualifier. It's like I'm Mama Cass without the talent. I'm going out and eat worms. I want costly surgical procedures and a new wardrobe. In a size 2.

Okay, one thing at a time. In a few minutes I'm going to a spaghetti dinner at church.

Stop laughing.

I'm going to eat dinner at lunch time from a buffet of listeria because the theme of the evening is, "New beginnings." It's supposed to be an effort to start the new school year off right.

I so need the marinara sauce of birth, the linguine of growth and the garlic bread of forgiveness for that freaking school supply list.

Press Release

Suburban Diva is partnering with Supernanny.com to search America for families to be featured in their own episode of ABC’s SUPERNANNY, premiering its fourth season later this year. (B-List Weblebrities like me are scheduled for season five, so I have a little time to get my act together.)

Casting producers are searching the country to find families from a variety of backgrounds to offer Supernanny Jo Frost the challenge of her career. Interested families who are in need of help with their out of control kids may apply from anywhere via www.supernanny.com, or moms and dads can call 877/NANNY-TIME (1-877-626-6984). Please be sure to mention Suburban Diva when you apply.

The show is looking for all kinds of families, but currently there’s special interest in: parents with mean girls or bullying boys, teens and pre-teens; families who rely on a nanny or a babysitter who needs help from America’s #1 nanny; parents who are raising their kids on a farm or vineyard; spoiled kids; families with adopted kids; families with multiples such as quadruplets; divorced families where split custody offers particular challenges; and families with obese or overweight kids who would like to establish healthy habits.

So spread the word! Because let’s face it, Supernanny’s parenting advice is probably a lot more practical than mine which can only lead to reform school or some sort of 12-step program.

My new dependents

The painters have been here so long I can claim them on my taxes this year.

I really don't know what's taking so long. After our morning coffee together and after they've gotten the kids dressed and fed, they paint a little. I think. Then we eat lunch together--something Alphonso has prepared--a little recipe from his mother--and then they paint a little more. I think. It's really hot here, so sometimes they do other projects inside where it's cool like changing the air filters or rearranging furniture after we've watched HGTV.

Remember Murphy Brown when she had that painter that never finished? Eldon? I think he was on for like 11 seasons...

Yeah. 11 seasons. This is the longest paint job ever.

And probably the most expensive.

More staples at Staples

Okay, I just spent $43 more this morning on school supplies. That brings the grand total to $18,743.

Those kids better come home every single day with marker stained sleeves and their fingers glued together.

The Day the Diva got organized

Or should I say day(s)?

Because for the last three, this cat has made serious progress in home organization.

Admittedly, this isn't my strength. Or maybe it would be if the other members of my household had any inclination toward this goal, but since they do not, it's like pushing a string.

But since the painters have moved everything anyway, I cleaned those things. I put them back in different places. I threw away even more. I started in the family room and worked my way through the boys' rooms. I found $2,000 worth of lost electronics equipment.

And I didn't stop there. Oh no, I figured that since I need no help falling behind, I would start off this school year on the right foot. All of the supplies are purchased. Uniforms are laundered. New shoes, socks and underwear outfit freshly hair-cut boys. I loaded my own nightstand with a dozen new novels, and made every blessed appointment for doctors, dentists, hair stylists and any other professional with a phone.

It's the new me. For the next 24 hours anyway.

FYI

I interrupt this nostalgic blog hiatus to say that I must have been smoking crack yesterday.

Right now, there are 6 boys over for a sleepover. The living room drapes have collapsed with wrestling. Amy is on a holy terror and she and Jingle are biting much to my horror. The painters moved inside, so the family room is unusable. We're on death watch for the old dog. Jessie is dangling from my hip as I apply Band-Aids and Benadryl. There are snacks to be made, drinks to pour and I am never going to sleep tonight.

Perhaps I'll start smoking that crack again.

An Open Letter to my Blog

Dear Blog;

No, you are not imagining things. I have been ignoring you. But it's not you, it's me.

Oh, I don't know. Sure, it's been busy; crazier than crazy, and I obviously can't talk about a lot, but I can talk about a lot else, yet I just didn't. Why? Maybe I'm just selfish.

First off, the Intern left. We're all a little sad. We gave him a big sendoff party--Interns on the Mediterranean was the theme--because I feel the need to theme every occasion in something irrelevant and stupid--I guess I wanted an excuse to serve lamb and hummus--and all of my friends gave him gifts. It was like a freakin' wedding of one. But it was very nice.

Next, the boys are getting ready to return to school. I hate this. Hatehateithateithateit. Stevie is entering sixth grade. Middle school. And I cannot wrap my head around this. I took him for his physical and weighs nearly as much as I do, and only 3 inches separate us now. He could beat me arm wrestling. I had to buy all adult uniforms and his shoe size is a freakin' 9. And don't even get me started on the cell phone.

Matty is starting second grade. First Communion year. He is such a little goofball, yet he has this serious side that will blow you away. And he has no teeth. 3 of the front 4 are now missing; all due to wrestling injuries. He wants so badly to be a grown up, but he still is soothed by a kiss on a scrape. I love that.

And then there's the little A-Dog. She is talking up a storm. Really amazing progress this summer. Even flirting with potty training. We may have some more surgery this Fall, and maybe hearing aids, but you know, it is really all good. She is just on the verge of exploding, and when she does, she'll be unstoppable.

And amidst all of this, is my perfect baby. Jess turned 4 months this week, and I feel like I am holding on to her infancy for dear life. I am loving every minute of it. She is so good, and so sweet, and no matter how chaotic a day gets, she just flows effortlessly along with it, smiling, drooling, squealing....it's heaven. She smiles with her whole little body, and when she falls asleep, it's usually in this warm snoring ball on my shoulder that can't remember what it felt like empty.

The house is in a state of remodel--roofers, painters, new floors in half of the house, and my career is turning into an actual career with bizarre, yet intriguing opportunities every day and I miss my husband--but amidst all of this crazy; this noisy, messy whirl of bottles and toys and unknowns, I feel completely at peace.

And so that's where I've been, Blog. Relishing this last week with them with perhaps a little more over-protection than usual, but unapologetic for it. Happily cooking, cleaning, shopping and begging for more. Falling asleep with the lights on, but dreaming in Technicolor.

So, I'm threading the next few days together with adventure and nostalgia. After I cry a lot and write poetry, I'll send postcards and be back soon.

Sincerely,
Me.

Oy

I honestly don't know what this means for us. But I guess we'll spend the next few weeks figuring out the answer.

I'm not worried, I bought $400 worth of school uniforms today.

I just didn't buy anything in long sleeve.

Prologue

Well, life begins it's new chapter this week. It's actually not a new chapter yet, but a prologue to Chapter 1: Back to School.

