The flu was totally worth it.

Just to see this!

The...best...reality...show...EVER!

Sick AND Tired

I have the flu. Blah. Not the worst bout it of it I’ve ever had, but it’s not good. I’m frustrated because I had so many plans for this weekend- not the least of which was some long overdue cleaning. Instead, I've traded a weekend of productivity for lying on the couch under a blanket and sipping Dr. Pepper. This is the downside of now having a job: I have to cram a whole bunch of things into the weekend and one small bout of throwing up and a bad case of the chills can derail the whole process.

But on the plus side, I did get to watch a Martha Stewart Halloween special, Footloose, a couple of Will and Grace reruns and I got to finish a trashy little chick-lit book I was reading. Such a shame that the only time I take for myself anymore is when I have no choice.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some more 80’s movies to watch on VH1…

Hippo Birdies Two Ewes.

My Pepper turned two this past week. Her birthday itself was a relatively quiet affair except for the infamous elevator incident which I will post shortly. There was pizza and a couple of presents and dinner with Daddy at the hospital. Sunday was the main event – a small party with just a few friends and a couple of kids, but Pepper’s first very own birthday party nonetheless.

I wasn’t convinced she understood that the party was for her until she woke up on Sunday morning and walked into the dining room where Pickle and I had starting setting the table and had hung several Elmo decorations. Bleary-eyed and stumbling half-awake, Pepper wandered into the room and with an air of awe simply said, “My party?” When Pepper told her it that yes, it was for her, the smile that broke out across her face said it all.

And what a glorious afternoon it was for the Pepper. There were three “big” girls and a boy her own age to play with and follow through the house. They played and ran wild, the adults ate and ate and ate and we all enjoyed not having to organize anything for them to do. There was one simply craft- glitter glue and sticky jewels and foam hearts and stars on little paper boxes; just enough to bridge the gap between lunch and cake.

The cake was a simple affair- chocolate – deemed by the Pickle as the only type of cake appropriate for a birthday. I could have bought a much prettier cake from, well, just about anywhere, but then I wouldn’t have had an excuse to make my favorite butter cream frosting. Elmo, Zoe, Big Bird and Cookie Monster appeared on the cake, courtesy of our “Chutes and Ladders” game and there were lots of sprinkles. Perfect for a two year old. When we started singing ‘Happy Birthday” and she knew it was for her, you would have thought we were crowning her Miss America.



The great thing about being two is the complete focus on the present and not on the presents. We waited until everyone left to open them and while the Pepper enjoyed them, it was the people and party that made her day.

The only real downer of the whole weekend was Monday morning when she woke up and toddled back into the dining room. Most everything was back in its proper place, except for a couple of the Elmo decorations, which I thought I’d leave up for a few days to help ward off the post-birthday let down. Still the disappointment was written all over her face when she looked around at everything cleaned up and said, with a complete understanding that it was all over, “my party”.

Here she is modeling her sporty new backpack:

So that's my problem.

Saw this article title on the latest issue of Cosmo while waiting to check out at the grocery store:

"Hair That Gets You What You Want."

It all makes sense now.

The End of An Era

Pickle has fallen asleep by herself for three nights in a row.

She's actually asked for me to leave after reading books and she has fallen asleep in under ten minutes.

For those of you who haven't been present at bedtime for the last five and a half years, this change in our routine adds approximately 432 extra hours to my evening.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some of my own sleep to catch up on...

The Leaves They Are A Changin'.

I’m packing up and moving to Maine.

At least in my mind, anyway. This feeling takes over me every year about this time and yet every year, I am surprised at its arrival. I feel almost ambushed by the ferocity with which it grabs hold of me, invading my brain so deeply, it’s almost all I can think about. I’m ready to pack it all in, move to a small little farm house and prepare myself for an autumn of apple-picking, hiking, crunching around in fallen leaves, sweater wearing and crisp, quiet air.

For a few weeks every fall I check out the real estate websites and search various towns up and down the coast. I survey independent schools and Unitarian churches to see where we would best fit. I start imagining a new life – one less stressed, over packed with stuff, following our dreams of living more simply and more in tune with our world. I may even learn to knit. Just send me your sock size!

The problem is that this picture of life contradicts my other dream- the one that involves the West Coast- having my daughters grow up at the beach and on the ocean. The dream of writing television comedy and making people laugh. Living larger than life, participating in the absurd.

And then there is the present where we dwell somewhere in-between these two fictional existences. We live in a small town that is close to two big cities. We get all four seasons, even if fall remains a little warmer than I’d like and the summer is just obscene in terms of the humidity index. Pickle attends a school that we all love. We’re members of a church that we find challenging, enriching and life-sustaining. We can both hike and go to the beach here, although we often do neither.

And I think that’s the real issue. My life is dangerously off-course from where I’d like it to be in many, many ways. I focus (aka obsess) on things that pollute my time and energy. I become paralyzed with fear and instead of taking action, I stress myself out over things that would change dramatically with just the smallest of steps. I wish for change, but I want someone else to do the changing for me. I am one of those people for whom making a decision is always life or death so I am unable to choose. I look for the perfect answer, I crave clarity with every step, determined that if I research all the options long enough, squint hard enough and cock my head just so, everything will come into focus and the right path, the perfect one, my Holy Grail, will open up before me and all I have to do is walk through the light to be there.

Just as a reality check, I do realize how ridiculous those last few statements sound even before they leave my head and spill out on the paper. But we’re not talking about logic here; we’re talking about the freak-out zone in my brain known as emotion.

The irony to all of this is that I know that the road is fuzzy, murky, or in my case, as dark as a coalmine. And if you came to me with the same fears, the same questions about your life, I would confidently tell you that it doesn’t matter which step you take first as long as you take a step. And I would believe it with my whole heart. As many of you know, I am incredibly intuitive. The problem is that when my intuition turns inward, I ignore it, chastise it, belittle it and basically send it muttering back off into the far reaches of my brain, giving the finger to me as it walks away. All of which I rightly deserve. But you can see why I’ve ended up so far astray.

So instead of looking at Maine real estate or checking out new congregations and schools, this fall I’m trying to breathe through that anxiety and instead, focus the need for change on the present, the here, the known. It all sounds very Zen and neatly tied up doesn’t it? For the record, I’m not delusional enough to think that this revelation is going to be enough to change everything (and I mean EVERYTHING!) that I am unhappy with within myself. But it does me that I am going to put a little more faith in myself and my intuition and take those first few unknown steps into the mineshaft – I’ll try to keep the squinting to a minimum but I make no promises about the freaking-out part.

How I Know We Are In Trouble

Here's Teaghan's newest phrase:

"Total Annihilation"

Now in her defense, she is just copying a line from the movie "Dogs and Cats" when this cute beagle puppy is trying on different code names as part of the doggie secret service. But still...out of all the possible phrases she could have chosen from that or anything else she watches, she chose that.

I guess it could be worse. She could walk around the house singing, "I love you, you love me...."