Monday, November 30, 2009

rewarding my wording

I don't know if you guys have picked up on this yet, but I thrive on rewards.

When I was a kid, a report card studded with A's earned me a trip to Red Lobster for all-I-could-cram popcorn shrimp, which earned me two hours of agony in the bathroom. But it was so worth it. Still is. Mmmm. Shrimp.

And when I grew so old that my parents ceased to reward me, I took on the challenge of rewarding myself.

I'm really good at it, actually.

When I reached my first post-partum goal weight of 150 pounds, I bought this amazing necklace by my friend Alice of Alicia Istanbul Designs:

I wear it for approximately 50% of my waking time, and it reminds me of satisfaction. The satisfaction of fitting into smaller jeans, actually.

Then I started writing FERRYTALE, the book that I'm now trying to publish. I always wanted to write a book and never thought I would. When I hit 100 pages, I forced Dr. Krog to take me out for Mexican food and margaritas and a slice of cake. That felt really, really good. Finishing the book was actually pretty anticlimactic after that.

And today, I'm rewarding myself again. I hit page 50 of my new book, working title SCRITCH, and I decided to buy a necklace I've been ogling for a while by polishedtwo on Etsy.

I already have a gorgeous pottery shard necklace from this shop, and I adore it.

This piece speaks to me on several levels, and I plan on wearing it like a jersey while I barrel through this book.

I'm also working on another custom piece from Istanbul Designs, because handmade jewelry is a great motivator. Maybe it'll be ready about the time I finish Scritch, and then it will ignite my querying with the holy fire of awesomeness and propel me into publishing.


And in case you're wondering, when I actually sell a book, I definitely plan on rewarding myself. I want to transform my art studio/storage room into a writing and relaxing room. Built-in bookshelves, Ikea chairs, a soft rug, and a desk that wasn't purchased from the Athens, GA Goodwill for $5.

That's my dream.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

TheTA momita el grande

I was tagged by the lovely Leigh over at Leigh vs. Laundry to participate in the Theta Mom challenge. The ancient legends say that "Theta Moms, The True, Authentic Moms. [The-T-A] are authentic because we live authentic lives. Life isn’t perfect and neither are our kids."

According to the rules, I now offer five reasons that I am a TheTA Mom.

1. I live an authentic life. I have a happy marriage with a man respect, admire, and love to torture with garden gnomes. I have two marvelous children who make me laugh until albino coffee comes out of my nose on a daily basis. I visit my parents and my grandparents and make time to play with my friends. I paint paintings and write novels in between diapers and making peanut butter sammiches. I lead a life of duty entwined with passion.

2. I'm an authentic mom. I try to wear my faults on my sleeve and avoid putting on airs. I never fart in front of company. If anyone thinks my nose ring is magnetic, they're welcome to give it a tug. I'll tell you just about anything, from the stories of my kids' births to the most embarrassing moment(s) of my life. Most of my purses come from Target, and most of my jewelry comes from Etsy.

3. My life isn't perfect. I woke up this morning and snarked at my husband and kid, then apologized and blamed creative fervor. My son went to bed with pears in his hair. My dining room is clean only because I moved everything in it into my studio, and now I'm trying to find a different room to store my amassed crap where I won't have to see it as much. I'm not always happy with my body. My car is usually a mess. And I don't even go by my legal name.

4. My kids aren't perfect. My older child wears a dirty leotard that's a size too small for 95% of her time at home. My younger child likes to take off his socks and toss them in the car, so he's often barefoot, which isn't horrible for a 1 year old, but old ladies still give me hell. Neither of them wants to go to sleep tonight, and I'm letting my husband take care of that while I blog.

5. I can cook a whole turkey, all by myself.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

Thanks, Leigh!

Saturday, November 28, 2009

"so that's you how you do it" saturday

I wish I could do a "Work in Progress Wednesday" or "Half Naked Thursday" or whatever the cool artists do, but right now, my main art is writing a new book.

I think you guys would be really bored to hear about how I burrow into my bed with a laptop every night and nag Dr. Krog to turn down the XBOX so I can write 3 pages before he forces me to play drums to "Carry On, My Wayward Son" on Rock Band 2 until I collapse in exhaustion.