And while I dread this particular event, I cannot deny it any longer with vacations, ice cream and sleepovers. I must face the hard truth that school supply shopping is in my future this week.

Along with the requisite lists that seem to grow every year in size and scope, a trip to the uniform store is on the agenda this week. And haircuts. And backpacks and lunchboxes. And shoes--something we haven't worn since May. The next two weeks are littered with shopping, doctor's appointments and room cleaning. Yuck, yuck, and yuckier.

It is also the last full week of the Intern. Another event I dread. He's been here since Jess was 2 weeks old, and since I can't remember life without her, I can't remember life without him. Honestly, by August 20, this house is going to be sooooo quiet. Adding to it, my voice will bounce off the walls there will be so much extra space. I don't know what I'll do with the extra hours on Mondays when not doing the extra loads of laundry.

Speaking of which, he's not gone yet, so I should hop to it.

Why are you yelling at me????

Have you ever had one of those eDays when you felt like every piece of non-verbal communication you received was yelling at you? Like there were implied emoticons of anger or indifference in every email you read? And since you recognized that it was across the board, you recognize with self-awareness that you were probably being a little eSensitive, but still really would appreciate a little LOL or smiley face just to pick you up? Or a forwarded joke? A chain letter would even be appreciated at the moment.

eSniff.

iAm a Star

Because I know you are dying to know, yes, the little project for HP went smashingly. I will be vlogging about it shortly, and we taped the taping so you can see every blessed detail, but I do want to report this repeating phrase that I heard more than 3 times on the set yesterday, "Oh, Suburban Diva! I've heard of you." That was pure music.

Music that iWill be playing on my iPhone. Because iHave an iPhone now. My wonderful husband surprised me with a token of my future fame gift, and iMust say, iLove my iPhone. iAm the coolest diva on the block now. Pretty soon you'll all get email (or maybe iMail?) that says "Sent from my iPhone." In the iMail there will be maps and videos from YouTube because iCan do that now.

iKnow iAm an iDiot, but an iDiot who can watch movies in the grocery store.

Jessica and I are making our acting debut in a little project for HP

I'm getting ready for my first business trip. That's right, it's Sub Diva on the road...Jessica and I are making our acting debut in a little project for HP. I think Jess has more of a speaking part than I do, but I really don't care because the one line I do get to say is, Jessica and I are making our acting debut in a little project for HP...

I truly cannot get over the amount of work it takes to leave this house for 30 hours. And I do realize I am making more of a project out of this than need be, but, again, Jessica and I are making our acting debut in a little project for HP, and I don't really know how to properly prepare for this. Packing is a nightmare when you're a head case who second guesses her postpartum posterior in front of a camera no less, so I have selected 1 outfit for every hour I'm there just to be safe.

Anyway, would I be a total geek if I admitted than I was more than a little excited? It's just a little thing, but I think it's a pretty cool little thing. If even just to be able to blog about the fact that Jessica and I are making our acting debut in a little project for HP.

The case of the missing grass post

Regular readers of the SubD blog may notice a missing post in recent days.

Well, I post-censored myself. I got myself all in a twitter today because I thought that perhaps Zoysia grass Boy might recognize myself, and then turn on the Diva and I would never be able to have my lawn aerated again.

Turns out that's not who was reading my blog.

And before I screw things up AGAIN by blogging too much and revealing the producer of said network television show, suffice it to say that a column--nay--perhaps an entire career will most definitely be forthcoming that I swear will have you weeping in laughter and pity for moi.

Yep, it's that good.

Take that, Zoysia grass Boy.

Jessica Marie

You know me pretty well by now. You know that I tend to be a bit sarcastic at times. Somewhat a cynic even. But although that's true, I consider it to be more that I simply tend to keep my more sappier moments more private.

But I'll share this one.

Sunday was Jessica's Christening day. And while the religious significance is obvious, there is a bit more to it than that for me. I absolutely love this formal welcome into the world. I love the ceremony, the pictures, the celebration. I love the scent of the oil on her breastbone. I love the feel of the 50 year-old dress that so many in her family have worn before her. I love fixing a big feast and then toasting her all night long with my family who travels so far to share these moments.

So although I have no time to write (it pains me to say those words) here is a visual recreation of the day.

Aunt Kathy dressing her. (She also made her a beautiful sweater, hat, booties and blanket.)




A rare family portrait.




The intern, his sister and her beautiful baby.




This one includes Jessie's new Godparents, Joey and Katie.




And whom I am so thankful for on this special day.

Beautiful words

Here's a sentence I really liked saying today:

"There's leftover homemade Tiramisu in the fridge."

Parlimentary procedure is so hot

My meeting tonight had 3 agenda items, and it took 3 1/2 hours. Why? Why? Why? The only bright spot to those evenings is a delightful woman who sits next to me and chats. She tells me jokes and drops the f-bomb as often as I do. She thinks we should set up a bar in the corner of the room to attract more participation. I love her.

Tomorrow morning we will beseiged by roofers. Yippee. I love spending that kind of money on something so totally utilitarian. Does anyone care what the shingle color I've chosen? Are you going to marvel at it and say, "My it keeps the rain from leaking into your home so nicely." I didn't think so.

Anyhoo, many exciting projects on the horizon for your little SD. Can't reveal details, but I have a little hum in my gut as I fantasize over the possibilities. With or without an agent.

Choices, choices

Yesterday, I began the task of chossing new flooring and a literary agent.

One to walk on, and one to walk on me.

"I'm going to control+alt+delete myself"

After so many days on the road, today was all about domesticity.

I stayed up late last night finishing a book, "Water for Elephants," by Sara Gruen--excellent read for those of you interested, and so this morning Jessie let me sleep in because she is a perfect baby. And then we spent the morning piddling around the house changing sheets and lightbulbs, baking brownies and otherwise catching up on those little things I usually put off. It was kind of nice even though it sounds so incredibly mundane. And now you think to yourself, oh my God, she's blogging about changing lightbulbs. God help her. (And me for reading about it.)

And that is a perfect segue to this, courtesy of my friend Zen:


Breaking News: All Online Data Lost After Internet Crash

Sarcasm Begets Sarcasm

One of the best quotes from the entire trip came from 7 year old Matty who has absolute perfect timing and dead pan humor.

We were sort of watching Canadian public television as we were getting ready one morning in Toronto. Some puppets with accents were singing about the environment.

Me: Those crazy Canadians--they love their clean air and water.

Matty: Jerks.

Misc.

So, I'm beginning to upload the vacation clips as you'll see on the handy-dandy widget to my right, and I am struck by many miscellaneous items that have occurred over the past two weeks, which I am forced to discuss, because that is what I do.

So, in no particular order, here are some random vacation thoughts:

*There needs to be way more equitable distribution of driving time. I spent the majority of the 3900 miles in the back seat watching "Everyone's Hero," and looking for "q's" on billboards.

