Episode 25 - This Is My Life!

This is mostly an update on work, but...

Yes, this has been my life the last several weeks. Since November, I have struggled to survive the holidays, a convention (9 panels, 1 reading, an all-day author table!!), final edits on my new book Future Perfect, creating the cover art for said book, getting set up to join the "Oh Get A Grip" group blog (read us - we're fun!!), keeping up with the Heat Flash erotica podcast which now airs on Thursdays at 8PM on Radio Dentata (streaming internet radio with teeth!!), clean the house, feed the kids, help the Princess with her homework, potty train Pixie, and somehow find a few moments to have sex with my husband.

Yeah, it's been a little busy.

Things are starting to slow down a bit. I got my last major deadline out the door on Friday. I submitted a short story to Alessia Brio's Coming Together: Al Fresco, and regardless of whether or not I make it into this volume, I highly encourage everyone to buy a copy of any of the Coming Together books (I do have a story in Coming Together: With Pride, if you're interested). Coming Together is a charity anthology and all the proceeds go to the organization of choice for each volume. It's doing good while being bad, and ya gotta love that.

So this week's cartoon is just a glimpse into what's been going on at la casa de Cynical Woman. I'm tired, but things are evening out and I hope to be back on some sort of regular schedule in the next couple of weeks. I'll be at the Farpoint science fiction convention on Valentine's Day weekend, the same weekend as the release of Future Perfect, so I will be gearing up for that, getting promo ready and preparing for the panels I'm on (only six this time, I believe). Otherwise, I'll be turning my attention back to the podcast and this cartoon, putting in a little more time on my two favorite projects for a while. Hopefully, I'll have another cartoon ready within the week. See ya then!

Christmas Recipe - Mom's Russian Tea Mix

I'm having a crap-tastic day so far. Stayed up waaaaay to late to finish a story that didn't quite work like it should have. Then I tried to sleep late this morning only to have my oldest invade the bed, demanding I get her going for church. I am not religious. The closest I come is Zen Buddhism, which I practiced regularly for three years. But there's no longer a zendo in my area, so I feel no need to get out of bed to prep my daughter for church while her Catholic father snoozes away. That doesn't stop her from trying to get me to do it however.

Anyway, after everyone who was going to church headed out the door, I went to make myself some coffee, only to drop the coffee pot and watch it shatter into a million-billion little pieces. So no coffee this morning. To salvage the day from this tragedy, I have turned to one of my other favorite drinks, and to make it a good, positive thing, I am sharing that drink with you. Here it is, Mom's Russian Tea:

19oz container of Tang or orange drink mix


19oz container of lemonade mix


1 cup ice tea mix, unsweetened (with or without lemon, up to you)


1 tbsp cinnamon


1tbsp ground cloves

Put all the ingredients together in a Tupperware container and make sure the lid is sealed VERY tight. Then start shaking it to mix everything up. If the lid isn't tight, you will have a drink mix disaster of epic proportions. Once you have everything good and mixed up, put 3-4 teaspoons of the mix into 1 cup of hot water and enjoy. Trust me, this will taste like Christmas.

The Husband Dilemma

On the one hand, Michael did take the kids for most of yesterday so I could sneak off to the library for work.

But on the other hand, the house was destroyed when I got home.

But on the one hand, I did get some much needed work done, and he had the kids for four hours while I was gone and another three after I got back.

But on the other hand, it's really, really hard to get ground in Play-doh out of the carpet.

But on the one hand, he also fixed dinner.

But on the other hand, he destroyed my kitchen in the process.

But on the one hand, it only took twenty minutes to clean up.

But on the other hand, I had already cleaned it twice yesterday, both times thanks to him and the kids.

But on the one hand, he made this really delicious Puerto Rican dish that I loved but can't pronounce.

But on the other hand, he deep fried that dish... in a shallow pan. No matter how much I mop the kitchen, it still looks like the Exxon Valdez ran aground on our linoleum.

But on the one hand, he didn't even complain that I came down to dinner an hour late.

But on the other hand, that dish was so deep fried I think I may drop dead of a heart attack at any moment. Does he want to kill me?!

But on the one hand, he did set up my BowFlex in the garage, so I can work out and be healthy.

But on the other hand, maybe he's trying to tell me I'm fat and flabby...

But on the one hand, he did buy the first season of Heroes on DVD so we could watch it together.

But on the other hand, he KNOWS I need to get up at 5:30 AM, so why did he buy something that was so damned addicting to watch and yet can't be viewed while the kiddies are up? I'm dragging today!

I dunno. Should I kill him, or jump his bones for joy? Both maybe? But in what order?

Husbands... Feh!

A Non-fan's Review of a Bruce Springsteen Concert

I went to see Bruce Springsteen in concert last night at the Richmond Coliseum in Virginia. Let me state up front that I am not a raging Bruce Springsteen fan. That would be my darling husband, he who bought the tickets and still has the t-shirt he got from a Bruce Springsteen concert TWENTY YEARS AGO. Oy. Anyway, here are my reviews of 'the Boss' in concert.

First, the short review:

IT WAS VERY, VERY LOUD!!