And that's why I'm so excited about today, when I did a huge painting on the windows at a local recreation center. I've painted these windows for over ten years. I've done snowmen playing soccer, moose playing basketball, opossums ice skating, and elves playing baseball.

This year, I went with an easy design, because my mom could only watch t.rex for so long before her back snapped in two.

Here's the blank canvas-- the freshly cleaned windows.

Here's the first step-- drawing out the scene in black tempera paint. Keep in mind that it has to be done backwards, since the important view is from outside of the building. There is no plan, no projector, and no eraser. Totally freehand every year.

This park is big on sports, so I did a different snowman in each window bay. Their heads are various sports balls-- baseball, football, tennis, soccer, softball, basketball. I still feel kinda weird that the soccer one doesn't have eyes.

There they are, all 6 outlines.

Then I did the words underneath, which is always hard, because they have to be attractively divided by 6. I've tried everything over the years-- "Happy Holidays", "Peace on Earth", "Merry Christmas", but they all end up with 15 or 16 letters and spaces. So annoying.

This year, I went with "Joy to the World", and I messed up. See it up there? That J is frontwards, which is actually backwards. Three wet paper towels later, and it was all fixed up.

There it is with all the snow filled in. White is the thickest color and blocks the most sun, so you can see that I haven't applied it thickly. To keep it from being a huge bank of white, I added a purplish-blue to the snow bank beneath the snowmen.

There he is from the inside. Mr. Baskethead.

I start with the basic colors-- red, yellow, blue, white, black-- and mix the intermediary colors to make the scene more unified. I also add a little bit of white to every color except for black, because otherwise the colors are a little too translucent and stained-glass looking. Then I fill in the spaces like a coloring book. Instead of painting in the sky, I just did dozens of little snowflakes in white with a small brush.

Here's the entire bank of windows, finished, from the inside. The inside is always messier and uglier, because you can see every brush stroke and overlap.

Plus, it's difficult to photograph, thanks to all the weird lighting and glare.

Here it is from the outside, finished:

The photos are much better at night, so we'll make a family trek over there this week for a good image. With the lights out inside and the sky dark, it's just beautiful. That's the cruelly ironic nature of window painting-- it always looks better if no one is around to see it or touch it.

Four hours and $30 worth of paint yields a merry view.

If you're interested in painting your own windows, here are my tips, gleaned from years and years of practice:

0. Obviously, paint on the inside. It's prettier from the outside. And the paint is water soluble, so rain/water basically melts it.

1. Use good quality tempera paint. My favorite is from Blick Studio.

2. Use cheap, brand new brushes. I like to buy a brush roll from Blick for $12.99 that includes 6 sizes of flats and six sizes of rounds. The bristles need to be new and soft, as old or hard bristles will streak the paint.

3. Start with black and make outlines, then wait until they dry and fill them in.

4. Always add a little white to the other colors to make them more opaque and flowy.

5. If you're not accustomed to writing backwards, write your message on white paper with a black marker, then hold it up to the light backwards and copy it onto the glass.

6. If you make a mistake, or when you're ready to clean it off, all you need is water. Use wet paper towels, wet cloth towels, a spray bottle, whatever. Tempera supposedly doesn't stain, but it still pays to be careful. You can use garbage bags to protect floors or furniture.

So that's how you do it!

Or how I do it.

Or how I did it, really. So go forth and... paint snowmen... or something.

Friday, November 27, 2009

if you give a kid a cookie

If you give a kid a cookie, she'll ask, "Mommy, why's that cookie got strawberry innit? Why does strawberry start with "S"? I like the letter S. It looks like a snake. Snakes say "sssss". And it looks like a worm, too. Worms are kinda sticky, you know, mom. I saw a worm in the rain one day at grandma's house and I gave some grass for he to eat. That was really nice of me, wasn't it, mom? Do you think tomorrow we can usually go to the playground with my friend, and I can wear long pants but roll them up and wear a short skirt and some Crocs? Would that be a good deal? And since I ate all my cookie, maybe I could have a vitamin, but I can have two vitamins, and one can be a purple hippo, okay, mama? How's that for you, mama? Vitamins will make me grow up big and strong, and I will jump so SO high, and daddy takes vitamins, too, but he is already very big, and one day when I am a big, big, bigger kid, a grown up, I will marry a boy I haven't met yet, and we will play a video together, and I will be a princess-artist-doctor, when I am a grown-up, and that will be pretty good. Maybe later, we can play that game where I sing the song about the tiger."

