Sunday, January 31, 2010

bacony bacony bacon

oatmeal
ain't the real deal
and grits
are the pits
ham is a sham
that i don't
want to cram
and salad gives me the sh*ts
i don't want no cereal
i don't want no rice
pizza takes forever
although it'd be nice
what's a girl to do
when dinner time is through
but her Krog needs a sammich
so he won't be blue?

there's only one answer
and i promise i'm not fakin'
the answer, dear friends,
is BACON BACON BACON

BACON sammiches for one!
BACON sammiches for all!
BACON sammiches for Liz, Jerry, Lisa, and Paul
BACON in the morning!
BACON for lunch!
BACON BACON BACON
for a Krog to munch!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've just been subjected to the following conversation:

Dr. Krog: Did you make me a sammich!

me: Poof! You're a sammich!

Dr. Krog: Sweet petunia, you're 32 now. Time to get a new joke.

me: If it doesn't have a sticker, does that mean it's free?

Dr. Krog: Shut up and make me a sammich, woman.

me: I made bacon for you. 5 delicious strips of bacon.

Dr. Krog: That's not a sammich.

me: It can be with only 30 seconds of your precious time.

Dr. Krog: See, I asked for a sammich, and you said you needed five minutes, and it's been ten minutes, and I'd like my sammich now.

me: See, I spent all day trying to do something important while two small people demanded food in five minute intervals. Now I want to do something for MYSELF, which is BLOGGING about not making your dinner.

Dr. Krog: Please don't talk to me like a child. *I* can talk to *you* like you're a child, but you don't talk to me like I'm a child, mkay?

me: Can I talk to you like you're a douchebag?

Dr. Krog: Yes, but only if you make my sammich.

So I'm going to type real slow and hope he makes a sammich before I get up, because as much as I like eating bacon, I hate touching it. And then we get to watch Buffy.

It's a good, bacon-rich life.


Note: Conversation, as usual, is about 40% fictional.

Friday, January 29, 2010

Thursday, January 28, 2010

pa(subliminal message)rk

Are you ready? I'm going to totally dig into your subconscious.

Guess what I'm thinking about.


We went to the park today.




Two parks, actually. For a total of five hours.



I'll take that Mother Of The Year Award now, thanks.



Even packed a picnic lunch,
although Spazzy McBiscuit was far too busy
mastering the fireman's pole to eat.



Baby Fathead liked the park, too.
Although his new shoes kept falling off
at the most inopportune moments.
Here's a hint: toddler shoes must velcro.
Slip-ons are the devil.
Even cute ones on sale for $3.74.

Especially those.




We had a great time, and I'm exhausted.
I'm still picking mulch out of my bra.
And I think I need a new buckle baby carrier.
The Beco is getting really, really old.
Not that the boy will want to be carried much longer.
It's bittersweet, really.




Dang, I need a burger.

...and in other parallel universes.

Picture me, Dr. Krog, and my dad sitting on a couch, spaced out on TV while the children rocket around the room. My dad only watches 5 movies, and since neither Gladiator, League of their Own, Lonesome Dove, or Shawshank Redemption was on, it was King Arthur.

dad: Poor Keira Knightley.

me: What do you mean, "poor Keira Knightly"? She's beautiful, thin, talented, rich, and has starred in loads of awesome movies. I have no pity for the girl. (pause) Oh, you mean her bosoms. Because you're a man.

dad: So, what would happen if she tried to breastfeed?*

me: It would work. It doesn't matter how much is under the hood, so long as there are headlights.

Dr. Krog: But the aftermath...

me: Yeah, it would be like Silly Putty.

dad: (involuntary shiver)

Dr. Krog: At least she has lots of money.

me: And I recently heard she won an award.

dad: Really?

me: Yeah, she was elected president of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee.**

Dr. Krog and dad: (snickering like 11 year old boys)

me: (realize I have just said the word "titty" in front of my father and leave the room with a very red face)


It's funny, growing up.



*My father has said the word "breast" one other time in recorded history, at a Chinese Restaurant in 1993. It was the third most embarrassing moment of my life.


