Not Calm (dot com)

sprout

  sprout 
  Originally uploaded by jenijen.

Sophie has been watering this little pot of dirt, and it finally sprouted some grass.  I think it's grass.  Who knows?  She's very excited, though. 

My van is in the shop, getting new rotors and other stuff.  I walked the kids home from school today.  It was nice and I'd love to do it more often, but they usually gripe so much it isn't fun.  I suppose they knew that today they had to walk and so they didn't complain as much.  On the way home from walking Sophie to school I got some pictures of Willow.



I realized that her due date anniversary, April 15th, came and went this year without me thinking about it too much.  She is totally caught up, and weighs as much as Sophie now.  It's hard to believe she was ever so tiny.

I wrote a post about breastfeeding for ParentDish, and a woman sent me an email asking for advice and empathy.  It's weird to all of a sudden be on the other side of it all.  I wrote her back a looooong note that I hope will help at least some.   

Gotta sleep.  Have a bad headache that wants to be a migraine and need some rest. 

I'm a snowball in hell!

So, someone in Missouri nominated me for a Blogger's Choice Award, which totally flatters me almost as much as it makes me laugh.  Hottest MommyBlogger?  Dude, I know some of the women on the list (Chris Jordan, Grace Davis, Heather Armstrong, Karen Rani, Jenny Lauck, Melissa Summers, Mrs. Eden Marriott Kennedy,  Badgermama,  and probably a few others, but I couldn't click through all 61 pages which are filled with multiple nominees) and my hotness doesn't even begin to compare.  Of course, I will still encourage you to click on that button (top right sidebar >>>) and vote for me, because I'm feeling pretty down lately and it'll make me feel good if I get a few votes.  I'll be able to feel better, because the numbers will be telling me to.  (see previous post, and speaking of the previous post, here's a couple shots for Eve:)

I was complaining to a friend that I gained five pounds overnight, and the only thing I'd done was eat a little salt.  Know what my friend said?  You eat healthy food, you get lots of exercise.  THROW AWAY THE SCALE AND QUIT WORRYING. 

I don't think I'm there yet, but I am not above taping the nice messages and low numbers to the scale.  Or, apparently, trolling for compliments.

By the numbers

Do you do this too?  Do you feel cold, look at the thermostat and see that it's around 70 degrees and then think, Well, I shouldn't be cold, it's not cold in here.  Or, do you feel sleepy, only to look at the clock and see that it's 6pm and then you think, I can't believe I'm ready for bed, it's only 6'oclock!

I do this to myself all the time.  Whether it's about feeling hungry, tired, too hot or cold, or whatever.  I will find that number, and then tell myself that I shouldn't be feeling what I'm feeling because, basically, the numbers aren't supporting it.  (I just ate a couple hours ago, I shouldn't be hungry! I got eight hours of sleep, I shouldn't be drowsy.)  It's really stupid, and I *know* I do it, but still I do it.  And, I spend a silly amount of time thinking about stuff like that.  Wondering if forever ago, before there were clocks, people looked at the sun or stars and readjusted their attitudes about sleeping and eating based on the should bes.  I kinda doubt it. 

Even today, when I was alone (holly-lew-ya!) in the van I did something similar with my ipod.  I had it on shuffle, and all the songs that came up spoke to me in a way.  I let it mean, for a few minutes, much more than the coincidence it was.   And earlier, my scale, my notoriously erroneous digital bathroom scale, said that I weighed a number that is a pound less than any number I've weighed since before Willow came along.  It was probably wrong, but I decided not to double check and I had such better self confidence today.  Over the difference of one number on a scale that I KNOW is wonky.  Maybe I should just tape fake numbers on the thing and be done with it. 

Spain brain

Updated!

I was making some scrambled eggs and opened the cupboard to get the salt.  The little shaker was empty; I put it in the sink since it looked a little unappetizing, and grabbed the big container of sea salt.  I noticed that the container says Product of Spain, so I used a little extra.

I really, really want to go there again someday.