And then you'll say, "How was that cookie, buddy?"

And she'll say, "I didn't really like it. Would you get me some raspberry yogurt and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and some peaches and a glass of milk, please? And also an apple cookie."

And then you'll pull your hair out of your head and try to hide in the crisper behind the celery and decide that you should never give your kid a cookie again.

Makes as much sense as that "Give a Moose a Muffin crap, doesn't it?

Thursday, November 26, 2009

10 thankfulnesses

Here are 10 things for which I am thankful:

1. That I was able to successfully roast my first turkey, and that everyone found it delicious, and no one tried to give it to the imaginary dog, and no one got food poisoning. And we ate at 1, so you'd know by now. I'm also thankful I remembered to remove the giblet bag 2 hours into roasting, and that no one noticed the nasty neck crammed in its ass. Oops.

2. That I got to host my first Thanksgiving in my own dining room with my family, which was wonderful. I used to think I'd be an adult when I bought my first couch. I've still never paid for a couch, so I'm still a kid. But maybe hosting one's own Thanksgiving makes one a sort-of adult. I don't know. I feel very... mature. Like, I guess. Whatever.

3. That my parents watched the kids so that Dr. Krog and I could go see a very serious and masculine movie about deeply moving subjects that plumb the depth of human feeling. P.S. Team Jasper and the Sparklepires 4eva!

4. That Omelet is still alive. RIP, Dr. Beardface. I'll dig you out of the gravel tomorrow.

5. That my son waited until he was under my mother's care to take his 12-pound dump.

6. That Dr. Krog bought Rock Band 2, and we're having a great time playing together after the kids go to sleep, and it has several of my favorite songs from my youth, such as Drain You and Where Did You Go? Oh, mid-1990's. How me and my flannel shirts miss you.

7. My awesome kids. As I put t.rex to sleep for his nap, I was transfixed by a soulful duet as Dr. Krog and the Biscuit performed "Eye of the Tiger" together on Rock Band. Dr. Krog does guitar, while the Biscuit got 57% accuracy atonally crooning "Eye in the Tiiiiiiiiiiiger" repeatedly into the microphone. It brought tears to my eyes.

8. That I have exactly the life I want. Married to my best friend, mother to my favorite monsters, loving family nearby, comfortable house, passions to pursue, dreams to follow.

9. That I chose the correct side of the wishbone and now get a wish. SUCK IT, BISCUIT! MAMA NEEDS TO GET PUBLISHED!

10. That I get to wear argyle knee socks and cowboy boots. And that I get to eat the black bean brownies I made today, even though my entire family thought they tasted, and I quote, "wrong somehow". That I'm going to go learn how to play Rock Band drums tonight. That coffee tastes so good in the morning. That I get to go to Black Friday tomorrow and watch the festivities and score major fruuuuugal points. That Avatar is going to be an awesome movie. That I get to drone on and on and on, because it's my blog, and I can do whatever I want, even if it involves going past 10 things and just naming all the tiny minutiae that make me happy all the time. You can't stop me! No one can stop me! I'm a wild stallion! I'M QUEEN OF THE WORLD!!!!!

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

truth in blogvertising

I've been roaming 'round the web, trying to find tips on spiffing up my "serious author" blog. The problem is that while I'm serious about writing and getting published, I'm simply not a serious person, nor do I write serious books. I'm a hard worker who meets deadlines and is very professional, but I somehow manage to simultaneously be a complete goof.

It's a difficult sentiment to express via the first 4 seconds of blog-browsing.

The banner up there is my current favorite.

But here are some runners-up in the contest for "how to express myself as a not-serious serious writer of not-serious books that will make serious dollarz".

First up, the shmoozy one:

If that doesn't hook 'em, I'll compare myself to other writers and trends:

If they're still not biting, let's try the unexpected. Complete honesty.

On the other end of the spectrum, it can be good to stand out:

Although I've heard threats can often backfire int he publishing world. Maybe I should have gone with zombies there.