*McDonald's should sell Similac. They would make gagillions. More. Like an infant Happy Meal with a Pampers as a toy.

*I am inexplicably moved by the turn-down service at a hotel.

*It is nice to meet your blog friends in real life. :)

*The intern remembered to feed the dogs, but I think we forgot to feed the intern.

*I love weddings, but I love a post-wedding dish the next day with the hosts and a bottle of wine or 7.

*Kellogg's really needs to reinstitute their factory tours. If even just to prevent crazy people like us sneaking in for a glimpse at Tony the Tiger. (Details to follow in a column, I promise.)

*Sangria is the official cocktail of summer of 2007. With the Sanritini in Toronto and a lovely frozen version in St. Charles, it won the title fair and square.


Not every mile was easy, but I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Home

Aaaaahhhh.....Home.

3900 miles, 15 states, 1 Canadian province, 10 days, countless thousands of dollars, 2 lost teeth, 4 fun kids and 2 whipped parents.

It was fun. It was nostalgic. It was goofy and silly and so unexpected. And it was too short.

Except for that last 200 miles or so when I thought I would die if I didn't get out of that car.

Many stories after laundry and some Jingle lovin'.

My fingers are going through blog withdraws...

Sitting here in this St. Louis hotel--which is awful, btw--as the family sleeps in. We've had such a great week, such a fabulous weekend, and now I'm all nostalgic and wistful now that I have had a taste of home these last few days.

The wedding and reception were absolutely beautiful, and it was great to see so many old friends. Yesterday, the boys spent the day at the game, and I went back to the old neighborhood for post-wedding dish with our hosts and to critique my old front lawn. That bitch killed my beautiful hydrangea, btw.

We're slated to leave today, but obviously that remains to be seen as no one seems to be in all of that much of a hurry to leave town. Leave this hotel perhaps, but not this town. But I guess it's time.

More later.

So. Many. Stories.

In St. Louis, in between the wedding and reception, and watching the boys play poker. The stakes are whoever wins gets to say anything they want to anyone tonight.

I'm doing that anyway.

(We're having a blast, and I will be posting every delicious morsel soon, dear peeps.)

Outta Here

Well, we did it. As I write my last post for a couple of days, the freshly bathed babes lay sleeping, the laundry is laundered, the suitcases are stowed, the car gassed and full of gear for 6 for two weeks. The Intern is going to keep tabs on the everything around here--a little scary--and we are off.

In a few short hours, we will be making our first day the toughest and getting as many miles as we can toward Toronto. Then Detroit. Then St. Louis. Then some crazy plans I'll be nixing after that.

I think I did a pretty good job at packing for a change, too. Despite feeling like absolute horseshit. Besides the thing--yesterday I pretty much ensured a permanent disability. I was feeding Jessie on the couch. I looked up at a spot on the ceiling and thought I spied a leak. Which really made me groan even though we're getting a new roof in a couple of weeks. Anyway, the spot looked like a leak, until I noticed there was a similar looking spot on the adjacent wall. Couldn't be a leak in the middle of the wall, right? So I put Jessie down and grabbed a broom so I could poke at the spot with the handle. I hear that's a good thing to with leaks. Anyway, it was at the top of the apex of a 14-foot cathedral ceiling, so I had to stand on a chair. And when that wasn't tall enough, I had to stand on the back of the chair on my tiptoes.

The precarious broom handle poking yielded not a soft wet spot, but a slimy one. I thought, What the hell? and quickly yelled for Matty and the Kravitz children who of course were here, and most probably responsible.

"What is this?" I ask.

"Nothing," The spawn of Kravitz answers.

"Oh, really? I think this white slime is something, and I also don't think it got up on the ceiling by spore reproduction, so would like to tell me what this is?"

"Oh, that. (Not to be confused with the blue slime on the floor.) It's from a toy. We might have flicked it up there."

And with that explanation, I fell. A slow motion fall in which I was completely devoid of all grace and posture, and hit every single body part on the way down to the floor. In took 20 minutes. It was an old person fall. I think I broke a hip. In front of the Intern. And my kids. And the Kravitz'. So I can't even lie about all of the bruises and say that I was getting my freak on in a mosh pit or something.

So I sat there all night long groaning and watching my skin turn purple while we watched, "Vacation," and drank beer.

I'm glad to be getting into that car shortly. Glad to be heading toward a little break. And away from doctors. And toward old friends. And away from cleaning. And toward corny fun. And away from slimy things on the ceiling. And toward bruises from bumping into the room service cart instead.

And away from home. And toward home.


P.S. I'll be sending blogstcards from the road...

Elevator music should be my theme song

Waiting for a return call from the doctor.

Why? Because it is the end of the week before we go on vacation, so that's when it all falls apart again, duh.

And just when I was starting to get organized, too. I swear if I spent $60 on a roof rack we're not going to use, I'll be seriously pissed.

And I know I must be off my game as a result of this stupid thing, because Mrs. Kravitz' kid just out-smarted me...grrrr....

P.S.

Even though Elizabeth Edwards didn't exactly open a can of whoop ass on Ann Coulter--more like shook a soda of firm annoyance--I appreciated the gesture.

I hope she had to wash her stringy hair twice to get rid of it all.

Not much progress

Let's check in with how the trip preparations are coming along, shall we?

"Holiday Road," by Linsey Buckingham ("Vacation" theme song in case your pop culture memory fails you) downloaded on iPod. Check.

New shoes sans Jingle teeth marks for wedding outfit purchased. Check.

Pedicure to go with new shoes sans Jingle teeth marks. Check.

And that's basically it. I've got a lot of work to do before Sunday. But I keep getting distracted with other stuff that's way more fun than packing diapers. Like, decorating my blog like a junior high school locker. Look at the cool side bar...And arguing online with people. Someone actually said this, "I don't want to put words in Tracey's mouth..." No one has ever put words in my mouth because there is not enough room with my own in there. And then I wasted about 45 minutes this morning looking for the Intern's traffic ticket receipt. Through the trash. Turns out it was with the pizza menus. In the pizza menu drawer. And then I spent a long time contemplating why I have a whole drawer dedicated to pizza menus.

But in between all of that nonsense, I managed to get the baby's check up, write a column, pay bills and pick up Jingle shrapnel. I'll do better tomorrow. I swear.

I live

This thing is kicking my ass.

On a week I cannot afford an ass-kicking.

Despite an amazing domestic takeover by the spouse extraordinaire this weekend so I could "rest," I am still fighting this thing. (That's how I refer to it now, as the "thing," because it has taken on a life of its own--my life--and has applied for residency and a social security number.) But I have to beat it this week because the Griswolds begin our Magical Mystery Tour 2007 this weekend. The tour which only contains the mystery of what the hell are we thinking by doing this. The itinerary is so bizarre and non-sensical, the timetable impossible, and we are as unprepared as we usually are for such excursions. But yet we continue year after year just adding kids.

