Stumbling Towards Perfect

With a possible $640 million dollar (and counting) lottery win on the line, the nation is all abuzz with thoughts of what would I do with all that money? But as we all know (because it's the mantra of poor kids heard around the world - or at least in the house I grew up in) money can't buy happiness. Sure, some parents can buy their kid a new pair of boots but then they wouldn't grow up with those fond memories of sticking their feet into generic bread wrapper bags in an attempt to keep the water out. How on earth could you even possibly begin to think you could be happy with a brand new pair of sparkling white boots with glints of pink and lined with real fur? You would have missed out on all that fun when Chris Hoover spied your plastic bag slipping out of your boot after recess and called you Bread Bag for the entire rest of the school year! With massive amounts of money comes great struggle. For instance, you might imagine yourself diving into and swimming around y

I'm tired. Like, really tired. And I have nothing accomplished and no time to accomplish anything and I have four rows left to knit to finish this really cute dishcloth and my books are overdue from the library and - hello?! This is ME. The girl who can read two books in a weekend and I'm not even halfway done? And the dishes are piled up and the laundry is so bad we can't even get down the basement steps (because no one can take the clothes all the way down the stairs to the washing machine, golly no - just chuck them down the stairwell and sooner or later it magically clears) and I keep thinking of these great blog post topics except by the time I sit down in front of a computer my mind is blank and all I can hear is Mom! You forgot about my ortho appointment! We need to be there in ten minutes! Of course you do, kid. Of course you do. The ironic part is I was wanting to do this bible study at our church about simplifying your life. Not taking on so much so that you ca

As a condition of my employment I'm required to attend meetings. Evening meetings. You know, meetings held during that time when you'd rather be at home picking your toenails while criticizing American Idol candidates and plotting how you're going to successfully convince your husband to run to the store to get a tube of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls just because you have a craving. Anyway, some meetings offer a change of scenery - ooh! We're in the big conference room tonight! Some offer baked goodies. Oh, wait. Actually none of them do. In any case, all of them evoke the passing thought of  I'd rather be doing anything other than sitting here doing this . But we have to look all professional and be aware that there are reporters in the room ready to pounce at any given second and the last thing you want to have happen is be featured on the front page sleeping. Well, not anymore, pilgrims! I've just stumbled upon how to make even the most mind-numbing meeting s

I can't get anything done because I'm on constant Save The Cat From Death watch, which means I cannot, CANNOT let the toddler out of my sight for half a second. Because no amount of time outs and disappointed looks and We Don't Do That explanations and snapping at and swatting bottoms will get that kid to stop trying to rip the cat's tail off. I am not exaggerating when I say I fully expect that kid to be walking down the hall twirling a tail around while the cat whimpers in the corner with a bloody stump. And if that's not bad enough he suddenly became the kid of Clawing Your Face Off Seems Like A Reasonable Game To Play. I had to pry chunks of my fleshy cheeks from his punkish paws. The other day I walked in to my bedroom just as I heard the cat screech and swat at the kid: "Cletus!" and just then, as he turned his head and smiled at me, I realized what he had done. He had bit the cat. BIT HIM. A fluff of cat hair came puffing out of the kid's mo

I walked in the door last night a bit after 10pm. (That would be ten o'clock at night. After the sun went down. And the sky was dark.) Big V was sitting in Cletus's bedroom, in the wing chair we affectionately have termed the Reading Chair, looking all verklempt. That is, if verklempt means that he looked like the walking dead, with his hair sticking out all over the place, exhausted, on the verge of tears and/or a complete nervous breakdown. And there was Cletus. In his crib. Jumping as high as he could go singing, "AD DEE! AD DEE! AD DEE!" (which sounds just like Daddy without the beginning D. And also in a highly annoying pitch). I looked over at V. He looked at me. I've been in here for two hours. He won't go to sleep. Why are you just sitting here? I'm making sure he goes to sleep. Could you sleep if someone was sitting there, staring at you? Because I sure as hell couldn't. It's creepy. And then I walked out. Because why

So, I've been cast in this play, and it's awesome and the people are awesome and I play this kinda younger-than-me person who has a boyfriend, which is always kind of awkward when you shake hands with a stranger and say nice to meet you, I'm looking forward to playing your love interest - what's your name again? But what's really awkward is when you happen to be 38 years old and your love interest happens to have not graduated high school yet. Not because he's some sort of idiot miscreant incapable of passing a GED, but because he actually still reports to homeroom by 7:05am and has PE class third period and needs to remind his parents to put money on his lunch account. And just like that I'm Mary Kay Letourneau . Except I'm not a teacher and I probably would never be one because I can't spell worth a darn and also I hate kids. Well, not hate hate, more like I just hate being surrounded by swarms of them for extended periods of time. Anyway. T

I'm not going to lie. Gluten Free breads suck. Really bad. It sort of reminds me of gnawing on cow feed. Not that I would know what gnawing on cow feed actually tastes like but I'm pretty sure I'm close. This weekend I attempted to make what sounded like a delicious cinnamon raison bread. I had to use yeast. I think that's what attributed to the cow feed taste. Anyway, it smelled warm and cozy and like a big yummy hug. Then it proceeded to sucker punch my taste buds. It was not good . Then I made a gluten free chocolate cake and poured in an extra cup of semi-sweet chocolate morsels for good measure. It was heaven in a cake pan. Moist, gooey chocolate; except I'm having a hard time getting the lettuce and salami to stay on during lunch. My point is I miss bread. I miss warm, soft, straight from the oven bread. I miss buttermilk biscuits and French loaves and garlic cheese bread and even that weirdly fascinating bread in a jar: I'm not kidding. It's bre

(1) I bought a house. A small house. My very own small house. It is going to be absolutely beautiful and I cannot wait to share it with all with you. (2) I watched Dotter compete in a pentathlon. She swam. In five separate events. She (and we) spent (literally) all day in an incredibly loud confined space and she survived. Between events she hid in the locker room. I was worried about the noise. Oh, how she crumbles amongst the noises! And I worried about all the people. Oh, how she crumbles amongst all the people! And yet, she didn't. Not at all. And this made me so proud. My little girl. The one who needs her world structured just so is learning how to adapt in a world where it most assuredly is not so at all. (3) We discovered Cletus has hearing loss. We've been to a few doctors and have another upcoming appointment with a specialist in the city and we have a wonderful speech therapist involved. I've been down the speech therapy road with Dotter so I just neede