Today is the day.

I have to drink this.



And then get this.

I'm prepared this time.

We do not need any repeats of that.

'tis the season...

...for glittery Mary and Joseph...and their...reindeer.

The Haps.

Napping.



Eating.



Drinking.

Oh.

And lots of shopping.

I need a vacation from my holiday break. And my bank account.

Hope you all had as wonderful of a time with your family as I did with mine.

Cheerios!

We can grow things!

This morning my mom made frittatas with the spinach from our garden.

She also set off the house alarm when she went out the door to get the spinach.

She wanted to make us a surprise breakfast.

It worked.

Both the surprise and the spinach frittatas.

They were delicious.

Black Friday.

I am exhausted.

Shopping should be classified as a sport.

The stores weren't too bad. Lines are to be expected. If you get crabby about that then you should just stay home.

We found some really good deals. Laptop for the kid. Tea kettle. Quesadilla maker. Frames for my soon-to-be picture wall.

We also bought some really awesome new furniture for our front room. Most of it was on my list but there two good finds that weren't (goodbye to the dining room table and toasted pecan sofa, hello other dining room table and sofa that was 60% off and beautiful).

The dining room table and sofa will be here Sunday.

Most of the chairs won't be here until mid-December.

There is something wholly unsatisfying about dropping a lot of dough and walking out with just a slip of paper.

I'm counting the minutes until they arrive so I can see my vision in person.

I'm a lucky, lucky lady.

Thankful.

Full of thanks.

I am.

Even if it doesn't seem like it.

I am so very thankful.

For my family.

For my mother.

For my father.

For my husband.

Oh, my daughter.

For my brother and my sister and the people who love them.

For the roof over my head.

For the food on our table.

So very, very thankful.

And for you, dear reader.

Happy Thanksgiving.

I Covet

Hello, darling.

In toasted pecan, obvs.

Pretty, pretty pillows.

 To make the floor interesting. And for the dogs to pee on. Jerks.
















A lovely place for my beautiful new book.

And my coffee cup. Or shot glass. Either one. Or both. At the same time.

A new dining room table. Seats up to 8.

Elegant chairs for the lord and lady to rest their bums.

And some for the rest of the court. I'll need 6.

I know what you're thinking but I've seen them together and it is magic.

Do you like? Do you hate? Do I care?

Yes.

Obviously.



The real reason I'm writing this is that we were going to buy some of this today but the couch wasn't comfortable and my husband didn't think it was wise to spend that much money on a couch that wasn't comfortable.

Instead of discussing it like a rational person I got huffy and left the store and cried in the car because I'm a baby but mostly because my hormones are all out of whack and I have anxiety and take things very personally when I'm like this.

My poor husband.

I hate it when I act like a horrible wench. It makes me feel like I'm a terrible person who doesn't deserve anything in this world.

Blah.

My baby maker is broken.

I'm a sad, sad panda.

Blood tests came back today.

All signs point to Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome but the doctor can't confirm it until I get a pelvic ultrasound.

I'll have that next Tuesday.

I'm also flying next week.

So you know what that means, right?

My poor, poor vagina.

I don't really have a witty title for this.

Today's nablopomofo prompt is to tell your readers about what you are wearing. This one kinda creeps me out a little bit.

As if you really care what I'm wearing. Most of us are just happy that we are wearing ANY clothes let alone interesting ones.

But I will oblige because 1) it kind of relates to my adventures tonight and 2) I think there might be at least one of you sickos who might enjoy hearing me talk about what I'm wearing. Hi Honey!

I wore dress pants that were too big and a sweater that was too small with an underwire bra that was sticking into my boob all day and should have been thrown out eons ago along with the underwear that should joined them all because I avoid laundry like the plague. I paired this lovely "whatever is clean" ensemble with my favorite stinky pumps.

I'm thankful every day for my husband who does the laundry. He did some today and that means that mama won't have to subject herself to such humiliation tomorrow.

I'm sure I'll think of some other way to humiliate myself.

Kinda like I did today.

I had to go to the doctor unexpectedly to have my lady parts examined.

Because it was unexpected that means that I didn't prepare ifyouknowwhatImeanandIthinkyoudo.

If you don't it means that I didn't shave or bring socks.

My biggest problem was the shoes I wore that should have been thrown out months ago because they stink to high heaven when I take them off but I haven't been able to throw them out yet because they are cute. This is the same reason God makes babies cute so when they stink you don't throw them away. It's basic instinct, people.