And can you believe I am really looking forward to it?

Because despite the crazy which we pack plenty of, we do have a great time. And I'm going to see a whole lot of people that I love and miss a lot.

And you wanna know the best part? Is that the whole thing will be filmed and posted here so that you, too, can experience it with us. You'll be able to smell the gasoline at $3.50 a gallon, the rest stop bathrooms with a potty-training toddler, and all of the Cracker Barrel toys you can shake a 6.99 rain stick at. It'll almost be like you're right there in the passenger seat eating licorice and yelling at your husband on the Crackberry while driving.

I hope the thing stays home and watches the dogs and picks up the mail.

D Day

Would I be a complete baby if I admitted to being just a teensy-weensy bit nervous today? It doesn't help that I cannot have a cup of coffee or put my contacts in, either.

So, focusing on the bright side besides the obvious. I'll get an hour of solid sleep under anesthetic. I'll get some reading done in the waiting room. I don't have to cook tonight.

Here's to a fresh start next week...

Poetry

Ode to the carpet cleaners. In Haiku.

Oh wielder of steam
Cleanse my domestic failures
Saving puppy's' lives.

Return to the land

Armed with an 11th hour doctor pass, a pharmacy of drug cocktails and a bottle of vanilla vodka; we made it to our beach vacation after all. I figured if I was going to die, it might as well be on the beach where I want my ashes scattered anyway, so it would save my family a trip.

I am going to refrain from further comment on my physical condition because it depresses me. Surgery is scheduled for Friday, and I have never been so happy for something so awful in my entire life. Nothing could be worse than this. Truly. Let's hope this is the cure, because, really--I need new material.

But back to happier subjects: vacation. We all had a great time. I have determined that there is nothing more beautiful than the Gulf of Mexico. I love living near it. I love vacationing on it. And every time I get in front of a camera or cover some retarded meeting, I do so knowing it is getting me one step closer to our beach house there.

Anyway, I wrote a column with the humorous specifics which I hope to publish before Friday along with a hundred other things, but the weather was gorgeous; the water divine. My kids are officially beach babies--even Jessie in her sun dome castle. We played from early morning to late at night, but rarely did we leave the water. I got my sunburn and hangover, but both feel pretty damned good.

Here are a few pictures until I figure out my technical issue with the others I took.

Vacation

We're packing as though we're leaving in a few hours, but that still remains to be seen. But I have blinders on. Blinders that look like Paris Hilton sunglasses because I want to be on that beach so badly...

So if the planets align with Doctor-Everything-Will-Be-All Right, then I'll be back Tuesday. With a hangover and a sunburn.

Happy Father's Day.

Elephants

I've been avoiding you.

It's not you, it's me, really. It's complicated. So I'll post as we both ignore that huge elephant in the blog. Sorry, those are the terms.

Instead of my obvious malady, I'm going to focus on the positive. Like, I bought a new dress for a wedding next month that I didn't hate. On sale. In a single-digit size. And it's not black.

Yes, I hear the elephant coughing in the corner. I'm sure it's fine. Really. Ignore it.

Oh, and how about my return to the freelance world last night? It was as entertaining as it always is after a 4 month maternity leave. And they didn't stone me. Well, they sort of did with their eyes when my favorite member of the board called me out and everyone turned to look at me. I just flashed them my hundred dollar smile and kept right on writing.

That elephant can't hurt you. He's lame. Or anemic.

And that today while someone else is cleaning the house, I will be buckled down writing said article and packing for summer trip #1 that I am surprisingly pretty prepared for. Complete with a new bathing suit that I don't hate. On sale. And it is black, but a little white, too.

A little hemorrhaging never hurt anything as strong as an elephant. You're being needlessly squeamish.

I'm sorry, did that sound a little like self-pity? It did, didn't it? Well, the only cure I know for self-pity is getting drunk on a beach for 5 days. Which is what I'll be doing starting tomorrow if the elephant doesn't pass out on me.

You don't even want to know

In ER, being teased threatened with a blood transfusion:

Sean: I think your doctor hates you.

After no transfusion but loaded up on even more hormones than before:

Me: No, he obviously hates you more.

Long weekend. For my family.

Time machine courtesy of Ortho Novum

This will be as close to discussing my innards as I will ever get.

I will not tell you the problem--only the "cure" as prescribed by my doctor.

*deep breath*

I have to take 4 pills of the hormone regulating variety a day for a few days.

4.

It is not to control my freakish fertility, so shut yer yaps. It remains to be seen if it will solve the problem, but the side effects are killing me. I feel like a 13 year old girl with all of these surging hormones. I want to hang Andy Gibb posters in my locker and put on some Bonne Belle bubble gum lip gloss. I have a sudden urge to write down the lyrics of Peter Gabriel songs. I have a craving for Funyons and Mountain Dew. And I am this close to donning on some leg warmers while lip syncing to "Xanadu." I think the only thing I haven't done is pick a fight with my mother.

Oddly, and whether or not related is unknown, but this week has been an odd culmination of time and opportunity domestically speaking. I have not only turned in all of my freelance assignments early and somehow managed to keep the visible house almost respectable, but today I cleaned the refrigerator and oven. I know, I know. Those nonpareil sprinkles that Amy spilled in the vegetable drawer and that turned into a solid sheet of rainbow shellac, is now gone. Hold your applause, please. Dinner is bubbling away on the stove, the kids are bathed, and I am one organized--although pre-pubescent--girl.

Excuse me while I go weep now over a particularly poignant episode of "Full House."

Can't we just be friends, doc?

I've self-diagnosed myself with regard to my heart.

My cardiologist has a crush on me.

Now that is not hubris, I assure you. Rather it is just simple math. I noticed today that I am his youngest patient by 100 years. I am his only patient that walks into his office on my own volition without any aids--human or otherwise. And since there is absolutely nothing wrong with me, I must be an easy $300 office visit.

We did the heart sonogram today. It "was normal...basically." So, this means what? "I see you again in 2 months." 2 months? There is no rhyme or reason to these follow-up appointments. Nothing significant cardiologically speaking has occurred in 2 years, and I went almost a year in between appointments, so why 2 months now?

It would be a whole lot cheaper and more convenient if we just met for coffee instead.

****

Pricey needless medical tests gave me an excuse for a day out, though. You would be very proud of my organizational efforts this week--closet is cleaned, vacation meals prepared, baby equipment purchased, 3 workouts so far, 1/2 of freelance assignments completed, and it is only freakin' Wednesday. I am so seriously impressed with myself, I can barely stand it. I almost feel like a bonafide grown-up as my kids ate homemade dinners in clean clothes. I might even bathe them tonight for a domestic Trifecta.