**No offense to my A-cup homies. I have a friend with A's so perky that women ask her to lift her shirt at playgroups. And then she does, and everyone is like, ooooooh, aaaaaaah. Like it's freakin' fireworks.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

we're just like buffy and spike

me: (lolling on Dr. Krog) OE!

Dr. Krog: What's wrong with you?

me: I suffer!

Dr. Krog: Huh?

me: It's TORTURE.

Dr. Krog: What is? Besides motherhood and trying to keep a clean towel in the house.

me: The query process of writing. The waiting. The rejection. Waiting and being rejected are definitely two of my biggest failures as a human being.

Dr. Krog: Yeah, well, you kinda knew that going into the whole "writing" thing.

me: Yeah, but... it's the finger cuffs of the waitingness?

Dr. Krog: Are you referring to a Kevin Smith movie here? Because that's gross.

me: No, no. It's torture. Like medieval torture. It's like, the thumb screws of my genius!

Dr. Krog: Still with the euphemisms here?

me: No, you're not getting it. It's the Iron Maiden of my pulchritude.

Dr. Krog: Something about a hair band, and you're very attractive?

me: No, dunderhead. It's the pointy, red-hot poker of the yawning chasm of indifference.

Dr. Krog: Why are you yawning? It's only 8:20.

me: Ugh. No. Listen. It's about the pointy-head-snapping-basket of the whitened sepulchre of my soul.

Dr. Krog: Did you take painkillers? And drink?

me: NO. I AM A TORTURED ARTIST. A DOUBLY TORTURED ARTIST.

Dr. Krog: No, you're not. You're fine at the art bit. You just impatient as hell. You need to get over that. And fix me a snack.

me: Et tu, Kroggy? You want something from me, too? You want to bleed my soul dry, set me up on the waterboard of your lambasting? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME? BECAUSE YOU CAN JUST STAB ME IN THE HEART WITH YOUR QUILL OF CRITICISM AND STICK BAMBOO SHOOTS UNDER THE TAWDRY FINGERNAILS OF MY SYNESTHETE'S SOUL!

Dr. Krog: I just wanted a sammich. And some milk. And maybe you could change the DVD, too, as we're on the next disc of Buffy. Crazy person.

me: I'm not crazy, I just have a poetic license to drive you insane.

(Note: I may have made up approximately 40% of this conversation, but again, IT'S MY ARTISTIC LICENSE, DAMMIT.)

Sunday, January 24, 2010

i apologize in advance

Sorry, guys.

I've never wanted this to be a "look at my kids doing crap" blog.

But I seem to be doing that a lot lately.

It's probably because all of my creative energy is going into writing and editing, and all of my brainful time is going into the query process. That leaves very little of my already meager resources for Photshopping myself into movies and opining on motherhood.

At least the kids are cute, right?



Why would Disney sue us?

Because that's the Biscuit's drawing of Ariel, the Little Mermaid.

Spot on, don't you think?

And now that I think about it, maybe there is something more going on in this post. Maybe it's a post about juggling your career or creative pursuits with being a parent. About finding time to think and feel in between snapshots and Magnadoodling and zombie children whose fathers frighten Chuck Norris.

Sometimes I feel guilty for putting so much of myself into my work. For me, it's writing and painting, and I don't get to do half as much as I'd like to. If I woke up at 7am and went to bed at midnight and didn't have two children, I still wouldn't get to explore all of my ideas and impulses.

It drives me straight up batty, yo.

And don't even get me started on how much energy it takes to get a book published. I probably use 700 calories a day developing a thick skin that can repel rejection. And that's in addition to nursing Cap'n 8 Teef up there.



Anyways, I have to constantly remind myself that whenever something is taken away, it is replaced by something else. I sometimes feel bad for having a second child and drastically reducing my time with the Biscuit... but she gets an awesome relationship with her brother. I feel bad for shooing my kids away so I can write... but they get a mother who is passionate, connected to her creativity, mentally healthy, assertive, and following her dreams.

I pour all of myself into my writing career.... and you guys get pictures of my kids.