I realized I was wearing my cutes stinky shoes about halfway to my appointment. Given that I was already 10 minutes late I decided I would give my feet a good body spraying before I got out of the car and hope for the best.

The reason this is a big deal?  If you don't know then you are probably not a lady. Because if you were then you would know that when you get your lady parts looked at they make you take EVERYTHING off. They don't explicitly say "take off your shoes" and I considered not taking them off but I thought it would be a little awkward for the doctor to examine me, completely naked, wearing a pair of snake skin pumps.

When I took off my shoes the stench was overwhelming. The body spray did not work. So I did what any respectable woman would do in that situation.

I washed my feet with the disposable wet wipes they have so you can freshen your lady parts.

I never wanted a pap smear to be over so quickly in my entire life. I kept thinking that she knew that I washed my feet with vagina wipes. I did my best to stuff the evidence as far down in the trash can as I could but it was hard because I didn't really want to stick my hand in too deep and risk touching something that would give me herpes.

My doctor came in the room and washed her hands.

She did her thing.

I was cautiously optimistic that I had been successful.

Until she washed her hands for the second time and kind of did a double take in the trash can.

That's when I realized that she probably uses this room all day and didn't have many other patients today being that it is a holiday week so it was pretty obvious that I was the only one who used all of the vagina wipes. I'm sure she was thinking that I didn't look that clean down there. Or perhaps my flowery smelling feet now made sense. I don't know. I don't care.

I don't want to think about it.

Stop making me talk about it already!

I normally don't have a hard time looking the gyno in the eye after she has examined my nether regions but this time?

I stared at the diagram on the wall.

The one I usually avoid.

The one of the pretty vagina.

I came home and washed the shame off of me by putting on my yoga pants and t-shirt.

I tossed the whole outfit in the trash.

Burning day is tomorrow.

Metaphorically speaking.

I never get tired of watching this.

Instead of telling you what I've been up to this past week (mostly because I've already told you) I thought I would share this video with you.

If you haven't seen it yet you are either not an iPhone nerd or you have a life outside of the Internet.





I don't care.



Hope you had a happy Sunday.

When you care enough to send the very best.

I could tell you these wild, fantastic tales about my day but I just don't have it in me.

It was a busy day.

I went shopping this morning to get new sheets for my guest bedroom and ended up getting new bedding for two other rooms as well.

My husband asked me to go to Lowe's to get a 2x4. I hope I never have to do that again.

Then we cleaned out our guest room and prepared it for my mom who is staying with us until she is able to manage stairs.

Our houseguest arrived.

We watched the first two Harry Potter movies and had dinner.

We're currently watching the third.

And, dear reader, for not abandoning me no matter how strange or boring some of the things that I've written might be, I have decided to give you this:




You're welcome.

My autobiography

I was born on a bitter winter night on the last day of January.

They dropped me on my head.*

I grew up.

Things happened.

I went to school.

More things happened.

I went to college.

Weird things happened.

I had a baby.

Beautiful things happened.

I finished college.

Nothing happened.

I got married.

Magical things happened.

I started a blog.

Things keep happening.

That's all.

For now.





*Disclaimer: I'm sure my mother is going to insist that they did not, ever, drop me on my head. It was my side. And they didn't drop me. I rolled off the bed.

----

This is a loose interpretation of the current prompt for NaBloPoMoFo that says to write the first paragraph of your autobiography but being the consummate over-achiever I decided I would just write the whole thing. It only took me like two seconds. I don't understand why people take so long to write books. Well, I understand why they take so long to write books (because they are actually explaining the things that happened), I'm not a complete idiot, you know.  I considered explaining the things that happened but it seemed like it would be a lot of unnecessary work. We all know that I would probably make up at least 30% of it anyway. Fine. 50%. Whatever. It's called artistic license, people. I'm a card carrying member.

I said member. 

Heh.

The 20% Post.

I will write this post in as much time as 20% of battery power on my Mac allows. Well, technically it should be the 18% post because I've figured (through some very advanced mathematical equations statistical geometry) that I need 2% to hit "publish".

I'm down to 19% and that was just one little paragraph.

Why not just plug it in, you say?

My power cord is downstairs and I am upstairs.

Does that need further explanation?