So I treated myself with a new bathing suit, which let me tell you at 8 weeks postpartum is not that much of a treat, and a delicious club sandwich for lunch on this special day.

T.S. Barry and Barry Manilow

I awoke to the melodious sounds of rain pattering down on the roof. It is melodious because it is sound we haven't heard around these parts in months, and it took me a few minutes to recall what one does on rainy days--bake cookies, make soup, clean closets, read, watch drippy old movies--all of which I would be more than happy to partake in until...ACK!

Barry.

As in Tropical Storm Barry. Which means this rain is no longer a good excuse for domestic pursuits, but rather for battening down hatches and finding batteries that work. So I will spend the entire morning racing around doing these stupid storm rituals because the Weather Channel will be evoking panic within me all day, only to have the storm pass well north of here leaving only a too full pool and muddy paw prints.

*****

Wedding last night: beautiful. And here is the compliment of the evening as rendered by a charming table mate #3: "You are the smartest wife of a sports executive I've ever met."

You are thinking that must be a shallow pool indeed, but I'll take it, people. I will take it with a handful of Jordan Almonds and a heaping scoop of Thanks.

Amphibious metaphors

Blessedly, I got a few shards of sleep last night. I may even be rested enough to do the Electric Slide at a wedding tonight...

Intern-nephew's presence here is a lot of fun. Not only is he a big help, but he does provide comic relief. And I think by the end of the summer, I should be able to improve his use of metaphors so he doesn't have to use some like these:

D: This house is so loud. I am just not used to...

Me: What? Being part of a family? Because I know you have one. I've met them.

D: No, it's just like getting plunged in...you're used to it. Like if we were frogs swimming in a hot pot of water. If your frog eased in and got used to it, he wouldn't die. And my frog just gets thrown into boiling water and it's such a shock, he dies.

Me: Ribbit.

I'm not even going to comment. Because really, what can one say when one is compared to a pot of boiling frogs?

But then this morning, when he didn't know I saw him, he kissed each one of those little toads before he left for work.

What a prince.

Summer So Far

Yesterday, I vlogged about summer vacation not going quite according to plan:




That isn't even the half of it.

Please, allow me to wax bitchetic for a moment if you will.

I am soooo trying to be that kind of Mom who has summer wrapped up in a Tupperware activity box with pre-cut shapes and glitter pens. I want to bake bread from the slightly overipe bananas on the counter. I want to have made 3 trips to the library already, with an organic cotton sack stuffed with interesting reads that we'll peruse together on pillows on the floor. I want to make a weekly field trip to somewhere totally locally exotic. I want a clean house. Or even just clean hair. But I am sooo failing in these wants so far.

I am fighting this stupid summer cold which just keeps lingering, an refuses to move from my throat so that I sound like I've just smoked a few dozen packs of Camels. I have been to a different doctor every day this week, and I will spare you the details because I'd rather gouge out my eyes with a speculum than discuss those things here, but suffice it to say...well, suffice it.
Hours pass without me getting much done at all except feedings and changings and more changings which only reminds me of my failing in the potty training department which is another goal on my aggressive Summer Tracey To Do List, which is getting longer by the day and more unattainable. I may have to cross off #12, which is master the perfect pitcher of Sangria and #24: Clean Closet.

But setting all of that aside, which I realize is a lot to set logistically aside so you may simply have to peer up from beneath in breathless anticipation, but somehow through all of this mess, I have had a creative breakthrough of sorts. The sort of quiet epiphany that clears its throat as it humbly suggests what should have been obvious from the get-go had I been paying attention to the get or the go.

So I leave you with that nonsensical announcement, because part of the revelation is that nonsensical announcements are pretty much what I do best.

Tupperware craft boxes notwithstanding.

Watch how I pull this althogether in the end

Little known fact about me: I've seen Niel Diamond in concert 31 times.

I've just started reading a most intriguing novel, "Loved Walked In," by Marisa De Los Santos. I am only on page 20 so I don't yet know if it will hold up to the last page, but so far I am completely hooked. It reads like the webcam in my mind. Scary. Like this: If you are not a big believer in signs, then, trust me, we have that in common. If your impatience with people who are forever telling stories containing fairly ordinary coincidence that they interpret (after a pregnant pause) as "a sign" that borders on nausea, I'm right there with you. And if you've noticed that such people almost invariably opt to take as signs only those things that point them in precisely the direction they wanted to go anyway, while ignoring plenty of other seemingly valid sign options, well, my friend, we're three for three.

But then she goes on to describe her personal compilation of signs completely contradicting herself mere seconds beforehand. Which is totally something I would say, but reason that because I admit to doing it, my criticism doesn't apply to me, in fact it makes me even more in touch with the universe because I am so honestly intuitive. I know, I am seriously messed up sometimes.

So I read this passage as I am in the waiting room for the doctor. The cardiologist, as a matter of fact. And the reasons that I see a cardiologist are unknown to me--it is a mysterious cardiac condition that gets more mysterious as the years go by, and for some unexplained reason, I allow this because...I have no valid reason as to why I don't take charge of this situation. Anyway, I haven't seen him in almost a year because in cardiac terms pregnancy equals the plague. Completely hands-off for 40 weeks. No meds. No tests. He didn't want to see me, talk to me nor even receive my co-pay in the mail until I hatched. Fine, I say. So I had honestly forgot that I had an appointment today except for the helpful reminder call I got yesterday. I honestly forgot I had a heart condition anyway as well. But I go in anyway for sport. Here's the dialoge:

Dr. P: Anything new?

Me: No. I had the baby 7 weeks ago.

Dr. P: (Quickly flipping through chart.) How did it go? Any chest pain, shortness of breath?

Me: I honestly can't recall. I think the other miserable symptoms of pregnancy masked any cardiac troubles I may have had.

Dr. P: Ok, let's do a sonogram of your heart.

Me: Why?

Dr. P: Because we haven't done one in a while.

Me: OK. How was my ekg?

Dr. P: It was...(pause) okay. I schedule you for sonogram next week.

And what do I say? Nothing, because I accept the nebulousness of it all. So I get back into the beast of a car and even though the tank wasn't empty I fill up for $78. I flip through the satellite radio which is the greatest thing ever I determine, because the soundtrack of my life plays every day spanning the decades reminding me of memories I'd forgotten. I have a particular penchant for the 70's channel, because invariably, my mother's voice will sing (badly) along to the tunes. As today when I heard Niel Diamond 3 times. She used to love the Niel Diamond. And all of her friends, too. And I could never see the attraction because by the time I was listening to music with a discerning ear, Niel had just released that stupid "Heartlight" song, which even at the sage age of 10, I realized it was a complete sell-out. But over the years, after reacquainting my adult ears with songs like "Solitary Man," I've appreciated Niel in a different light. Today I listened to "Longfellow's Serenade," and "Sweet Caroline," and thought I can see why so many middle-aged women loved him in his prime. Then I thought about what it was like being her kid, and then I thought about Niel Diamond's kid who is Dustin Diamond--"Screech" from "Saved by the Bell,"-- and how that freak has his own reality show now and that's how I sort of consider these video blogs to be in a way, and Oh My God I am Screech, and then I thought about my Mom and her "Jazz Singer" album pressed against her chest like a swooning teenager, and my chest seized a little too and I realized that I doubt if the cardiologist can ever fix my broken heart.