Really.

Tonight I went to Holey Foods for homeopathic stuff (can you even attempt that when you are already on antibiotics?  whatever) and they had this big Spain theme happening.  The wine section had a poster that I considered stealing (yes, stealing - I knew they wouldn't let me have it and I wanted it) but it was ripped, and the deli had Paella (hey! I spelled it right on the first try!) and Patatas Bravas, which was a different version than any I saw in Spain, all of which were different from one another.  I did get a photo of the worst offender:

Chris Rock is onto something**

I'm not going to gripe about the state of my throat, but I will say it is NOT BETTER.  I'm going to go to yoga this morning (8 am on a Sunday, who'da thunk it?) and see if that helps.  I don't know if I'll have the energy to do most of it, but the idea of a hot and really humid room sounds appealing.  Plus, every time the class is doing those farking forehead-to-knee poses, the instructors all say how great it is for stimulating the immune system.  Mine needs to be stimulated.  (Bad joke here removed.  You are welcome.)

So, I don't know how well publicized the shooting at NASA last week was.  I heard about it as I was driving in the car: not on the radio, but from my brother, who called to tell me.  Our dad works at Johnson Space Center, and his lab is in the building where the shooter was (at the time) hiding.  My brother, J, had called our step-mom when he saw the headline, but she hadn't even heard about it yet.  She was able to call my dad on his cell phone and find out that he was safely locked down in his office, which is in a different building.  Interestingly, the information we got from her (one shooter, two hostages, NASA campus on lockdown) was far more accurate than anything reported in the early stages.  My dad knew all the specifics, because he spoke with a woman who'd seen things first-hand, and then rushed over from that building to where my dad was, leaving her purse behind and running, literally, for her life. 

I was so glad my brother called and started the conversation with, "Dad is okay, but. . . "   I was expecting to hear that he was in the hospital or had been in a wreck.  The real story baffled me, because security there is super-tight.  From the time my dad started working there in the 80's until the air attacks in 2001, my brother and I went to work with him many times.  We got to see the lab where he works.  At the time, he was working on a laser/hologram uh, thing, with some other folks, and my dad had the smart idea to put the table top on a bed of air to keep the very precise set up from wobbling when people walked around the table.  Basically, the table base and table top were separated, and air from the base floated the tabletop.  "Like air hockey," was how my dad put it.  After September 11th, though, we weren't allowed to hang out there.  I don't think they even do the tours that they used to anymore.  One of the biggest surprises I have ever had is seeing how shrimpy the real mission control room is.  It's always shot with a wide angle lens, and I think most movies must use sets.  In reality it is just a little, bitty, rectanglish-shaped room.  The computers all look vintage, but that is just for show; underneath are slick, sophisticated machines. 

I checked the headlines all that afternoon.  We don't have cable, so I just interneted it.  I was so sad to hear the outcome of that day: the shooter killed his supervisor, a man who I'm guessing was close to retirement since he'd been married for 41 years, and then himself.  I know people who do that kind of thing aren't sane and reasonable, but I still can't help but want to smack them all uspide the head and point out to them that getting fired does indeed suck, but there is a big chance you'll land on your feet if you hang in there and try.  Walking into the office with a gun, however, doesn't ever end happily.  I suppose we all know that, even the shooters, but I guess if someone is broken a certain way, it just doesn't matter.   I do wonder, though, if he was partly convinced to go through with what he did because of the Virginia Tech shootings.

Well, I need to squeeze myself into my workout stuff and find my mat.  I hope the banana I had for breakfast gives me enough energy to not lay in a panting heap on the floor.