I guess I could use the neat-o Squarespace app on my iPhone but it's really freaking hard to write much of anything on my iPhone because of freaking auto correct. I spend half my time going backwards and erasing things and typing them and having them auto corrected again and going backwards and and and. It took me about two minutes to type "now" because it keeps changing it to "Noe" (capitalized, even in the middle of the sentence). I assume it must be a place because of the auto capitalization but I haven't figured out where it is yet (will you Google it for me? Thanks.) but apparently enough people go to Noe for it to be included in the iPhone auto correct dictionary.

Lord knows I already have a ton of gems in my text logs to submit to Damn You Auto Correct! but I wonder if they accept blog posts? If not, they should. Someone go tell them. Then tell me and I will write a long blog post using my iPhone and let auto correct auto correct it.

I went to work today. I went to visit my mom in the hospital. Neither one of those things are funny but I just thought you should know.

Ok. I'm at 15% but mostly because I had to step away to do something but I don't think you should know about it so I'm not going to tell you.

You know what I can't keep writing anymore. Well, I can. But I choose not to write anymore. Actually, I did write a ton of stuff but it was all shit so I deleted it.

Can you imagine how crappy it was if this (look up, look up, look down, jump around) is what I left you with?

I'm sorry that you probably used up about 5% of your own battery power just reading this drivel. I guess the moral of the story is when you use your battery power life as a way to force creativity there are no winners.

It's a lesson we both needed to learn.

You're welcome.



P.S. The spell checker on Squarespace should be our moral spelling compass. It does not recognize the word "Noe". Or the word "iPhone". In your face, Jobs.

Proof, kinda.

Dog #3 decided to jump off at the last second and stare at me creepily as I took a picture.

THE PLAGUE, DAY ELEVENTY-BILLION

I know, I know. You are sick and tired of hearing how sick and tired I am.

But.

I am.

Sick.

And Tired.

Damnit.

So in order to spice things up around here I decided it would be a brilliant idea to do some illustrations for you of my dogs flocking to my vagina. Mostly because I don't think anyone needs to see real photos of my dogs flocking to my vagina. Probably.

Did I mention that I came up with the idea for this post (and completed said post and illustrations) under heavy medications?

Vicodin and codeine, FTW!

I should clarify that they just don't flock to my vagina. Well, one of them does but I thought I would generalize as Vicodin and codeine give me enough pharmaceutical courage to channel my inner-Howard Stern, whom I despise.

Anyway.

If I'm on the couch for more than two seconds the dogs magically appear on my lap, next to me, or under me. Sometimes I don't even realize what has happened until it's over. I'm pretty sure they are trained ninjas. At least that is what I plan at screaming to the murderers when they try to break in to my house. TRAINED NINJA DOGS, ATTACK!!!

This is where they like to lay on normal days. The gorilla lays on top of my legs. The pig lays in my crotchal area. And the bear lays next to me, wedging herself between me and the next couch cushion, which, let's be honest, is not a lot of space.

I had to use the animal stamps so I didn't expose their secret identities. Or it may have had something to do with my limited drawing talent because when I attempted to draw them I ended up making my drawing-self fat in all the wrong places. Stop badgering me! NINJA DOGS, ATTACK! 


One days whilst when I am sick (or when it's really hot or I'm super grumpy) this is just a taste of what it feels like.

Magical creation made possible by a free paint program for the Mac called Tuxpaint that is specifically targeted to children and non-specifically targeted to simple-minded adults like myself.

You're welcome.





Not sponsored by Tuxpaint at all in any way shape or form (do you really think they would have ME promote their free software?)

Monday.

In the last 48 hours I've had about 4 hours of sleep.

I'd like to just chop of my head it hurts so much.

My mom's surgery went well. She'll be in the hospital for a little bit and I can't visit her because I don't want to give her the plague.

That makes me sad because I know if it were me in the hospital she would be there for me. She stayed every night with me when my kid was born, sleeping on a little chair/bed thing. But she didn't have the plague and I guess if she did she wouldn't have been able to do that for me, either.

Sigh.

The kid is also still sick and is running a slight fever and complaining of ear pain. Which means another day off from school for her tomorrow so she can go to the doctor. And I have to put on pants.

I never thought I would get so incredibly sick of my house because I'm such a hermit but I honestly can't wait until I am able to go somewhere (and not be ill - going to the doctor does not count) and do something instead of sitting on my couch, which has now become permanently molded to my butt.

I said butt. Hehe.

I wish I could be more witty and insightful but it's really hard when every major orifice on my face is leaking and I can barely see the computer screen through the haze.