They like zombies.

Lastly, for the 100% truth in advertising set:

Sadly, desperation rarely works.

Onwards and upwards, friends. Once this little parasite is safely asleep, I'm on to page 8 of my new book, working title SCRITCH.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

a little day called hokomo

Today, the Biscuit invented her own holiday.

I guess she got so sick of me rejecting the name "Omla" for everything from our new fish to the calico cat in the street to her brother's toy car that she had to stake out her imaginative territory.

Let me tell you about Hokomo Day.

Hokomo is pronounced a lot like "Kokomo", the song from Cocktail that we used to sing in fifth grade to annoy the gym teacher. Remember when Tom Cruise was a hot young star and not a crazed religious-alien midget?

But that's not important now. You need to know about Hokomo Day.

* Hokomo Day celebrates running, jumping, and sometimes spinning around.

* The official food of Hokomo Day is green Goldfish crackers.

* Presents are given on Hokomo Day, and those presents are umbrellas.

*Hokomo Day is in late Spring-- June 20, to be exact. But it happens next week.

You are now prepared to observe Hokomo Day. Go forth and spin around or something, but not while holding your Hokomo umbrella, and not after eating a bunch of green Goldfish, because I'm pretty sure putrid green vomit and poked out eyeballs are not part of the revelry.

Monday, November 23, 2009

heavy petting. or not.

Oh, yes, friends. We haz fish.

I don't know why, really.

Maybe because I want a dog, but without the constant trips outside and chewing and sprinkling on the carpet and I'm sorry we have to go home, but Patches has to piddle.

Maybe because I want a cat, but without the claws and the meowing and the hairballs on the stairs and the No, Dr. Krog, it most definitely is your turn to do the litterbox, or so help me, I'll dump it in your sock drawer.

I even thought about getting a bird, but then I thought about all that incessant tweeting. And the little pooflickies on the wall. And the fact that I would have to turn up the thermostat above 58 degrees.

So not worth it.

And that's why we now have Omelet and Dr. Beardface.

That's Dr. Beardface. The brave one. I named him after one of the characters on Scrubs because he has a beard-shaped spot on his face. And it makes me giggle a little every time I say Let's go feed Dr. Beardface.

That's Omelet. Omelet is the shy one that's still hiding behind a plant. The Biscuit named her. It went like this:

Me: What do you want to name your fish?
The Biscuit: Dr. Barleyhead.
Me: You can't name your fish Dr. Beardface, because I named *my* fish Dr. Beardface. Think of a new name.
The Biscuit: Um.... Omla.
Me: That's not a real word. Can you think of a good name?
The Biscuit: Um... Om... Om-ah-la... Ombla... Ombleeeee....
Me: Are you trying to say omelet?
The Biscuit: Uh... yeah. Omblit.
Me: Great! Your fish is named Omelet?
The Biscuit: No, her name is Dr. Bardleface.

And here is the proud new pet owner with her fishy friends.

Anybody want to place a bet on the lifespan of our aquatic amis? Even without considering the nitrogen cycle and the inherent genetic luck of animals that cost 27 cents each, I have my doubts as to their future home in a koi pond.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

the year of the terrible lizard

There's the cake, for people who are just here for the cake. My very favorite pumpkin yellow cake with homemade icing. Cake Wrecks would be proud of those poo-spiral wheels, am I right?

Tomorrow is t.rex's birthday, and today our family came together to celebrate our favorite little man. We partied at my parents' house, because I wanted to avoid the stress of a big party and lots of cleaning. My parents rock.

Presents were loads of fun.

Unlike his sister, who spent her first birthday not touching her presents, t.rex is a good investment. He had a great time opening and playing with a variety of awesomely noisy trucks.

And then the cake. I'm a mean lady, and t.rex has never had anything more sugary than bananas and Cheerioes.

He didn't know what to do with the cupcake and almost threw it on the floor, so I stepped in to introduce my boy to my most very favorite food.

But then he started to get the picture.

Wait, there's something missing.

The picture just doesn't quite capture how much the boy likes cake.

Let me see...

Yeah, that's better.

Lastly, once all the great-grands and grand-aunts had retired to Diabetic Comaville, we just sat around and watched the boy play and read what passes for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution these days. So that took about 2 minutes. HEY-O!