**Everybody is talking about gun control. Got to control the guns. Fuck, that, I like guns. If you've got a gun, you don't need to work out! Cause, I ain't working out. I ain't jogging. No, I think we need some bullet control. I think every bullet should cost five thousand dollars. Five thousand dollars for a bullet. Know why? Cos if a bullet cost five thousand dollars, there'd be no more innocent by-standers. That'd be it. Some guy'd be shot you'd be all 'Damn, he must've done something, he's got fifty thousand dollars worth of bullets in his ass!' And people'd think before they shot someone 'Man I will blow your fucking head off, if I could afford it. I'm gonna get me a second job, start saving up, and you a dead man. You'd better hope I don't get no bullets on lay-away!' And even if you get shot you wouldn't need to go to the emergency room. Whoever shot you'd take their bullet back. 'I believe you got my property?' -- Chris Rock

couch potato

It's been almost 48 hours since I've eaten, unless you count broth as food.  I do not.  I have never had such a rotten, tenacious sore throat in my life.  I'm starving, so right now I've got some red chard boiling, and maybe if I can get that down I'll try some scrambled eggs.  The antibiotics seem to have kept the ear infection away, but aren't helping my throat.  I feel like some funky science experiment.  It's fascinating, really.

Anyone ever have a sore throat for ten + days?  The kind where swallowing makes you teary?  Any diagnosis or suggestions welcome.  Going to go try and eat now. 

not a green party member yet

Sophie to me -- totally out of the blue -- as we were falling asleep last night:

   

Earth day SUCKS -- wanna know why?  I'll tell you why: because you hafta
    pick.
    up.
    TRASH!

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

In what I have to say is one of the luckiest turns of events in my whole life, and thanks to the nicest doctor ever, I am off to get some antibiotics.  I'm so happy I'm crying.  Or, maybe those tears are from the severe ear and throat pain.  I can't eat (but have I lost weight?  OF COURSE NOT) but I don't really want to as I seem to be coughing up and barfing up all kinds of bloody crap from my throat. 

HEY! First doctor guy I saw a couple days ago: you were nice ( I liked our chat about yoga) but just because something doesn't "look that bad" to you doesn't mean it ain't so.  LISTEN TO YOUR PATIENTS.  Couldn't you tell I was practically sane?  And NOT seeking pain meds?  I know working at the county hospital where everyone (even those, like myself, without health coverage) is welcome may make you jaded, but I have been suffering (especially at night -- whoo, boy!) and you are not supposed to make people suffer.   

I'm so hungry I think I'll go inject a pb & j right into my vein.  Except that I can't because no more gluten for me.  I think that nasty rice bread would totally clog my arteries.  Have you tried that stuff?  It is so dense I suspect it is infused with extra gravity. 

To the pharmacy.  I hope my drugs are ready.

wah, wah, i complain a lot

I should have gone to bed ages ago, but this damn sore throat is so much worse at night that I'm afraid to.  This is just silly: my throat has been sore for a week, and it keeps getting worse.  Now my tongue is swollen and sore, too.  It's almost impossible for me to shriek at the kids.  Can't have that, now.

Tomorrow Lex has to be at school at 6:30 so he can catch the field trip bus.  They won't be back till 6:15 in the evening.  They're going up to an old Gold Rush town.  I feel awful because he really wanted me to come.  There's no way, though.  To make it worse, I'm working in Nate's class tomorrow morning (hope I don't have to actually talk to anyone), which has Lex all upset.  Sometimes I think I should chop myself into fours and give them each a piece, but then they'd just fight over who got the arms vs the legs. 

That was gross.

It's unseasonably cold and rainy here.  Everyone is bitching about it, but I love it.  I'm savoring the cool damp before summer comes.  We don't have air conditioning, and it's memories of nights like tonight that get me through the hottest days. 

Okay.  Too distracted by searing pain to type.  Guess I will go to bed, but damn it's going to be worse all night and in the morning.  If Sophie still had cough syrup with codine I would chug the whole bottle. 

stolen hospital gown and blanket

  stolen hospital gown and blanket 
  Originally uploaded by jenijen.