When will someone invent the shot that just cures the cold virus? I might be willing to give up my deep dream cleanser for that.

I was going to say Cheerios! But I'm in much more of an Oatmeal mood.

So.

Oatmealios!

The Haps.

We are all still sick.

Really sick.

Sick as in we can barely move, barely breathe.

We don't even find fart jokes funny.

Also.

My mom went to the ER this morning with stomach pain and was admitted.

She's in surgery now.

Our Sunday, it hasn't been so great, to say the least.

Hope yours was better.

The Plague

It has descended unto my house.

Whatever the kid has finally took out my husband today.

And it's about to take me out, too. I don't even have the energy to go upstairs to get my laptop and am being forced to write this post using the squarespace app on my iPhone.

The Plague is threatening to make this nablomopofo thing difficult.

Thank You

Today is Veteran's Day and while I could write about my newest reading obsession (Hunger Games, I'm a little late to this craze) or watching 16 and Pregnant for the first time or my lack of sleep or being upset that my magical powers haven't come in yet, it just didn't seem right to me to do that on a day that that honors the men and women who have sacrificed so much to serve their country.

All gave some, but some gave all. Always remembered and never forgotten.

Baby Bird

Almost two years ago I had to start taking a different route into work.

I don't remember exactly what time of year it was when I came across it. I remember it being chilly. How cold it must have been as it laid on the cold cement taking its last breath. Or maybe it never took a breath at all. Maybe it never even had a chance to live before it had fallen out of his mama's nest.

The pieces of the egg were splattered across the sidewalk. The clear mucus from the membrane caked on the sidewalk. The little, tiny embryo exposed to the world.

I knew it was too late. I knew I couldn't help it.

No matter what I did, that bird was gone and couldn't be put back together again.

So I kept walking.

The next day it was still there.

And the next.

On the fourth day I didn't see it laying there. As I got closer I could see the embryo and egg were no longer there. But the mucus had dried to that concrete. You could see where the egg had made impact. You could see how it had shattered across the sidewalk. It had baked into the sidewalk.

The days passed.

There were many days that I would look for it. That trace of a life that had been cut so short. Sometimes I would tell myself that if I saw it then I would have a good day. I would put the success of my entire day on whether or not I saw the spot where that baby bird had landed.

There were many days I just walked by it, not remembering.

A few days ago I thought of it and looked for it.

It was gone.

I stood there. Searching.

I knew it was there.

I had seen it many, many times.

It had to be there. I had to see it. I had to.

But it was gone. Finally wiped away by the rain and the foot traffic of those who were passing through.

The last trace of the life of that little baby bird.

Gone.

Life was going on.

Mom Guilt, FTW!

Last night my kid wasn't feeling well and was having a hard time getting to sleep so I went in to lay down with her on her full sized futon and promptly fell asleep if you can call what I did sleeping as I was woken up by a combination of random coughing and being frozen to death throughout the night. The air conditioning was set on 72 and she had her fan blowing on the bed and was sleeping on top of the covers and I was too out of it to wrestle more than a tiny edge of the blanket to cover my right hand and left foot and also I didn't want to wake her as she really needed her rest and why the hell didn't I just get up and go to my own room you say?

Because I needed to be able to hear her breathe.

I still do that.

Here's The Thing.

When my husband travels, she sleeps in my room as I am afraid of the murderers and evil spirits. While I still don't sleep as well, I sleep better than I usually do knowing that she is right there and if we come under attack we can implement plan 23 quickly.

When she is sleeping in her own room even if I've already tucked her in and said goodnight I still go and check on her right before I'm about to go to sleep myself.

I can't just open the door.

I have to go over to her and put my hand on her back to feel it going up and down. Or if I can't reach her because she is tangled in blankets and dogs and whatever other things she has to have with her when she goes to sleep (like a cookbook) then I stand in her room, as still as can be, until I can hear her take a breath.

When she's sick I'm even more paranoid because she has asthma and it is always worse when she's sick. Also, sometimes when kids are sick it's not just that they want their mamas. Their mamas want them too. Unless they are vomiting. Then they will be just fine with daddy.

I am having a little bit of Mom Guilt today because I had to go to work and she is sick (and has been complaining about a sore throat for a few days and I think I may have let it gone on too long because when I got home from work yesterday she was asleep and this is the kid who would stay up until midnight every night if she could) and all of that just makes it worse. For me.