Sorry. At least it's not that thing I found in my shower drain, right?

Friday, January 22, 2010

in which I-- yes, me--- am speechless.

Utterly freakin' speechless, people.

When I slid into that booth at Thumb's Up Diner today, I noticed that the dude in the next booth with his back to me was mighty cool. I mean, he was wearing a kickass hat, and the back of his head simply exuded awesomeness.

Then he stuck out his foot to leave, and I thought, "Wow, that is one stylish dude. I wonder if I should compliment him on being tremendously stylish and cool?"

Then he stood up, and I thought, "He's good looking, too. Fascinating bone structure."

And then I thought:

HOLY MOTHERLOVIN' SHIZZLE! THAT'S FREAKIN' ANDRE BENJAMIN! I'M BREATHIN' THE SAME AIR AS ANDRE 3000 OF OUTKAST! HIS MOVIE IDLEWILD SENT ME INTO LABOR! ANDRE BENJAMIN IS IN MY HOME TOWN, SPREADING HIS MOLECULES OF RADITUDE AROUND MY CHICKEN FINGERS!

And then Andre Benjamin nodded and smiled at us, and I was completely speechless.

I gave him my brightest, dumbest, most amazed smile. The smile reserved only for my wedding day, really handsome draft horses, and slices of that certain red velvet cake from that little bakery in Athens.

And then he got in his Range Rover and drove into history, one of only two celebrities I've ever seen in person. That is, if you count that time that I stood behind wrestler Goldberg on the escalator and tried to figure out if his neck was bigger than my waist.

I love you, Andre 3000.

Thanks for smiling at me and deciding to eat eggs today.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

spring peepers

the Biscuit: What's that, mom?

me: Those are t.rex's boy parts.

the Biscuit: What's it for?

me: Tinkling and stuff.

the Biscuit: And pooping?

me: Um, no. That's what bottoms are for.

the Biscuit: Wow, mom, he *really* likes grabbing that thing!

me: t.rex, did you find your li'l ol' peeper?

the Biscuit: Yeah! He found his peeper! (singsong) He-found-his-peeper! He-found-his-peeper!
Do you like that ol' peeper, little brother, little buddy? He's grabbin' it, grabbin' that peeper. Peeper-peeper-peeper! Do ya like it?

t.rex: (huge smile, tugging on bits) CKCKCKCKCK!

me: Yeah, I think he does.

the Biscuit: Do I have a peeper?

me: Assuredly not. You have girl parts.

the Biscuit: Yeah, that's why I have to wear my Princess Tiana underpants.

me: Yes.

the Biscuit: But daddy has a peeper.

me: Well, buddy, that's personal. We don't really talk about that.

the Biscuit: Does daddy like his peeper, too?

me: I'm sure he's glad to have it.

the Biscuit: Will I have a peeper when I grow up?

me: Not without a lot of expensive surgery.

the Biscuit: Huh? Like surgery on daddy's leg?

me: No, buddy, I was just being funny. Would you like some cantaloupe?

the Biscuit: Naw, I just wanna sing about Baby Brudder's peeper.

*

A child's mind is a fertile, fertile place. I'm not going to tell her proper nouns until she learns to show some discretion.

I just don't want to talk about vulvas in the check-out line at Target.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

postsecrets from the edge

Checking in.


t.rex:
Hoping you'll notice the Virgil, Collier, and Marcus Aurelius
and ignore the Scrabble Dictionary.
That boy loves the Scrabble Dictionary.
He's QUIXOTIC.




the biscuit:
Choreographing a ballet called Dances with Pigs.
The sequel is called Swine Lake.




Dr. Krog:
Recovering nicely from surgery and walking with a cane.
Pretending he's Greg House.
Teaching his son the ways of the Sith.



me:
Writing, writing, editing, sending queries.
Stalking my own Inbox.
Neglecting my blog.
Forgetting to send out the package from that giveaway.
Drinking lots of coffee.
Getting 5 hours of sleep.
Unwisely letting my 3 year old take photos of me
before the coffee.

It's good to be busy.

Monday, January 18, 2010

moar or less?