Festivus on Memorial Day

Well, I suppose Neighborpalooza was a relative success. More showed up than I thought, but it was clear that we all live in a bubble--no one has a clue as to whom is living next door. And of course The Grumpy Old Man (next door neighbor who doesn't even give the obligatory nod when passing) did not show, but then I think Neighborpalooza would have resembled Festivus, and we would have had the Airing of Grievances...

Of course, my mothering skills were showcased at their absolute finest as usual. Sean was a tad late to the party as he had to take Stevie to the ER for a broken wrist. 3rd time he's broken this wrist. Mrs. K was sure to point out that she makes her kids wear helmets and wrist guards. Sean said he was, and a condom too, but she didn't see the humor.

Matty fell off the roof of the Little Tikes truck and hit his head on the ground. Amy fell into the bushes and got a black eye. Jingle ran away. Twice. And then after all of this daily chaos, the guy from the corner who was sitting on my chair in my driveway drinking my beer said to me holding Jessica, "So, is this your first?"

A freaking bubble.

Neighborpalooza

I'm pausing briefly in my preparations to update, because this is just too funny not to...

Yesterday, my husband decided that after living here for over 7 years, we don't know the neighbors well enough. The only contact we have (with the exception of the daily assaults from Mrs. K.) is when they call the police on us or complain that a ball flew into their bushes. Or when we have the Stanley Cup full of champagne on our front lawn at 3 a.m. When the St. Pete Times article came out a few months back and my secret identity was revealed, I think they were a bit surprised, but somehow I don't think it helped our cause. So, in the spirit of neighborliness, Sean decided to hold driveway Happy Hour--"Neighbopalooza"--and invite everyone on the block.

I can't even imagine what this is going to be like.

Seriously.

I told him I would only make pigs in a blanket if I could write a column about this later.

1st Day of Summer

Well, I won half of the battle anyway.

I brought the camera to the last day of school ceremonies this morning. Just without adequate batteries.

So use your imagination and picture my eldest official 6th grade son wearing the last semi-clean uniform shirt with the paint stains from Christmas, and since we couldn't find his uniform pants this morning--a pair of non-regulation khaki's 3 sizes too small and too short. His brother was the one with the rock star hair, shirt untucked with a trail of starry eyed new second grade girls following behind him.

Aren't they cute?

In other news...I guess there isn't much other news. Except I am looking forward to this long weekend of nothing. I did make a rare book store run earlier today and loaded up on all of those heart-wrenching, gut-tearing foreign novels I love so much. I can now say, "Her kiss was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering" in 7 different languages. (Bonus prize if you can tell me what book that came from, and no fair if you Google it.)

So I am cracking a spine of a book and a bottle or 7, starting.....now!

No words

Okay, yesterday pretty much sucked. It started out fine, but later in the afternoon it disintegrated in a matter of minutes.

Amy opened the front door and the dog got out. That's a typical occurrence that drives me crazy daily, so it isn't unprecedented. We caught her rather quickly this time, and I took Amy and Jingle back into the house. Matty went to go tell his brother of the capture. About 10 minutes later, I change a load of laundry, and notice that Amy isn't around. Then I notice that the boys are not back yet. So I tear through the house calling Amy's name, searching every room. Nothing. I run outside. I'm calling all of them and still nothing. I find the boys at the pond's edge and my heart sinks and my stomach lunges and still no Amy.

At this moment, Mrs. Kravitz, my neighbor that can make an intolerable moment even more insufferable, comes up and tries to "help." I send her and the boys back to the house to search there because I know Amy will never respond to her outside if she calls.

The seconds crawl by as I run down the street and through back yards calling her name. Other neighbors peer outside. Sweat is pouring down my back and I realize I am shaking.

Finally, Stevie comes from the house and announces he's found her, curled up under a blanket in the baby's crib.

And as I stood there holding on to her for dear life, a thousand fears pulsing through my body, Did she not hear me when I called her? Is her hearing not working right anymore? How will I know? What if she had made it outside?, Mrs. Kravitz said, "You've got so many kids now, you can't keep track of them all."

If I hadn't been holding my precious daughter, I would have punched her in the face.

As a mother, she should have just understood intuitively that that is the absolute lowest a mother can feel. If she was trying to be funny--which I have never known her to do--comic relief at that moment of sheer panic is just plain cruel.

And supplying the 1001st fear is even crueler.

Rambling Sunday nonsense

I should probably make a personal rule not to blog while under the influence, but then I would probably never blog...Besides, it would go against my one woman campaign to bring drinking housewives back in vogue. (If Sean leaves a McPudding legacy, then this can be mine.)

That said, what a weekend, my dear, obscure friends. I am approaching that 6 week mark when the the world is supposed to suddenly right itself again, and I just spent 2 days testing the theory.

I had some big plans to complete about 30 home projects in various states of completion. That albatross of a back bathroom needed to be sanded, painted and reassembled; and our yard looks like that pollution scene from the old PSA commercial from the 70's where the Indian on the horse begins to weep. Tonto is parked at my mailbox.

Anyway, in between all of this, there is the usual feeding, changing, bathing, entertaining and caring for the kids, which takes up more time than I ever allot. But last night I broke away for a girl's night out. We went out to dinner to a restaurant at the beach, and if you think that 14 Catholic school Moms talked about anything wholesome and decent, well, you must have been drinking as much as we were. A sample of the evening's topics:

1) How I found out my best childhood friend was a lesbian.

2) Who are swingers in the neighborhood--categories for old swingers and young ones.

3) Who needs therapy for ironing their pillowcases. (And you do, btw.)

4) Where are the most exotic places you've lost your children?

5) Why phen-phen should have never been removed from the market.

The rest is just too explicit to reveal in this blog.


Sunday rolled around, and we started off so productively...Sean sanded that bathroom so that it was as smooth as Jessie's bottom and cleaned the Lanai as I worked on the front yard. I even went to the gym for the first time in a year and reacquainted myself with the treadmill. It missed me.

I stopped at the grocery store on the way home to pick up dinner fixings and a bottle of wine, and the cashier said this:

Cashier: Can I see some I.D. for the wine, please?

Me: What language are you speaking?

Cashier: English. May I see some I.D. please?