I know she's okay with dad. He is perfectly capable of taking care of her and in fact she prefers him to take her for shots and stuff because, well, I don't really know why but she just does. Maybe it had something to do with that time I held her down for the nurse to give her four shots.

Anyway. I'm the mom. I should be the one taking care of her but I'm here reading through boring reports and I know that I'm the only one bothered by it so I might as well put my big girl panties on and get over it.

Man, two days of big girl panties.

Not. Awesome.

Wherein There Is No Price I Am Not Willing To Pay for Sleep

Ok, before anybody gets their panties in a bunch over what I'm about to write please go look up the definition for the words humor, exaggeration and exhaustion.

Because this morning when I woke up all on my own at 5:45 a.m. I cursed the Gods (all of them even the mythological ones because now that I've read Percy Jackson I know they are out there) for the time change and I said to my husband that I wished it was the olden times when women didn't work and just spent the day getting drunk and eating bon bons and suffering an occasional beating or two because I thought that I could do that if it meant that I would be able to just stay in my dark room and cozy bed a little while longer.

He told me I was terrible.

As I laid as still as I could hoping that I suddenly developed magical powers that made time go slower, I heard the rain.

Then I told him that it would be nice if we went far back enough so that women couldn't vote either and that meant that I wouldn't have to make any decisions except how many olives to put in my drink.

He told me I was going to be late for work.

I resigned myself to that fact that my magical powers weren't going to be coming in today (maybe tomorrow?) and got out of bed.

As I went into the bathroom I told him that he needed to get up too.

Why?

Just. Because.

And then, in my head:

Because it's not fair that you worked from home last week and are working from home again this week and I'm not. That's why. Whine, whine, whine. Yes. I know that is what I am doing. I'll put on my big girl panties in a few minutes, okay?

When I was brushing my hair I also wondered (out loud) how computer systems are programmed so that people who are hourly and work at night get their full pay for that hour they lose.  How much would that suck if you got to work at 11 and are supposed to get off at 2 a.m. but then the time changes and suddenly it is 1 a.m. all over again? I might start singing "If I Could Turn Back Time" and then curse them (the employer, the Gods, etc.) because now you have to work a whole 'nother hour before you can go home and put on your fat pants (or for me my everyday yoga pants).

He reminded me I was going to be late.

I think he may have been trying to get rid of me.

I left my house to drive to work in the rain while he had to get the now 11 year old out of bed and ready for school.

And then I realized that he probably got the shorter end of that stick and I said to Baby Jesus and all the Gods in the land (in my head this time) that I was just kidding earlier about being the olden days just in case I was tempting fate and arrived to work to find a little pink slip on my desk.

Because a pink slip would mean that Mama would have to get the 11 year old out of bed this week and getting the 11 year old out of bed the week after a time change is not something that is joyful and happy and usually ends with me promising her that she can have candy for breakfast.

And we can't have that.

Can we?

Maybe?

The Haps.

I find that when I post every day and also work full time and also throw a birthday dinner party and also a birthday kid party all in one week that I don't really have a whole lot of time to do much else and therefore there is really not much to say for this weekly wrap up.

Actually there might be a few things I want to share but to be honest I'm really tired y'all and I can't even think straight.

Today we took the whole "Sunday is a day of rest" thing to heart.

We rested.

I hope you did, too.

Today was a terribly good, no bad*, completely awesome day.

Today was the kid's birthday party with her friends.

It was good. Nay, great. Nay again, AWESOME. Nay.

Every person who said they would be there was there. That made me happy.

They were all well behaved* and said please and thank you but more importantly than all that nonsense...I overheard one of the other kids tell my kid that "your mom is so cool."

The mom? Me. Yup. I'm cool.**

The kids loved the movie. MegaMind, highly recommend.

I talked with a few moms about our kids. It was really nice.

They had ice cream and my delicious cake pops. I still have about 50 left.

They drained our bank account playing in the arcade.

But it was all totally worth it.

Because once we were in the car my kid said, "You guys, I just. I just...have such a great family and great friends and I just love you guys so much. Thank you."***

We came home and I nerded it up with a little (6 hours) of Harry Potter Lego and the husband cooked dinner and the kid has a friend spending the night and so far they've only broken one thing (a vase) which is minimal in the grand scheme of things so I'm still calling this a good day.

Time for a book three of Percy Jackson and the Olympians.**

Adieu.