I had a fantastic time tonight meeting Kristen of Mominatrix and Cool Mom Picks, and I was reminded of a question I've been meaning to ask.

If you're a mother, how have you changed as a person after having children?

If you're a dude, just skip to the movie review below. This one's for the ladies. If you're my mom, stop reading, because I'm going to type the word "vagina" in a minute.

Kristen was speaking to a local Moms of Multiples group about her new book, the Mominatrix's Guide to Sex. And although the word "vagina" came up several times, that wasn't the main thrust of the discussion. Her point was that in writing the book, which I can't wait to read, a common thread popped up again and again.

Yes, thrusting and popping up in a paragraph about a sex book. Go ahead and titter.


She pointed out that possibly the biggest factor influencing a mom's sex life is not toys or thongs or her husband's four-pack*. It's how she feels about herself. Whether she feels in control, or pretty, or fat, or tired, or greasy. Whether she's thought about buying a new bra in the last year. Whether she's taking care of herself mentally and making her needs known. Whether she feels cherished and appreciated.

All the Hitachi Magic Wands in the world can't help a girl if she's not in a good place emotionally and physically, and caring for children can make it even harder to get there. I think most new moms go through a phase where they aren't quite who they used to be, but they're not sure who they are now. You just wake up one day with this tiny person attached to you like a leech, and say, "Great, but what now?"

Figuring out the 'what now' part has been one of the best journeys of my life so far, and I feel really fortunate to have found a new passion and have such a supportive family. Sure, I've had my little fits of despair. But being a mom has made me a better person, and it somehow has nothing to do with my children.

That's why the banner at the top says "writer, artist, wife, mom, goof". It made me who I am, but it's not all that I am.

But I'm grateful.

And I'm not telling you one cotton-pickin' thing about my sex life, so quit being nosy, mom.



* Shout out to Dr. Krog's four-pack! Woooooo!

Sunday, January 17, 2010

your nickname is 'laser'

Have you seen this movie?


No, of course you haven't. You weren't big into cheesy teeny movies in 2001.

But I was, because I'm a huge dork.

What could be better than a college movie starring Jason Segel, some blond guy, Big Pete from The Adventures of Pete and Pete, and Jason Schwartzman doing what he does best-- being a complete freak?

I don't want to talk plot. I just want to tell you funny quotes and show you pictures.


See, this is Cool Ethan from Heineraker Hall. He plays the synthesizer, makes hair dolls, and rides a unicycle, although the other guys in the unicycle club won't really talk to him. He's in love with some chick that some other dude wants to steal, and blah blah who cares about plot?

Cool Ethan is the kind of guy who asks a doctor why he's wearing pajamas, and when the doctor tells him that they are O.R. scrubs, he says, "O, R they?"

But look, here's sweet ol' Donna from That 70's Show, and in Slackers, she's a slut who does despicable things to herself on screen while Big Pete feels awkward because, in this movie, he just wants to hang out with guys in a naked and thoroughly un-gay way.


Jason Segel makes his pecs dance. Cool Ethan gets in a fight with a hobo. Big Pete sings a duet with his... anatomy. I'll never be able to hear "She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain" without cringing.



Anyway, since I can't find it on YouTube, I want you to read the song that Cool Ethan plays for The Girl, standing below her dorm window in a 1980's wind suit with an electric synth. It goes like this:

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I'm the kind of guy who will, not insist that you go on the Pi-ill, I'm cool with splitting the bi-ill, and I'll kill who you want me to KILL! And you can smack my bottom, I don't got no condoms, we've got a lot in common, you and me. Don't you see, don't you see, d-d-d-d-don't you see, my heart is bea-beat-ing, t-t-ting, t-t-t-t-t-t-t-OH! Angela! Oh how I need you so. Cause your eyes are like two shining blue rockets in the night, come to take me away, come abduct me, or maybe you won't, and you'll wake up when I cry, and don't let me hurt you, just by accident, I probably won't, but just in case I do, maybe - AH! Fudge.

The "ah, fudge" part occurs because someone hits him in the face with a frisbee to shut him up.