And what's the moral of today's birthday party?

1. I love cake.

Happy Birthday, Rex! We love you!

Saturday, November 21, 2009

dreams 4 sale!

So yesterday, I asked a deep and probing question, and the overwhelming response was...


Which is totally cool. This isn't really a "deep and probing" sort of blog. So today, I'm going to ask for advice instead and hope that you guys will boss me around.

See, my art studio is a mess. Half-finished paintings, old paintings, materials, doodads that would work well in collages that I'll never do. I need to clean out, re-organize, and make it a place where art can be made, books can be written, and dreams can come true. I have this mental image of bare walls, Ikea chairs, and built-in bookshelves. Mmmm.

So here's my question: What do I do with all the old artz?

Should I store it? Sell it? Whitewash it and repaint? Should I have some sort of studio sale or take the time to put them up on Etsy, or what? Shipping would be egregious for the bigger ones, so local is better. But I want it out. I'm just not big on holding on to the past, and I need the space.

Here's one wall:

Here's another wall:

Our college degrees are not for sale. Not for all the bottles of Goldschlauger in the world.

Studies, Etsy-type stuff, playing around, leftovers. All sorts of stuff from about 2000 to now. I went through a very colorful period for a while there.

Ideas? What would you do with all this art?

And please don't mention fire. That would make me a sad panda.

p.s. That first painting, the oil of me screaming, is called "Underneath All This Suburban Tranquility, I Am Fierce".

p.p.s. If you only come here for the gratuitous baby shots, here you go. Mr. Chipmunk Cheeks turns 1 on Monday. This time last year, I was feeling pretty weird and preparing to force down some chicken wings and go to sleep. And then it was all SPLOOSH!, and then we were at the hospital, and then I was all UUUGGGHHH!, and then there was t.rex.

p.p.p.s. If you commented earlier and your comment disappeared, or if you seem to remember something entirely different appearing in this post, you're crazy. CRAZY!*

* Or Dr. Krog may have decided that I was revealing too many personal details about our life and asked me to remove said personal details, which I graciously did. Anyway, here's the baby.

Friday, November 20, 2009

two serious questions (no, really!)

Here's a new one: I'm going to answer two serious questions that I found by following the White Rabbit from Twitter to more Twitter to a Chicken Bandit to here. Of course, my answers to two serious questions involve how I no longer take anything seriously, but you should expect that by now.

If you have a blog, I double dog dare you to answer these questions and link up in the comments, as I'm interested in hearing your responses.


1. What do you know to be true, unquestionably beyond doubt, certain with every cell of your being, completely, passionately, righteously certain?

That things work out for the best. That fathomless hope is rewarded. That being happy is the best revenge. That even bad art is better than no art. That passion gives life meaning. That living in the moment makes me happier than living in the past or the future. That taking a bath every night before bed is marvelous. That I believe in the infinite goof. That laughter can't help but help.

2. What was the dumbest thing that you used to believe?

That everything mattered or meant something. That art and literature were worthless unless they were constantly plumbing the tragic depths of the human soul. That everything was serious and dramatic. Now I subscribe to Tom Robbins:

I believe in nothing; everything is sacred. I believe in everything; nothing is sacred.

And I'm a lot happier

How about y'all?

Thursday, November 19, 2009

woman----> kitchen

I have a very peculiar relationship with my kitchen.

It's a little like that old nursery rhyme: When I'm good, I'm very very good, but when I'm bad, people fall over dead with rock-hard gnocchi lodged in their throats.


That picture up there is my current favorite lunch: firm tofu dusted with cornstarch and fried in olive oil, eaten with steamed broccoli. Doesn't make a lot of sense, really. Fried hormone blobs with healthy veggies. But I need the health of the broccoli to make me forget the nutritional fail of the tofu, which is just so deliciously crispy.

And last night, I had a venison roast in the crockpot while making roasted butternut squash gnocchi. One turned out delicious, the other looked like a dog ate a cinnamon bun and barfed it into a vat of butter. Methinks the gnocchi needed a little more flour.

