worst. mother. ever.
all saints preserve us

les chapeaux para los ninos

In honor of Stuff on my Cat:


Trout with one of the charity baby caps. There are three ready to go: one is above, one is white and one is green. The sentimental fool in me (and there is one who is just screaming to get out) wants to note that the white yarn is from the Diva's most recent scarf and the green is from the Dude's blankie, which makes me feel that some small part of my knittin' love will keep yet another kid warm. Aw.

While I have plenty of odd balls still lying about in the odd ball box, I think I've scratched my current baby cap itch and will move on. I may be sentimental but I'm starting to get a little tired of the tiny toques and will get these bad boys in the mail tout de suite.

And I'd like to offer a formal apology to both French and Spanish speakers right now. Yes, I know what I'm doing to your language. Sorry.

In the Shameless Self-Promotion Dept., I offer this review from the Oklahoman. While any publicity is great, this particular piece leaves me wondering which book the reviewer read, because I'm not overly certain it was mine.

In the Foodies Are Nifty Dept., Ruhlman amuses himself with testicles -- because, seriously , what is more amusing than a testicle?

In the Things That Make Me Miss Austin Dept., this new show from the Rude Mechs makes me want to hop a plane and come on down. As much as I love Oneonta, the theatre here leaves a bit to be desired.

In the Black Dog Dept., the past day or two have not been great ones. The weekend was a lively one, full of friends and kids and chaos -- but in a good way. Monday just sucked, tho, for a variety of reasons that involving my extended family and the minutia of life and a kid who's not sleeping well for undetermined reasons. Today, frankly, wasn't shaping up much better and would end with schlepping children around to beg for candy.  I had this gloomy, woe-filled post draft in my head about how the black dog feels remarkable close right now and how the damn dog is always there and I'm just so tired of it and want to sob and gnash my teeth but since that all takes far too much energy, I'm just going to curl up in a little ball on the bed and wait for it all to go away -- not that any of what is in my life is all that hard to handle but I'm just not feeling well equipped to deal with it right now.

And then my doorbell rang, just as I was sitting down to type about how I could really stand something pleasant right now just as a reassurance from the universe that this, too, shall pass. At my door was a woman with a bag full of cleaning supplies who was here to spend two hours in my house doing whatever I'd like (that, of course, involved the cleaning supplies). For free, because Creative Cleaning Concepts, who are my go-to gals whenever I have lots of money and no time (around here lately I've had the inverse problem, which is, I suspect, part of the cause of the blue mood), was running a promotion for its past customers.

The place now smells of Pine-sol and all I have left to do is clean the bathrooms. Then, for a few brief moments, my grandmother would be proud of my nice, tidy house. It's amazing how much that alone can buck up your spirits and how the universe helps you out every now and again.

Which isn't to say that I'm now feeling fabulous but I'm at least rediscovering some sense of perspective. And that's enough.


RE: Review in Oklahoman, that has to be some of the worst published writing I've ever seen. Is she paid for that?

Wait, someone showed up at your house to *clean* for you? For free?

Got-DAMN, that's sexy!

Hey Melba! Are you kidding me? Is that a review or a 5th grade book report?

I shall not speak ill of Melba. Publicity is publicity -- but, yeah.

And, yes, someone showed up to clean for free. And, yes, it was sexy. Here's the rub, tho. I now want to have them come back as frequently as humanly possible because I'd forgotten how wonderful it was to have someone else pick up our shit. That, my friends, is how you build a business.

If Melba can make a buck doin' it, more power to 'er.

I have to pay for it. The house cleaning, that is. But with no mouths to feed, it's very worth it.

I came to the office yesterday as "'3-hole Punch' Matthew," a reference to Jim, who a co-worker described as one of her boyfriends, just as Pam is one of my girlfriends. Nobody got the reference, and it was quite disheartening.

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