I could quote this movie all day. Seriously. Like a fourteen year old boy. But I try to keep this blog mostly PG, so I'll just link to the IMDB page, and you can see for yourself. Or, better yet, watch the trailer.



Or, best of all, Netflix it! Or buy it for $2, because no one's ever heard of it.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

mmm... somewhat fish eyes

I've had some thoughts. Thoughts about the food we keep around the house.

Thoughts in the form of bad similes.

And I want to hear yours!

Couscous - Like a big bowl of buttery fish eyes.

Avocado - Like spit made flesh.

Spinach and lentil soup - Like liquid rage.

Caramelized onion mashed potatoes - Like tan-colored heaven studded with bright, squishy diamonds of awesomeness.

Poppyseed rolls with cinnamon-honey-butter - Like a new religion that involves God worshipping YOU.

Chai latte - Like a Turkish rug, if a Turkish rug were a drink, and without the dirt and old raisins and stains leftover from cat hairballs.

Mandarin oranges - Like something that is dissected in 9th grade biology.

Rice Krispy Treats - Like crack, but you get fat instead of glamorously skinny.

Sprouted grain bread toast - Like taking a cardboard-flavored cheese grater to the top of your mouth with a side effect of feeling virtuous. Self-flagellation by breakfast food.

Goldfish crackers - Like dog kibble for toddlers.

Scrambled eggs - Like warm, jiggly, golden chicken fetuses.

Refrigerated dark chocolate - Like caffeinated brown crayons would taste.

Grilled peanut butter and jelly wrap - Like the worst idea any restaurant has ever invented as applies to three-year-olds. Seriously, it was like a tube of boiling jelly lava. I'm still cleaning bits of it out of her crevices.

Writing makes me feel writerly, and food makes me feel hungrily.

Anybody else got some food similes?

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

it's like the mona lisa, but ugly


Did you ever watch Bobby's World?

I did. Every Saturday. For years.

And I just noticed that this horrible facsimile of The Little Mermaid that I drew while looking at the Biscuit's coloring book is a dead ringer for Bobby's mom, Mrs. Generic.

See?


So I'm expecting Howie Mandell's lawyers to come after me any minute.

That's all I've got, really.

Maybe next week, I'll show you a piece of toast that looks like Jesus.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

morning song

the Biscuit: Mom, can we take off this girl's pants?

me: Well, I think Raggedy Anne might like wearing her pants.

the Biscuit: But they keep fallin' off.

me: They appear to be fine.

the Biscuit: But they fall off EVERY TIME.

me: 'Every time' what?

the Biscuit: All the days of the week. All the time. For fifty hours.

me: But dolls like to wear clothes, just like we do.

the Biscuit: But *I* don't want to wear clothes. I just want to wear a leotard.

me: Then *I* want her to wear her clothes, because I have a hard enough time keeping up with discarded people clothes without also having to keep track of doll clothes while abused, unloved, naked rag dolls roam my sunroom like cotton zombie-vampires with striped legs and creepy yarn hair.

the Biscuit: Yeah, well, I'm just going to sing, then.

(runs into other room with half-naked doll and sings while dancing)

It's a biiiiiiirthday, we will have ice scream and cake for us....
I want some Ve-eh-eh-eh-ggie Booty, it is greeeeeeen....
t.rex is not with me, he's noooooot....
Oh, little brudder...
I'm kissin' ya, I'm kissin' ya, Mom...
Now I'm dancing on the stage....
Now I want pepperoni...
Now I need to get rid of my hair off of my face...
Mom, I'm kissing myself.
Look, I made a dragon made out of rock mountains.
And I made a little "v" and a little "n", which makes Nina.
Thank goodness for my good ol' stretchy legs.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

my little jedi


Yeah, I know. Genre mixing alert! Weee-ooo, weeee-oooo!

And Luke is still confused.

Not that it's hard to confuse Luke.



But my little Biscuit can't help it. When you love Star Wars so much and have ponies sitting around, it's a match made in heaven.

Unlike this one.