In any case, I need to build a more adult kitchen. It's a shame that my bridal shower occurred 7 years before I had any idea of what I needed in a kitchen to follow the simplest of recipes. If magic kitchen elves came knocking, I would request:

1. an enameled, cast-iron Dutch oven
2. an immersion mixer
3. a plastic, easily cleaned mandoline
4. a blender with a glass thingy that things blend in
5. a food processor with "pulse", which is necessary for half the recipes in the world
6. more spatulas
7. a coffee bean grinder
8. a new Pampered Chef sideways can-opener
9. pretty canisters that sit on the counter and keep coffee fresh
10. a chef

Did I miss anything? What's your can't-do-without kitchen implement?

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

in which i weep

From time to time, I think about the Acknowledgments page of my book, which is totally going to get published, because an agent is going to email me... now. Or maybe... NOW. Or maybe if I turn around and don't really think about it, and then go check on the roast and make sure the kids are breathing, and...


Nope. Dangit.

Anyways, I think about how much fun it will be to thank all the people who have helped me along the way. My beta readers, my family, you guys. But one of the first batters on my all-star team is The Coffee Park, a marvelous coffee shop where they provide moms like me with delicious coffee and tea while entertaining our children.

Except now, it's "provided", as in past tense, as in today was mysteriously their last day.

And we have no idea why. The owners slyly deflected that question again and again, nodding conspiratorially at the shady foursome taking up the comfy chairs and heatedly discussing a folder full of paper. New owners? New franchise?

We don't know.

What we do know is that with practically no notice, our favorite hangout is closing indefinitely. The sweet girls in the Treehouse who know our children, know their favorite books, and can even determine whose socks are whose... those sweet girls are out of jobs. My favorite chai latte will disappear into the ether. I will have to relocate my monthly babywearing meeting to some other, less wonderful place where both of my children can be contained while I pontificate. And I can never ever get pregnant again, because I won't be able to hand my kids off when I'm 36 weeks along and at the scream-till-you-pee point and just want to read Breaking Dawn and drink some tea in peaceful silence, dadblastit.

I am distraught.

I was looking forward to the line in my Acknowledgments, something along the lines of:

Many thanks to Roy, Kate, Jill, and the wonderful girls of the Treehouse at The Coffee Park in Marietta, Georgia, without whom this book would never have stretched past 40 pages or gone through six (or more) edits. Thank you for providing a magical haven for busy moms to rediscover themselves and each other while our children are happily distracted.

So I'm saying it now. Thanks, guys. You did me a great service, and I will miss you.

Monday, November 16, 2009

fear and loathing

First of all, I owe you a picture of my cute new shoes, but it's a bad picture, because Dr. Krog is not the best photographer in the world. It's one of the only things he's *not* good at, mainly because he doesn't care about photography. But that's not what we're here to talk about.

What hump?
you ask.


Let me tell you a little secret.

I think I might have a hump.

And not the good kind, like Fergie has.

The kind that's not at all Fergilicious.

Like, one day, I'm going to be one of those little old ladies with a hunchback.

I hate and loathe the hump.

Sometimes I think about having surgery. Having myself dehumped. I wonder if a surgeon could suck it out with a liposuction thingy, or if it's made of something tougher, like gristle.

I think everyone has some little secret point of self-consciousness, whether it's physical or mental. Some tiny chink in the armor of our confidence. And people can make fun of my hairy arms or my sausage fingers or my pathetic baby toenails all they want, so long as no one ever publicly acknowledges the remotest possibility of my having something that could possibly be called a hump, because I would go home and cry and write bad poetry about it.

Anyway, now you know why I will never have short hair.

And why I feel compassion for camels.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

unruly nomventure

We had a fun-filled family adventure today, thanks to my dear and talented friend, Carrie, who invited us to help celebrate her daughter's birthday.

I took loads of photos, because the colors at Imagine It!, the Children's Museum of Atlanta, are psychedelic. But today, I'm going to focus on food-related photos, because they make me laugh. Like that one at the top.

Johnny Rockets.

Can I get a NOM NOM NOMlellujah?

Their burgers. Their onion rings. Their nearly-nuclear Fanta Orange.

We all indulged quite a bit.