*Except when my kid took tearing off (with six other kids in tow) for the arcade without adult supervision and then later left without telling me to go to the party room.

**Remember, I'm cool according to a 10 year old, who is not related to me or compensated (well except for the movie and popcorn and pizza and ice cream and cake and arcade tokens) to say that.

***I will remind her that she said this when she tells me that everybody hates her and she hates us and ohmygod life is so horrible and awful and horrible. Times infinity. 

Sixteen

Dear awkward 16-year-old me,

This will be the year you get your license. Your dad will try to teach you how to drive a stick shift. You will cry. You will tell this story for the rest of your life because if you would have just tried a little harder and not been so afraid and frustrated you would have had a pretty sweet ride (1993 Honda Prelude, baby) and wouldn't have been reduced to driving your mother's minivan every time you needed to go somewhere. Le sigh.

In just a few short years you will barely speak to anyone from high school except through something that is kind of like a yearbook but it's on the Internet. For those that you don't "friend" you will still be able to find out what they are doing because they were too stupid to set their "privacy settings" (it'll make sense soon). You'll see that they aren't any better than you are now and it will make you wonder why the hell you spent so much time hiding in a corner fantasizing about being just like them. It will make you a little sad that you didn't nourish the good friendships you did have just because you thought it would make you less cool than you already were.

There will be a time when you will regret a lot of things.

You should have joined that club. You should have gone on that trip. You should have kept playing that instrument. You shouldn't have let your anxiety and fear get in your way so much.

The regret, it will pass.

You will become enlightened. You will believe that everything that happens gets you to where you need to be for that moment.

You will make peace with any decisions you have made.

But you will still kind of wish that you knew then what you know now.

That you are good. And pretty. And smart. And deserving.

Try to remember that every day of your life.

Love,

me

P.S. Listen to your mother. She's right. I know. It's probably hard to comprehend right now. But you have to trust me on this one.

Eleven.

Today you are eleven.

You are well on your way to becoming a young lady.

A young lady who likes to fart.

But a young lady, nonetheless.

I know sometimes you say that you hate me.

I know that you really don't.

I know this because when I was a little bit older than you I may have said that to my own mother once or twice. And I may have thought she had no idea what I was about or what was going on and couldn't possibly understand me. I would ignore her advice just because I could.

And then I got a little bit older and I started to melt a little bit.  Maybe my mother was right. Sometimes.

Then I had you and I realized that my mother was right the whole time and everything she did or said was because she loved me. She wanted to protect me, make me a better person and dear god why didn't I listen to her all those years???

But you have to come to that realization on your own. Everybody does.

We'll get through it.

Together.

You are my heart, dear child.

My wish for you this year is that no matter how angry you might be with me (or I with you) as we navigate things like puberty and personal responsibility and consequences and complex friendships and beauty and being different and DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN boys, is to please remember that I love you to the moon and back a million times.

Times two.

Times infinity.

Plus one.

Happy Birthday, Coo.

Trick or treat. Let me put up my feet. Give me something strong to drink.

I know I'm a little behind with posting Halloween stuff as well as removing Halloween stuff (like my Twitter avatar) but mama is busy.

My kid has never been much of a trick or treater.  For as far back as I can remember she just wasn't that interested. We would go to a few houses and then she wanted to go home to hand out candy. She enjoyed seeing all the costumes and when she was younger (especially during years 1 to 5) it was incredibly adorable to see her tell them how great or scary or pretty they looked.

This year we were going to do a trunk or treat thing which is actually a little disturbing (really, what if they chose trunk? Can we agree that putting kids in trunks is not okay?) but then a friend of hers from her old school invited her to go trick or treating with her.

The friend's mom told me she dresses up too so I quickly threw together a witch costume. Thankfully, I had a witch hat and a black dress.

Although my kid (politely) informed me that I could just wear my everyday clothes and still be a witch.

My husband went as a consultant who was home for the weekend. I know.

Right before we're about to leave I go to get the kid and she's wearing a black tank top and jeans.

Me: Um, where is your costume?

Her: I'm not going to wear it.

Me: What do you mean you're not going to wear it???

Her: It's itchy.

Me: You made me go to the Halloween store two nights in a row after work to find this costume and you had to have the black fairy wings and fake nails and gloves and teeth and shoes and I bought it all because you convinced me that without all those things the costume of a Vampire Fairy Princess would not be complete and WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU AREN'T WEARING YOUR COSTUME?!?!?