"I've got a bad feeling about this..."
"Shut up and drink your blue milk, farm boy!"

But don't worry. I think there's a pony called Appletini Attorney Appaloosa that can help them with an annulment.

The hardest part isn't getting everyone all married off with three guys and a girl, though. The hard part was selecting the action figures from daddy's vintage collection, thanks to our Pirate Uncle Robert.



And you can't sue me, because I didn't finish saying "Pikachu!"

Oh, yeah, I just did. But I have a great lawyer called Appletini Attor--

You know what? Nevermind.

But do watch out for those ponies. They're not all dead broke, or even battle trained for computer-generated lasers that go beeoo-beeooo-beeooo.


Oh, yes. Watch out for those wild ponies. Look at those crazy eyes.

And don't worry, because Han will have his revenge. And it will be sweet.

Especially served with some fava beans and a nice nerf steak.


Can you keep up with the references?

It boggles the mind.

Like the bog on Dagobah.

....and we're full circle.

If you could go back to 1985 and merge a tiny Dr. Krog and a tiny me, you would get exactly what you see here. An energetic spaz in a black leotard playing with Star Wars figurines and My Little Ponies.

Well, you'd also get some severe gender confusion, but I think you catch my drift.

It's good to have kids.

Saturday, January 9, 2010

biscuit's big day out

Today was a great day.

Well, technically, it's still today.

But this morning was a great morning, and, right now is pretty good for 12:53.

This morning, the Biscuit realized her dream of becoming a ballerina.

She had her first ballet class.

She spends most of her time at home in a leotard and/or dancing, like this:




So I did a ton of online research until I found just the right ballet school for her. I was looking for the correct balance of fun and serious craft, and thus far we're very happy with the studio we chose.

Here she is in her ballet outfit: light pink leotard, light pink skirt, pink tights, pink shoes, hair back in a bun with bangs clipped off the face. Verra fancy.

Dr. Krog and his pheasant cane were not part of the ensemble, just a nice extra.

And they're real shoes, too-- the kind with split soles that required Mommy to frantically sew the elastic into the shoes this morning at 8:48am in her bathrobe with a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth.

Mommy wasn't quite sure how tight to sew the elastic, if it went inside or outside the shoe, and if it went in front of or behind the seam. But the shoes stayed on her feet, and that's all that mattered.


Luckily, her studio has a little window for parents to crowd around and say, "Oooh!" and "Ahh!" and "Awww!" and "No, quit picking your nose and wave the scarf!"



Unfortunately, Mommy's camera through glass is more... artistic. But ignore my crappy photography skillz and enjoy the cute.

And this one's for the grandparents, and anyone who likes teeny ballerinas doing their first plies.


The Biscuit, of course, is the pretty little niblet on the far right.

Friday, January 8, 2010

grouchy and the grimace

Yay! Time for my first walk in the snow! It's a grand adventure! In a girly parka!




Oh, this is so cool. It's all slippery and crunchy at the same time. And my giraffe boots keep me warm, even if I pulled off their antennae in the summer and now they're crippled. They're still giraffes. Snow giraffes. Brave, crunchy snow giraffes.




Yeah! I know, right? I don't know what all the old people worry about. It's snow big deal. Snot a problem. We're all bundled up. Let's go for a walk.

Uh.

It's kinda slippery here. I just learned how to walk. I'm not sure how this is going to...

OW. OW.



Why do you keep picking me up before I fall? Mom, I have to experience life. I have to grab joy by the hood of its girly parka and just smack the snowy crap out of it.

Let me go, Mom.

Let me go.



Oh, god! It burns! It's all slippery and cold! So cold! This girly jacket doesn't help at all!

It's like the earth is punishing my hands! With hot and cold and prickles!

I hate the ground now!




I REALLY DON'T LIKE IT!!!






Thank goodness I'm inside and dry and warm. Now I can watch the new Grimace exhibit in the backyard zoo. I wonder what the Grimace is up to today, anyway?

Hello, Grimace.

What's that you say?

It's cold, the snow tastes bad, you can't make a snow angel, you're hungry, and you want to put on a leotard and watch Peter Pan?