Seconds after this photo was taken, the Biscuit was shocked and dismayed to find a piece of banana in her banana split. She spit it back into the bowl in disgust and thereby ruined her chances of further shared desserts, because half-chewed banana ruins EVERYTHING.

And then there's the smallest, fattest, most toothless member of our family, who made an enormous mess, manhandled his friend's French fries, and broke my favorite necklace for the second time, sending me like a discombobulated badger to poke around under other people's tables for bits of turquoise.

But we forgive him, because he's funny, and because he has a really cute wave right now. I have failed to capture it on camera. It is the Nessie of hand gestures.

And, lastly, here's an epic battle. Long ago, in a bakery far, far away...

Darth Baker and Luke Breadwalker fought for the mighty cabbage thingy in the swamps of Benchdom. And there was much rejoicing by Ewoks everywhere.

More tomorrow. More that is unrelated to food. I can't do more today. I'm sorry.

The captions simply take too much out of me.

I'm going to go swoon and drink some Emergen-C and try to recover from all the fun.

Thanks, Carrie and family! We love you guys!

Saturday, November 14, 2009

1 to 10

As in ratings.

Weezer's Raditude album: 9.25

Pearl Jam's Backspacer album: 6

that one song on Backspacer that I've listened to 1000 times: 10

the roast beef sandwiches at the baby shower tonight: 10

the mashed potatoes, eaten with the sandwiches: 10

the fact that I got dill stuck between my teeth and had to use
my earring to get it out, even though that's pretty gross: 2

the awesome new shoes I bought to wear to the shower: 10

the other awesome new shoes I bought thanks to the Rack Room BOGO sale: 8

the fact that I went shoe shopping and my toddler didn't have a tantrum: 10

the fact that Dr. Krog approves of shoe shopping: 100

the broth I made from last week's turkey ta-ta carcass: 10

the fact that I have no idea what to do with all this awesome broth: 3

the fact that I did the entire family's laundry today: 9

the fact that I now have to put up 60 pounds of laundry tomorrow: -8

playing with my kids as I took down Halloween decorations today: 10

using a shovel to scrape up the moldy, sluggy remains of the pumpkin: -2.37

how cute Dr. Krog looked all dressed up tonight: 10

how pregnant the poor mom of twins looked at 24 weeks: 10

how cute I felt in a dress and new shoes and wearing my new ring: 9

how cute I feel any time I leave my kids with my mom: 10

how awesome my mom is for watching my kids: 1089274646372904.4

how much I love sleeping: 10

how much I like waking up: 1

how much I like breakfast: 10

how much I need to quit thinking of things I like and go to sleep: 10

G'night, dear friends. Tomorrow I'll show you my cute new shoes.

Friday, November 13, 2009

unruly visual dictionary

The unruly children present:
A Visual Dictionary

Anyone who buys a used leotard for $1.50 and spins around a lot


Big Kid:
Someone who stays up late, has special treats, rides a bigger bike, jumps very high, runs so so fast, has more frequent birthdays, and doesn't have to wear pants under their dress, even on very cold days. Under further questioning, I learned that one became a big kid at 6, or possibly 9, or maybe even eleventy-nine.


1. When your kid wants to push everything pushable across the floor
2. When your other kid gets a little bossy because she hung around some four-year-olds and has to go to time out for putting her hands on her hips and sassin' you.


1. An amazing new method of transportation
2. That thing that has to do with grammar.


1. Per Joss Whedon and the Firefly 'verse, good or wonderful
2. Per my camera, today's sunset
3. Per my toddler, part of her Indian name, "Shiny Moon". Thanks, preschool, for teaching my kid about culture. Are you gonna sing "What Makes the Red Man Red?" next?


The worst thing to say if you want a decent photograph


We have no idea. It's t.rex's favorite word and seems to apply to everything from mommy to daddy to toy motorcycles with which to beat mommy and daddy.


Swine Flu:
What happened right after this picture. That swine flew across the room.


Sausage Fingers:
Fingers so fat that they require a size 9 ring.
But is that not the coolest ring EVER?? Thanks, Alicia!


And that concludes today's lesson.
Of course it's not in alphabetical order-- they're 3 and 1!
One can barely spell her name, the other just drools a lot and waves.

Don't be so pushy, Sausage Fingers. Everything's shiny.