Me: Of course!!! Let me find it...(Searching madly through my purse, hoping she won't change her mind for about 20 minutes under Target receipts, bubblegum wrappers, hair ties and lipstick tubes.)

I thrust that license at her so proudly, and then almost kissed her on the mouth. But instead, I ran home and we drank that bottle of wine in the hot tub for the next 6.5 hours and I actually got a sunburn in a non-maternity bathing suit where the remainder of the incision glue must have come off by now, and I swear that I almost felt human again, singular in body, mind and liver; a perfect way to celebrate my 6 week milestone.

One more for the evidence file of bad motherhood

Dudes, I'm beat.

I've spent the entire week playing catch up, and now it's caught up to me.

Sean's been out of town, and that's always an exhausting circumstance, but I'm just not able to rebound like I used to. But it's finally Friday--thank God--and at least I don't have to make a lunch at 6 am tomorrow morning...

So far Amy has done well with her new sister. She likes her well enough--as much as a 3 year old can like a sleeping, sometimes crying blob--and I was worried that her speech would regress once she was born. That has NOT happened, which is a very good thing, but last night she showed a different sort of protest/regression.

I was changing Jess' diaper on the changing table, and Amy decided she was next. That's fine, I thought, no harm in hoisting this enormous child onto the too small changing pad and making a fuss over her. I took her diaper and tried to put it on, but that wasn't good enough. Instead of her size 6, she wanted the newborn swaddler which seriously can only fit her thigh. No matter how many times I reasoned, demonstrated, refused, and tried anyway, she insisted through her tantrum that that diaper was going on.

I'm just too tired to fight, so I duct-taped it on her.

And you know what? It actually worked.

Score one for the exhausted woman who drove the kids to school in her pajamas today.

Live tomfoolery

In my never-ending pursuit to make a complete fool of myself, I've decided to do so in yet another medium.

Video blogging.

Yep, I vlog now.

Why, Trace? Why??

Actually, I've been experimenting with it for about a month now, but today I finally got properly inspired after my nephew made the astute observation at dinner last night with the dogs barking, kids talking, boys wrestling, phone ringing, baby crying, and me drinking, "This house is so loud."

Yep. It is. Life is loud. Welcome to mine.

Diva math

We just spent 4 grand on Marco Island so I could make $20 in book sales.

But the weekend was a success otherwise. I did sell out of books and we had a great time chilling on the beach for Mother's Day. Here are a couple of examples of fun:



The kids in the pool




The boys on a jet ski



The limo ride to the signing (quite a surprise, I might add)



The signing



What Jessie did through her first weekend at the beach

Mother's Day

Scrambling trying to get ready for the long book signing/birthday/Mother's Day weekend in Naples now...Oh my Lord are my days of packing light long over.

But before I go, I need you to read this.

I don't really ever cross posts between my column and blog too often. It perhaps seems silly, or perhaps you haven't even noticed there is a difference between the two, but I have this strange need to keep them separate. Which is stupid and pointless because neither one is anonymous--it's sort of like this blog is the crazy friend you keep from inviting to parties because although she's way more fun, she would upset the balance of your normal crowd. Or something like that.

Anyway, sometimes writing a column is merely me transcribing the thoughts of the day that I have already written in my head. (Perhaps that explains the quality of many of them.) And then other times, much less frequently, I feel as though there is something that I need to say, but don't quite know what it is--like when you walk into a room and forget why you came in there to begin with.

Tired metaphors aside, this column came about because through no purposeful planning, just accidental coincidence, my Mom's Happy Place beach is in Naples--to the exact one we are spending our weekend. The irony was not lost on me (or Sean) when the original book signing event was proposed months ago, but with everything going on, I guess I didn't let it rise to the surface of understanding.

Until this week when I walked into that room and remembered what it was I wanted to say.

Happy Mother's Day everyone.

Splish Splash

Well, I got the o-kzay to go swimming from the doctor yesterday--the incision still looks like someone brushed rubber cement across it, but it is fine to get wet now. Which is pretty good news since we're spending this long Mother's Day weekend at the beach down on Marco Island after my book signing in Naples on Saturday. It is not even funny how badly I can't wait to get away to a luxury hotel. With a spa. And room service. And a housekeeping staff.

And another diva in the house also got her o-kzay to submerge, so here is Miss Jess after her first bath and 1 month birthday.

A self observation

My cynical nature, which makes me a fun cocktail party guest also makes me a less than ideal Stepford mom.

Just sayin'.

Normal--diva style

On the eve of my one month post-birth check-up, I feel like I'm beginning to approach my version of normal. While many things continue to elude me like submerging in water or making it to dinner not looking like Quasimodo, I have started to re-engage into society.

Friday night we went out to a rather ordinary event, but it was special evening nonetheless as it was the first time in many moons that I've crossed county lines. And although still accompanied by le infant diva, we managed to make it to dinner afterward to a place with cloth napkins and a full bar.

And on Saturday, I cooked. I spent all day in my element over the stove element preparing a thank you feast for just some of the many people who helped ensure Jessica's healthy entry into the world with all of their help over the last several months. It was a wonderful evening, truly.

Yesterday I was pretty much wiped out from the previous evenings, but I didn't strangle the cashier at the grocery store for remarking on how tired I look, so that's progress.

And today's normal agenda will include laundry (of course) and a new gym class for Amy. And while I can't check off reading (hello June book review deadline) and running from the back-to-normal list yet, I did think seriously about doing both, so it almost counts.

sleepy

No sleep last night. Nada. Nill. None. And I was hoping to have a little bit of energy today to not look so tired at the obligatory social function tonight, but mainly so I could walk up to the open bar on my own accord. Maybe I'll just bring a really long straw...

Happy Cinco de Mayo all.

Where is the label maker?

Back to a kinder and gentler-speaking diva...

Mainly because I've reached a new level of exhaustion. For a variety of reasons--some obvious, some just plain insane--we are in an unprecedented period of re-organization in casa de la diva. Making room for Oscar and the slew of guests that accompanied her began this season, but soon we will be joined by another. Namely in the 6 foot+ college student nephew who is interning with a Tampa professional sports team this summer, and must need to have more schooling if he thinks this house will be anything close to a fun time with an infant, toddler, and bunking with 2 boys that are going to "sweet chin music" him (that's a real wrestling move, btw) every chance they get. Not to mention a postpartum insane woman who will be sending him out for milk and diapers every two hours and saying things like, "D, can you see if Jingle took Amy's pig outside? No, not that pig, the little one. Not that one, either, the one that looks like a rat? But not the smiling rat, the one that looks like he has a head cold."

And so on...Although he will have to learn an entire new vocabulary of Amy-speak and Matty quirks, it will be nice having another set of hands and sweet company around here for a couple of months.