Sounds like one helluva snow day, Grimace.

But you can come inside.

Just don't tell the Hamburglar how to unlock the door, okay?

Thursday, January 7, 2010

pasta la vista, kiddo.


At a lovely playgroup this morning, we couldn't help but notice that toddlers seem to have some sort of a sick, twisted sixth sense for recognizing when an adult is about to use the restroom, eat, or enjoy something.

That's the time to request a milkshake or eat a needle.

So I created that graphic up there to show kidvision. It's like Terminator-vision, but it's what your kid sees.

I dare you to test it.

Tomorrow, when your younger child is napping, run yourself a bubble bath and take a box of chocolates up there. Set your older child up watching the Broadway version of Peter Pan with Cathy Rigby. You'll think that kid is mesmerized, and you'll smile smugly on your way up the stairs.

But the second you slide into the water and select a caramel, your child's kidvision will start beeping, and their eyes will narrow and slide sideways, and they will instantly be at your side, playing a kazoo and screaming, "MOMMY, WHERE DO BABIES COME FROM CAN I HAVE A COOKIE?"

And what do you get in return?

That sense that lets you know when someone is screwing with the thermostat or regifting something.

And one day, your kid will inherit it.

It's the circle of life, man.

The circle of life.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

in soviet russia, stink gives me!


It's just a teeny, tiny little giveaway.

Because it's freezing cold and dreary outside, and I want to make someone smile.

Nothing to raise a big stink about.

But I have 14 samples of artisan perfume oil from Wiggle Perfume on Etsy, and I thought maybe someone else would enjoy them.

These samples are so lovely that I have ordered 3 of them in larger sizes and may go back for more tonight. I wear DuBois, Nichosia, and Sicily all the time.

Please keep in mind that this is not a sponsored giveaway-- Ms. Wiggle has no idea I'm doing it. I just love her stuff and want to pass these on to a new home.


They've all been smelled, and some of them have been used... but always when I was clean and fresh. Still... if you like to smell yummy things... and it's free... why the heck not?

To enter the wee giveaway, just comment with your favorite perfume, perfumerie, or online retailer of stink. You must live in the US. You have until Friday morning to comment.

There, now. Have a nice cup of cocoa and get warm.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

tuesday shrewsday


See that up there?

That's the beginning of a piece of artwork about one of the characters in my book, Scritch. It's a 4-inch tall dude named Selwyn who has mousey ears and a sword.

I haven't been able to figure out what to blog about today, probably because all of my creative brain cells are taken up with writing, painting, painting the ceiling, and pouring water through my sinus cavity with a neti pot.

As a matter of fact, I may be washing away brain cells.

And speaking of exploding brain cells, have you ever talked to a three-year-old?

me: What are you doing, dude?
Biscuit: Go away. I just... I want to be alone.
me: Why?
Biscuit: Because I'm putting on my blue leotard.
me: Why does that make you want to be alone?
Biscuit: Because the black one is dirty.
me: That's why you're putting on the blue one, not why you want to be alone.
Biscuit: It's private.
me: You're already wearing it. You're not even naked. And you yell for me to come wipe your bottom for you twice a day.
Biscuit: Yeah, but that's different, mom. That's poop.

It boggles the mind.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

thinking outside the pizza box


You can all officially quit asking me about Domino's Totally New Pizza. IT'S NEW, OKAY? THEY THREW OUT THE OLD RECIPE AND REBUILT THE DOGGONE PIZZA. MADE IT STRONGER. 100% REAL XTREME VAMPIRE A-MOZZARELLA.

I hereby present you with the new Domino's Pizza box. It bothered me.

Here's why.

1. Hand tossed? Like that should impress anyone. Look, that pen was just hand-tossed across my den! And that butt was just hand-squeezed!

2. It's not? So it's not the whole "crust, sauce, cheese, toppings" thing? Oh, it is? So that would make it a slightly altered version of... yeah.

3. Yes. This is the fanciest pizza box I've seen this year. Of course, it is January 3.

4. You keep saying that, but I don't believe you.

5. Well, darn skippy thar, li'l darlin'. This yere pizza musta been made the ol' fashioned way, down on the farm, doggonit.