When Willow was about a year old, she spent ten days in the hospital because she was severely anemic.   She had stopped growing and was given that awful diagnosis, "Failure To Thrive."  When we finally left the hospital after she started to improve, I stole a blanket and one of the little gowns that she'd worn.  Just now she found them in her room, in a box of tie dyed cloth diapers that I used as burp cloths.  The gown that used to be so big on her now fits like a little shirt.  She tucked her Care Bears under the blanket and whispered to them about what they are going to do tomorrow when they wake up.  It's gonna be berry, berry fun at the fair.  We'll ride the ponies.  Night -night.  Then she just sat in a chair for awhile with the blanket on her lap.

I'm all wiped out with some nasty virus: sore throat, fever, muscle aches and weakness, headache.  I'm so ready to get into bed for the night, but that's a few hours away still.

hello darkness my old friend

I've tried to go to bed twice already, but that damn green tea is not letting me sleep.  I forget that it has caffeine, since it looks and tastes so herbally.

I know I'll pay tomorrow, but for now it's fun to catch up on blogs, eat on the couch (which is against the rule I made for the kids and also totally after the eating cut-off time, but it's a rice bread and hummus sandwich that gave me hiccups, so does that even count?), and listen to the quiet.  Qui  et.  Well, quiet except for the snoring of the the sick kids down the hall.  It sounds like lumberjack housing down there. 

These hiccups are kicking my ass.  Started at 12:03 am, just in case they last for weeks and I need that information for my fifteen minutes of Guiness fame or something.

What do you do when you can't sleep?  I remember when I was ten or twelve and my mom was pregnant and had awful insomnia.  One night she painted the kitchen.  Another time she made jam.  Her friend Bonnie used to garden in the middle of the night, unless I'm confusing her with Michael Stipe.  I didn't do much tonight; just made the kids' lunches for tomorrow and clicked around the internet.

Tomorrow I am going to work in Sophie's kindergarten class for a couple of hours with Willow in tow.  This is a fairly new thing, and I thought Willow would be fine.  She gets sorta clingy, though, and whines and wants to be on my lap.  In the meantime, other kids are trying to befriend her, and Sophie gets all up in their grill, "Do NOT hold my sister's hand.  She is MY SISTER, NOT YOUR SISTER."  Then we have to have one of those talks about how to treat our friends and Sophie gets pissed at me for not taking her side.  She is never wrong, which is funny because neither am I though sometimes we are on opposite sides.  Hmmm.

This past weekend I went up to Eye-key-A and got the girls a bunkbed, which I thought was unwise, but they insisted was the Best Thing Ever.  My friend Matt came with me and John stayed home with the kids.  I saw people at Eye-key-A with children, which shocked me.  The best was this beleaguered guy with two kids on a flat cart thing who was a decent way through the very long Saturday afternoon lines.  His buddy came up to him and said, "Dude.  You have to get out of line.  She wants to look at more stuff."  I felt so bad for him.  I could see all the cuss words moving around behind his lips, and a few leaked out his ears as his eyes nearly fell out onto the floor.  He didn't say anything, just rolled the cart with the two rambunctious boys back to the showroom.  Poor guy.

I spent two dollars and forty three cents less than my absolute maximum (and since I didn't really add as we went, that was good) and all the stuff fit in the van.  I knew from the get go that the girls would not rest until the beds were made.  I cooked supper while Matt built the beds and John wrangled the kids.  Just as I suspected, I ended up sleeping between the girls on the bottom bunk.  It's only a twin, so it was a little bit tight.  Good thing I'm so short.  The next night, we got into bed and cuddled up.  We were all three staring at the slats above our heads.  "I'm not gonna sleep up there for awhile," said Sophie.  "I am done with bunk beds," said Willow.  "OH WELL," said I.  I had wanted to get them a double bed, because I knew that they'd still want to sleep together with me in the middle, but I didn't listen to my gut, which is now sandwiched between two snoring, kicking girls every night.  But, before I know it, they won't want me at night anymore and I will miss the whole sardine nighttime routine.  Someday.

Now I suppose I'll try again with the sleep thing.  The internet will be here in the morning. 