Her: IT'S ITCHY.

Me: I don't care!!!! Put it on! Or you're not going! (DOOR SLAM and STOMP).

I go back into my bedroom and lay on the bed because oh my god I'm going to freaking lose it.

Husband: What was that about?

Me: She doesn't want to wear her costume because it's itchy. Also, I think I might be dying.

Ok, fine. I wasn't dying. But my head was pounding because in those brief few seconds I ran it through my head:

She is going to spend the entire night complaining about how it is cutting into her skin and she is probably bleeding to death and I will tell her that is fine because she is supposed to be vampire-fairy-princess-thingy and they can't die from that because they don't really have blood in their bodies. And then she will get mad at me for being so cold and mean and I will say I'm not being cold and mean just factual and then she will cry or maybe I will cry and my husband will get mad at both of us and then someone (probably me) will say KNOCK IT OFF! DAMNIT, WE ARE GOING TO HAVE FUN TONIGHT!

Deep breath.

I know my kid is sensitive. Itchy clothes or too-tight socks or sleeves irritate her beyond belief. I have to force myself to remember that it is not her fault that she feels like that.

I composed myself before heading back into her room where the lace was probably already drawing first blood.

I told her she had to wear the costume but I would cut off the lace. But not the sleeves. And she agreed.

Then we were on our way. Finally.

With all of the drama already out of the way (except for a tiny bit when it was time to go and we were the worst parents in the world for not letting her stay at her friend's house to trade candy) the rest of the evening was shockingly fun. Even though her friend was way more into hitting every house possible while my kid kept telling her to "slow down, you almost ran over that little kid" and "don't run" and "say thank you" and "move back they are trying to take a picture" and "get out of the street!" and "is it time to go home yet?"

I was very proud of her polite behavior and safety consciousness and realized that even when I think she's not listening she is and if you say something enough they will get it and sometimes I need to be a little bit more understanding because she really is a good kid.

I also learned that perhaps when your child asks you if they can change out of their costume in the car BECAUSE IT SUDDENLY BECAME SO ITCHY SHE MIGHT BE DYING you probably shouldn't say "if you want to get naked in a car, be my guest" because there might be implications for that later.

Also, don't try to correct yourself by saying "I mean, just this one time, not all the time because you generally should be fully clothed in a car at all times and really only be naked in a car when Mommy is with you." just makes things super complicated and it might be worth listening to all of the complaining about the costume of death as to avoid awkward discussions about being naked in cars.



You're welcome.

I had a dream.

A really flipped up dream.

See how I didn’t say “fucked up”, Mom?

You know when you have a dream that is so real that when you wake up you are asking yourself if that really happened?

That was me. This morning.

It’s all jumbled together in my head but I think it started with helping a dog give birth. The weird thing is that there was no mama dog, just puppies.

Puppy after puppy.

I was surrounded by puppies.

There were people there too. I’m pretty sure it was my husband, my kid, my brother and my parents, but also people I didn’t really know but I think were from work.  We are all in my living room and these people keep handing me puppies after they are born from some ambiguous bitch (that’s not a swear…it’s a technical term for a female dog). The puppies are pooing EVERYWHERE. On the carpet, on the towels, in my hands. I can’t keep up with them. As soon as I put one down there are two more. And lots of poo.

I started freaking out because they are ruining my carpet so I asked everyone to rearrange my furniture so it blocked the puppies in the kitchen instead but they weren’t listening so I did it myself.  As soon as I was done moving the furniture and had the puppies blocked they started going outside using our in-wall doggie door. I’m relieved. They’re outside! They are pooing outside! This is wonderful! And as I'm reeling from the excitement that they are going outside to poo all by themselves and they are only minutes old I realize that there are only a handful of puppies in the backyard. Maybe 3 or 4. I start to panic because I KNOW there were more puppies. Like a hundred! Just a few minutes ago! I held them! Cleaned up their poo! I went outside to see where they went and found that they were all escaping through the fence! Seconds ago they were big enough to reach the doggie door and go outside but now they are small enough to escape through the fence?!

I’m start screaming at everyone to help me get the puppies because they are escaping and no one is listening to me.

The people are all sitting on the couches (that are now awkwardly facing the kitchen) and talking and talking and talking while I ran around in sheer panic trying to save all the puppies from being hit by cars.

PANIC. HEART-THUMPING. RED-FACED. PANIC.