6. Perfectitude. I hate it when they try to make up clever new words. I suspect this word will be back to haunt me.

7. YEARS'. The worth belongs to the years. Jeesh. Don't they teach punctuation in pizza school?

8. I like cheese and all, but if you've been tasting it constantly for 50 years, that's just too much cheese tasting. Take a day off. Try a donut.

9. A preposition is one of the worst ways to end a sentence that I can think of.

10. Oh, that's so clever. This isn't a radio commercial, guys. You can't start with "everything".

11. Thank heavens. I bought imaginary mozzarella last week, and it didn't grate well at all. Even the 76% real mozzarella is pretty bad.

12. So you're saying it's not 100% mozzarella then? FAKERS.

13. Does this dose come with drug interaction information? Does it mess with the birth control pill? Personally I would have gone with the much catchier "heapin' helpin'".

14. Nothing puts a spring in my step like my least favorite vegetable. Boing boing boing!

15. a. Sentence fragment. Not an actual sentence.
b. See what I did there?
c. I enjoy how "buttery crust" provides all the mental images of butter with no promise of actual butter. I mean, it's butterY, and that's better than butter, right?

16. AGH DEATH BY BAD GRAMMAR AND RHETORICAL QUESTION!

17. ...and there it is. Consider me haunted.

18. I saw your old recipe down by the train tracks, begging for beer money.

19. Everything's got to involve vampires these days, doesn't it? I mean, if it doesn't involve vamps, it's no longer worthwhile. That just sucks.

20. It's called a comma, and it's pretty much free. Try it out.


Is it fifty years worth of what you've been dreaming of? ...in a word: yes it is.

Saturday, January 2, 2010

01022010


It's 01022010, which makes me very happy, because I've loved palindromes ever since I stole "Hannah is a Palindrome" from the school library in second grade.

It's not my fault. They wouldn't let me check out the "older" books, so I had to steal them. But I always returned them in pristine condition and no one was the wiser.

Remember the world before bar codes? It was a great world. A world where I stole Watership Down and read it in my closet with a flashlight against my dad's wishes.

What can I say? I was hard core.

I'd love to make an image with oodles and oodles of palindromes, from mom and dad and pop to kayak and redder, but I've got to go upstairs and make Daddy Soup.

Well, I need to go watch the Biscuit make Daddy Soup. I just sent her up to her father's relaxing bath with a big spoon, a can of beans, two potatoes, three carrots, and a mixing bowl.

It's going to be delicious.

Happy Palindrome Happy!

Friday, January 1, 2010

i of the metal tiger


I don't know why I did that. I haven't wanted to be Cheetara since I was about 5 and a neighbor child tried to give me suggestive cat hugs.

And I know Dr. Krog is going to laugh at me.

But sometimes I can't help myself, especially now that it's the Year of the Metal Tiger. I mean, it's not like I was going to Photoshop myself as an ox last year, right?

Anyway, here we are in 2010.

This is my obligatory New Year's post.


I will confess to meeting about 75% of my resolution last year. I upped the vegetable quotient, except for these last few weeks of surgery and sickness, when all of my black beans somehow found their way into brownies.


So here are my resolutions for 2010:

1. Get a literary agent.

2. Be kinder. To everyone.


That's all I'm going to commit to, at the moment.

I'd like to get more exercise, clean more, and eat better, but I'm setting the bar low for expectations, because life is full of surprises, especially with two kids.

2009 was tough, but I had three major accomplishments:

1. Lost 25 pounds. Yeah, it was baby weight, but that doesn't mean it was easy.

2. Wrote two books.

3. Had a solo art exhibit and enjoyed some Etsy sales.

As usual, I can't complain. It was a good year, and I'm grateful for everyone and everything in my life. Except vegetables. I still just really hate 'em.

Goodbye, ox.
Hello, Tiger.
Bienvenue, ostrich.
Watch your step, vole.
And quit hogging the shrimp cocktail, narwhal. Geez.