Ghotht in the mathine

On my last day in Barthelona (okay, ending the Catalan lisp spelling), we luckily made it to the Poble Nou Cemetery.  I think there were maybe two sentences about it in the Lonely Planet book I used to make my grand master list of things to see, but the description was enough for me.  I really appreciate the artistry found in cemeteries.  It's not a leftover goth thing; I just think that they are beautiful places.  Maybe because they are so sad and lovely all at once. 

One of the sentences in the book talked about a statue that showed Death giving his kiss to a young man.  We wanted to see it, but never did find it in the ridiculously large maze of crypts and graves.  The cemetery is enormous, with all these high crypt walls making different sections.  We walked and walked and probably only saw an eighth (yes, I picked that number for the lisp, I have no idea how much we really saw of it) of the place.  Here are links to a couple of pages that show the statue (the last couple photos in the slide show), and I have to say that sitting down to write this just now I googled the cemetery and those are the first images I've seen of the statue.  I wish we'd seen it; the photos of the cemetery don't really do it justice. 

So, the day we (I went with Matt and Greg, friend and brother-in-law, respectively) went, it was overcast.  I was a little disappointed because I was hoping to take a bazillion photos there with my shiny new camera.  I also had my shiny slightly-less-new camera in the backpack, in case I ran out of memory.   I was so overwhelmed by the cemetery.  It's hard to explain if cemeteries don't make you feel that way, but if they do,  then you know what I mean.  It was a passionate place; it wasn't quiet and reserved like the manicured lawn type cemeteries here in the states can be.  There were bright fake flowers, old decayed wreaths, old photographs in broken and weathered frames.  Dozens of wild cats darted all around the place, climbing on markers and sleeping at the feet of eroding statues.  Here are some of the pictures I took with the shiny new camera.

Those were taken when we first got there, before we realized how big of a place it was.  We split up,loosely so we wouldn't get completely lost, and wandered about.  After some time spent reading markers and looking at offerings left by loved ones, we stumbled onto a different part of the cemetery.   Here instead of the walls of crypts, which housed families, by the way, there were underground crypts that were topped by small, detailed cathedral replicas.  I've never seen anything like it.  It was achingly beautiful, this small city of churches over the dead.

Those will NOT turn for me, but more on that in a moment. 

I was uneasy taking pictures when we first got to the cemetery.  We didn't see anyone else around, except the woman in the photo with the cat above.  I tried to see if she reacted to me having a camera, and far as I could tell, she didn't mind.  I got comfortable pretty quickly, which was easy given the subject matter and my habit of having the camera in front of my face during all my waking hours in Spain.  (I took a thousand pictures in four days.)

Shortly after we found the cathedral city, several things happened all at once: the sun came out, illuminating the rows of little churches with light so beautiful I started crying; my memory card filled up and I switched to the little camera and took some of the best photos of my whole life; and a guard came over to talk to me.  My Spanish was about as good as his English.  We went round and round, until I finally admitted what I knew all along: he wanted me to erase the pictures.  I showed him the screen, and he watched as I erased the pictures one by one, making it "memory ZERO," like he demanded.  He was visibly pissed, but still polite.  As it was time for the cemetery to close up, we left without taking any more photos and without seeing the statue I'd wanted to see.  But, I was still really happy with the visit there: it was incredible to walk through as much as we did, and my big camera was stashed in the backpack with over two hundred pictures I'd already taken.  Here are a couple more shots -- one of a dilapidated grave and the other I took through the window of one of the tiny churches (yes, it's sideways):

While I was still in Barcelona, I made the second picture in that last batch (the one with the three angels) my screen saver.  I looked at all the photos full-screen size, and was super happy with them.  When I was flying home, I decided to make my screen saver one of the photos I'd taken at the market.  It wouldn't work.  I went into the photo software and discovered that NONE of the horizontal pictures would enlarge.  The vertical ones would, for some reason.  And, still, none of my horizontal pictures from the whole trip will enlarge.  No other photos on my computer are affected.  When I wrote this post, it took all these pictures about three times as long as usual to upload.  I will someday take my laptop to the Apple store and see if they can help me.  Maybe the file is corrupted, and maybe there are ghosts in there, mad at me for taking pictures I shouldn't have.  Maybe the guard was a ghost.  Here is a link to the set on flickr, if you want to see some of the statues from the cemetery.  If you ever find yourself in Barcelona, make sure to get to the cemetery, and don't forget to bring your spy camera.  Also, bring treats for the cats: maybe they'll put in a good word with the ghosts and your pictures will all come out.