Suddenly I find myself sitting on a bed, causally chatting with my personal assistant, Gilles Marini (Luc from Brothers and Sisters) asking him about his stint on Dancing with the Stars when I realize that we are late for a meeting and have to leave immediately. We walk a few feet and arrive at my office.

Gilles Marini goes through the door.

When I try to go through the door it has turned into this tiny little hole in the wall that only a small child or little person could fit through. It’s shaped like a mouse hole and made out of Legos. I keep telling Gilles Marini that I need the cookie that says "Eat Me" to make me smaller and he laughs at me.

I get angry at Gilles Marini and am afraid that I'm going to miss the meeting so I get on my belly and attempt to scoot through. At the same time I'm yelling Gilles Marini that he better not be looking at my boobs because my shirt is now pulled taut from struggling to get through this little hole (no pun intended) and I’M MARRIED FOR GODS SAKE. When I finally get through he is standing there laughing at me and telling me that he IS looking at my boobs even though I expressly told him not to and this just makes me even madder.

GILLES MARINI, THIS IS YOUR FIRST WARNING!!!

We rush into the meeting and my employee, (who is a girl from elementary school and even though I know her as an adult on facebook in real life she is sitting there as I remember her in third grade) is talking to someone saying “pretend that Mickey Lark never worked here how would you make this process work?” and I’m mortified because Mickey Lark left on semi-bad terms and her best friend, Liz Lemon, is sitting right next to me! So I try to explain to Liz that my childlike-adult friend from elementary school didn’t mean that Mickey Lark was a horrible person just that we were pretending she never worked here. A fresh start. New perspective. To make things more efficient and synergized.

And then my dream self is talking in her head saying that she will have to do twenty lashes later for using corporate buzz words.

When the meeting is over I remember that I have puppies to save and wonder how could I have forgotten that!?  I run to the door and the damn thing is even smaller than the first time! I try to go through it anyway because I NEED TO SAVE PUPPIES!

I can barely fit through.

I’m trapped.

I’m trapped in a little Lego mouse hole.

And then more pieces start appearing automagically making the hole smaller and smaller and it’s crushing me. I’m screaming “THE LEGOS ARE KILLING ME!!!!!! HELP!!!!!” and no one helps me, not even Gilles Marini, who is supposed to be my personal assistant.

Then I woke up. Because we all know that if you die in your dreams you die in real life and apparently it wasn’t my time to go.

What was my dream telling me?  Was it that I feel helpless at home and my job (which I love and adore for its grand paycheck and excellent benefits) is really slowly crushing my soul? Or maybe I just need to lay off the sleeping pills and Harry Potter Lego for the Wii? (P.S. I’m at 92.9%...I can’t!)

Pumpkin, fruit* of my heart.

The fall is my favorite time of the year. There are so many reasons to like it...the hot hot heat of the horrible hotness (usually) goes away and is replaced with cool breezes (except if you live in Southern California like I do where this week is supposed to reach the 90's!) and every month is filled with exciting holidays and family and friends and pumpkin.

Yes, pumpkin.

I love pumpkin. Pie, coffee, rolls, and now...yogurt.

I kid you not.

One of my favorite frozen yogurt places in all the land just added a new flavor called "pumpkin spice".  As soon as I saw it I knew I had to try it. I got my little sample cup and filled it to the brim. And. OMG. The minute that tiny speck of creamy goodness hit my tongue I knew I had to have it. Sorry, peanut butter frozen yogurt. Pumpkin spice has replaced you in my heart. I didn't even sully it with chocolate sauce or any other accouterments. I'll have the pumpkin spice virgin-style. Please. (Is that even a thing? To order stuff virgin-style? I'm thinking not based on the responses of those around me.)

Seriously. To add anything else to its creamy goodness would have been an outrage. Worse than Christine O'Donnell being elected to office. Probably.

It was like the most perfect pumpkin in the world, bright orange and round, no bumps or bruises, had been combined with the cream from the Queen of the Cows. And when it was blended together the heavens opened up and there wasn't just one rainbow, but two. A double rainbow all the way. Almost a triple.

Then my husband said, "you know they use the worst pumpkins to make that stuff - the good ones go to the pumpkin patches."

And my kid told me I was "weird."

It's like they don't even know me.



*I wasn't sure that pumpkin was a fruit...I thought it might be (because of the seeds and the vine) but it being on the ground (or in my parent's case - on top of the patio chair) kind of confused me...thank goodness for Google.