And to add to all of this, new furniture is being delivered today for the boys, and so many things in the cosmos had to shift to make room for such a major endeavor. I can't even count the number of petrified pop-tarts I cleaned out from under the bed yesterday. And I could open a pop-culture museum with the sheer number of McDonald's Happy Meal toys dating back to the early 80's in the toy box.

I apologize ahead of time

Warning: I am feeling feisty tonight. Maybe it's because after months confined to this house, today I finally resumed my Tuesday Nights Out. Although abbreviated and accompanied by a 3 week old to the grocery store, it was still more activity and freedom I've had since Christmas. Maybe it's because I'm 37 now. Maybe because for the first time in ages, I got to choose the car media, and instead of one of Amy's speech DVD's, (not that I don't love to hear her repeat, "le cow" when the language gets mysteriously changed) I chose satellite radio so I could sing at the top of my lungs (badly) "Cracklin' Rosie," The Fray, and Nancy Sinatra within a span of seconds. Whatever the reason, I beg you to bear with me and my foul language, random musings and general saltiness.

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

Well, I am more than a little pissed. I have been looking forward to this hair appointment for weeks, and it got canceled. And the even worse part is that I have to wait another 10 days for another one. My hair is the longest it's ever been down to my ass and with these grey streaks running down either side, and I do not exaggerate when I say I look exactly like Lily Munster. Not Mortisha Addams, mind you. Lily Munster.

So feeling feisty and a little macabre, I went shopping for some clothes. I need something for Friday that meets the "tropical casual" label Floridians are so fond of using on their invitations while 3 weeks postpartum. And yes, I do mean to brag and I really don't care who knows it, but I fit into a single digit dress, beyotch.

Back at Publix, I was reminded of an idiotic post I made a few months back about not ingesting any other liquid besides water and milk. That plan is officially over, my friends. If it is not caffeinated or alcoholic, there is no room in my diet for it right now. Essentials, people.

So as I loaded the cart with Coke, coffee and beer, I had this conversation at least 17 times--4 in the produce aisle alone:

"Oh what an adorable baby! How old?"

"3 weeks."

"My, and look at all that hair!"

"Yes, she has eyes and ears, too." (I really never know how to respond to the whole hair observation thing.)

"Is she your first?"

"No, my fourth."

Audible gasp followed by long pause.

"I thought you looked tired."

What the f*** is that? These are complete strangers. How do they know my tired face from my coked up face? How do they know those bags under my eyes aren't from a recent WWE Diva match? How do they know it's not just bad mascara? Or bad lighting? Or from after the scrap I got into with the last idiot who said that. I mean, seriously, what the f***?


Okay, I feel better. I think I need to show this much verve in my new video blogging venture which I will share with you as soon as I show this much verve in my new video blogging venture.

30-something

It's my birthday. Yeah, yeah, thanks. Truth be told, I would have been happy with a Margarita, an extra generous slice of mint chocolate chip ice cream cake and a nap, but I'll take the luxury hotel in Naples for a long weekend, too. And maybe I'll be able to fit into the itsy-bitsy-teeny-weenie red polka dot bikini that Matty got me for my birthday. It's like a size .5, and he thought I could actually fit it over one thigh. He also thinks I'm 26 today. I love that kid.

I'm moving a little slowly this morning. We had the big Matty birthday bash on Saturday complete with large inflatable jumping/slide apparatus. Buoyed by my first beer(s) in 11 months, I thought I'd slide down at the apres-party where there were no witnesses. Don't ask me why I thought this was okay. I can't submerge under water for 6 weeks because of this huge incision that they glued, but since they didn't expressly warn against inflatable fun, I thought I'd be cool. Not so. I'm burning. Ouch.

With age does not come wisdom, apparently.

******

I'm celebrating today with laundry, (it's still Monday you know) lunch with a friend, and Jessie sleeping through the night which may have been the biggest treat ever. And just to be corny and nostalgic, today is one of the prettiest spring mornings I've ever awoken to. I walked outside and was hit by the sweet smell of jasmine that's in bloom right now. It was almost as if someone was sending me special wishes from beyond. I love spring.

Rhetorical Questions I Don't Expect Answers to

1. Where do these large blocks of time I'm missing during the day go?

2. If the scale says I've lost all of the weight, why am I still in my fat pants?

3. If you know you are insane while committing an insane act--oh, say throwing a birthday party on Saturday for 30 7 year olds 2 weeks postpartum--are you still just as insane?

4. How can one tiny baby produce so much laundry?

5. I forgot what I was going to ask for 5.

Baby steps

In an effort to regain a little self-sufficiency, I drove this morning.

I tested my ability beforehand like the doctor said, and then I loaded up the two girls and all of the crap I need now just to go to the pediatrician's office for Jessica's 2 week check-up. I made it without crashing, dropping anyone, or tearing my incision. Woo Hoo!

I am exhausted and now can't walk upright fully, but I logged my first unsupervised field trip.

Now I've got to go take a nap.

P.S. That little chub gained 9 ounces in week. I love chunky babies.

It takes a village

I hope I get permission to drive soon. There are just so many favors a girl can call in to get shampoo and formula. My poor baby sitter had to buy de-wormer at the pet store and take Stevie to baseball already today. Last week she had to pick up and out Matty's birthday cake and the requisite Chik Fil-A nugget dinner.

I have to go back to the doctor earlier than expected tomorrow, and I literally had to arrange a 17-person tag team of people to take care of me, the baby, Amy, the boys, switch the cleaning day and change a light bulb. I need graphs and a flow chart for the logistics of a stupid appointment.

So sorry for having to actually take up the offers for help. I feel bad for constantly asking. You all have been beyond generous already.

We hatched...

I know I've been absent from the world for a while, but I've had a little reason...



Jessica Marie came into the world on April 10th at 8:44 p.m. At my regular doctor's appointment that afternoon, the contractions were 2 minutes apart, and I was 2 minutes away from a complete nervous breakdown. So we made the difficult decision that it was at long last time, and she was delivered 5 hours later.

I won't say it was an easy delivery, actually, it was pretty rough. After four c-sections, I think I've missed my opportunity for a Playboy pictorial. I'll have to settle for a centerfold in Parenting. But the baby is absolutely perfect and beautiful, so my complaints are few. Men just read it for articles anyway I'm told.

But as a result, my re-entry is slow. Today was our first day home alone--me, Amy, Jessica and the dogs--and it was all pink sugar and spice. But sugar and spice is exhausting. I tried to catch up a little, but I fear "catching up" is no longer an option, and I'm just starting from scratch again. By Monday, I hope to be walking fully upright and off the pain meds. But drinking again. Kidding. Sort of.

It's funny, but although she is only 10 days old today, I can't remember when she was Oscar.

But for now, I am going to be enjoying this bliss uninterrupted for just a little longer.