   

Sew Linky

My friend Capello got this A W E S O M E fabric (it's in the photo with the very cool pink tote bag) from Sadira at Foolsewoode.  Sadira was kind enough to get in touch with me (when she read my comment about wanting the fabric) and tell me where she got it.  Yesterday Willow and I went to JoAnn's fabric store and while they didn't have the fabric I wanted, they did have this:

Later I did find the Loteria card fabric online and got some of it as well.  I've been really inspired to sew some clothes ever since I read Supa's post last month.  The one good thing about blog friends who live far away is that you can copy them and nobody will really know unless you, uh, blog about it.  Now for the biggest challenge -- finding the time. 

now with more self-absorption!

This is just plain silly, but whatever.

hey, beautiful.

Yesterday I had a really great talk with my grandmother.  We talk on the phone pretty often, and I always enjoy our conversations.  But, yesterday we talked about this ad:

Specifically, we talked about how crappy it is that the ad is banned in so many places.  We were talking about our bodies and body image.  I started to tell her the story of the Dove ad, but she stopped me to say that she already knew all about it and then she told me how mad it made her.  My grandmother: a really conservative, southern baptist woman, was baffled at why such a beautiful and wonderful celebration of women's beauty would be censored.  I told her about the other ad they did that shows a model looking fresh out of bed and follows her through a photo shoot. 

For some reason, watching that makes me tear up.  It makes me angry and sad that even though I *know* pictures in fashion magazines are fantasy, looking at them makes me feel horrible and ugly.  And my grandmother, who is 82, admits to feeling old and ugly when she watches television and sees the crazy beauty standard that the mainstream media keeps making more and more unattainable. 

It's Easter.  I feel bad because I didn't make a nice meal or a big breakfast or anything.  Willow had strawberries, Easter eggs, and chocolate bunny ears for breakfast, which is, admittedly, pretty awesome.  When I was little, Easter was a big deal: new dress, new shoes, big family get togethers around a big meal.  Maybe next year I'll do more than make deviled eggs out of the ones that got cracked in the egg hunt. 

And next year I will be more careful and not get paprika in my eye.  I don't know how that happened, but I do know it burns a little for a long time.

stripes!

stripes!
Originally uploaded by jenijen.

I love to color eggs. Every spring I boil at least five dozen eggs and mix up the color stuff and put down newspaper and paper towels and then sadly watch everyone else color eggs. *sniff* I can't help but get a little pissy about it, especially when I watch them all color the eggs and do such an amateur job of it. Being a preschooler is no excuse; they do art projects, like, every single day. If anything, the kids should be master craftspeople of egg dying.

I suppose I could color eggs with the kids, but there are four of them and they power through the blank eggs so very fast. I feel like if I take any it's not fair. They are the kids here and all. I can't really justify boiling a gross of eggs just so I can color along, either.

This year, though, I got to color over two dozen eggs all by myself. It only worked out that way because at something like four in the afternoon as I was making food to take to a party (lemon squares, which I was told were "kick-ass," and good (but, sadly, yuppie) pasta made with arugula, cherry tomatoes, goat cheese, garlic and olive oil) I realized that OH SHIT I forgot to do the eggs and the Easter Bunny will be here soon.

I got a batch of eggs going, and then remembered a crafty little thing that myfriendM told me about: take a crayon and rub it on the still-hot boiled eggs. The wax will melt and then harden on the shell. Neat-O.

I won't say too much more, except that they came out pretty (see flickr but know that the light was not my friend) and that more than one hot and wax-slickened egg shot out of my little hand and got melted crayon on the table, floor, counter, and I'm sure other places that I will discover as time goes by.

We went to the party where I met lots of nice people and drank beer while Willow charmed everyone and played with balloons. On the way home Miss Willow fell asleep in the car, so it was just the grownups left to color eggs. (Big kids are with their dad until Tuesday, which is a long time but they are having fun with cousins and don't miss me.) I cooked more eggs and colored them all while John slept on the couch. I made beautiful deep colored ones by leaving the eggs in five minutes; pale ones that were just dunked in color for a second or two; striped ones like I used to do when I was a kid; and two-tone ones. I even made some with brown eggs, and I liked the olive green and funky blue tones they came out.

Here's where you would think that I'd get all sniffly and say that watching my kids color eggs is a million times better than doing it all alone and lonely and by myself.

But, I am not going to say that, because I enjoyed being really focused on dying the eggs in the quiet kitchen and they all look awesome and I am never, ever going to let anyone under 18 dye eggs in my kitchen ever again. So there.

I say, "no, no, no"

I'm having one of those internal battles over my own bedtime.  I know that since the kids are all asleep and I have to get up and get moving in six or so hours, I should go to sleep, too.  It would be the sensible thing to do.  But, there is this big and wide internet keeping me occupied for "five more minutes."

By the way; my kids? they think that five minutes is almost an hour.  Because of all the "We are leaving IN FIVE MINUTES." and "You can watch FIVE MORE MINUTES of teevee."  Totally my fault. 

John is in Los Angeles with friends to see a show. 

Tonight 7pm

Nurse With Wound >

Amoeba Music and Raash Records bring to Los Angeles... Nurse With Wound - in-store signing & performance with Steven Stapleton, Matt Waldron, Jim Haynes, John Contreras, Hazel Two Twiggs*** and additional guests.Come celebrate United Daries and Raash Records inaugural release... it's an enigma!!! More to be revealed as we countdown the days.

Steve Stapleton invited me to Barcelona.  I should probably give him one of my children or something, but he's got several of his own.  Maybe (chances are quite slim, though) he hasn't heard Amy Winehouse yet.  He will love her, capital L, I know.  Instead of a giving him a human or one of my limbs, I could just buy him a cd.

I bought plane tickets today -- just for me.  I'm going to Dallas and then Austin for my cousin's wedding in May.  The very next day, she and her man are moving back to Kenya, which is where they met, though neither of them are Kenyan.  It's a funny small world; they are both from the great state of Texas.  (I'm from there and it will always be home, even though in a lot of respects, I don't think it's so great.  I just always say "the great state of Texas," because I've seen too many movies that had Senate scenes.  Or, maybe it's from watching the national conventions where they vote to see who gets to run for president.  At this point, it just sounds right.  Also -- when I go to visit my family, I think there is a chance that one or more of them will discover my blog.  I'm not sure how some of my folks will take my Texas-denouncing (but only sorta in this very post -- it hardly counts!) and f-word using and pro-choice blogging, but perhaps they will let me know in the comments.  Won't that be exciting!)

I'm going to be gone for five days.  I would actually really, really love to bring my family on this trip, but the airfare alone would be $1800, and that's not any hotel or food or dress shoes.  They've got nice enough clothes, but the cute dresses and button down shirts and slacks with Chuck Taylor's won't pass.

Oh.  It seems that the battle is over as I am nodding off over my laptop.

***Dude, I introduced her to Steve: if she gets all famous, I totally want a cut.  (Hazel, if you've googled your way here, 1) Hi! and 2)  I AM KIDDING!!)   

silly me

I thought that as the kids got older I'd have more time to do with as I pleased.  I just keep getting busier (working from home) and busier (working in Sophie's class once a week) and busier (helping older kids with crazy-complicated homework projects) and busier (going to train to be a girl scout leader soon).

Speaking of busy -- must run get girls ready to go out into the world.