Now the long review:

Okay, so we had just gotten back from a trip to Pennsylvania to see my cousin's daughter get married. Honestly, I need to get up there more often, and it's a shame I don't because my aunt Adele is like the sweetest person in the world and she always has something ready for folks to eat whenever they come over, although we stayed in a hotel, not at her house, so we didn't get to gnosh like we would have had we actually been the--

What? Oh right, the concert. So anyway, we got back from Pennsylvania the night before, and that was a nine-hour drive with two screaming kids in the back seat, and both Michael and I were sick with some sort of weird flu bug (yes, I know, you want to hear about the concert. Hold your horses, I'm telling a story here!) that had us hacking up our lungs like a couple of old geezers, and we didn't get home until after 10 PM. So we were not in the best shape the next morning when we got up, and we just draaaaaaaaagged through the day until the babysitter showed up and it was time for us to leave. Now, the Richmond Coliseum is about an hour away from where we live, so that meant another road trip (joy) after the one we'd done the day before. Fortunately, we had a babysitter for the evening, which meant NO SCREAMING KIDS in the back seat. Even more fortunately, this was only an hour drive, which was good because Michael wanted to play Bruce Springsteen all the way to the concert and I did not because hey, weren't we going to be hearing this guy in a few hours anyway? But Michael insisted so I pulled out my iPod and listened to Phil Rossi's "Notes from the Vault" which is an awesome collection of horror stories and quite frankly Phil Rossi could read a grocery list and I'd get goose bumps. Seriously!

So where was I? Oh yeah, the Bruce Springsteen concert. Anyway, we got to Richmond and found a place to park that didn't cost us an arm and a leg and yet still looked like we would find our car with all four wheels still attached when the concert was over. We parked and walked over the Richmond Coliseum and saw lots of people with wrist bands on milling around the place. The wrist bands apparently meant you had bought a seat on the floor. Only there were no seats on the floor. I know this for a hard cold fact, because that's what Michael bought us -- two not-seats on the floor, for the bargain price of $99 a ticket, not including those ridiculous fees that darling hubby got charged for the **convenience** of buying our tickets online. The **convenience** of buying online? What kind of assbackward idea is that? Of course it's more convenient to buy online! Who the hell would want to stand inline for hours on end to buy a ticket from some snot-nosed rude little punk at the cashier's window when they could simply buy the damn thing online? And yet, because we're smart enough to buy online, we're going to be charged **extra**? Have these people not heard of Amazon or iTunes or the rest of the frikkin' digital age? Sheesh!

So anyway, if you had a grey armband, you paid for the privilege of standing for three hours on a hard cement floor while listening to 'the Boss' and his band play. And if you had a pink armband, that meant you were dumb enough to show up five or six hours earlier to stand in line so you could stand for another three hours even closer to 'the Boss' on the same hard cement floor. Thank god the babysitter couldn't show up until 4PM at our place, 'cause if Michael had insisted on showing up that early to get a pink band, you'd be reading his obituary instead of this really cool review.

Which has not even gotten to the actual concert yet. I know. But I want you to fully understand what I went through last night, and if I had to suffer through all that crap, so do you. Okay, where were we?

Oh yeah, the concert. So anyway, even though we had floor non-seats, we had apparently arrived too late to get our grey wristbands, so we just sashayed over to the nearest door that did not have a line a mile long in front of it and there we waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And then a couple of people who were definitely not anybody important showed up and pushed their way to the front of the line that had formed behind us and tapped on the door and some jack-ass inside let them in, and man, you could feel the air conditioning coming out of that place, but WE who were also not important but apparently didn't know the secret knock on the door, could not get in so we just had to stand outside and make faces at the jerks who got in ahead of us and stood there ignoring us while they enjoyed the AC.

And then one of those jerks, a woman, came in and out a few times to smoke a cigarette right in front of us and oh that was precious. Look, a bottled blonde who's so addicted to nicotine she has to come outside every fifteen minutes to blow smoke in our faces. Or up our asses. Or whichever direction the wind blew.

And this went on for half an hour until some of the event staff came out and everybody cheered. Only the event staff didn't come out to let us in. No, they came out to hand out grey wristbands to those poor fools who had paid $99 for a non-seat on the floor. Oh wait, that was us. Yea, I got a wristband. It was grey. How lovely. And then the event staff went back inside and locked the doors again, except to keep letting out that stupid bottled blonde who just had to have another half a cigarette every five minutes. Geez! Not even a whole cigarette, just half a cigarette and she left the rest of it smeared on the pavement!

After another half hour of waiting, just about the time when the mob behind us started getting really ugly and talking about things like breaking down the doors and crushing everybody in front of them (like me and Michael), the event staff opened up the doors and let everybody come screaming in. Michael and I hurried inside and found our way to the non-seats on the floor and discovered that we would be spending the rest of the evening lined up behind enough people to fill a small country in Eastern Europe. And all these people were taller than us. And that meant we couldn't even see the frikkin' stage. So it was a good thing that there were these HUMONGOUS TV screens overhead, because otherwise we would never have seen the concert.

And Michael paid $99 a person for those tickets.

Yeah.

So anyway. We found an unoccupied spot on the floor and Michael claimed it and I went back out to find a potty (and yes, I call it a **potty** -- I have two kids five and under and we're still dealing with potty training so that's what we call it, now go soak your head) and something to eat because we left for the concert at 4 PMish and it was now going on 7 PM and I was hungry. And while getting into the potty was no big deal -- the Richmond Coliseum actually has enough stalls to deal with a mob of women all doing the potty dance -- finding food was not so easy. Everything offered for consumption had a huge line going out the doors, except for...

Pretzels and Dippin' Dots. And since I cannot eat Dippin' Dots for religious reasons (and no, I will not explain that because if I did, we'd never get around to talking about the actual concert) I bought two pretzels and two bottles of water. The price was actually half-way decent, but for some odd reason (religious perhaps) the cashier would not let me have the tops to the water bottles. So I had to veeeeeery carefully pick my way back down to our spot on the floor without spilling two open bottles of water, which made me realize that it was not for religious reasons that they had kept the bottle tops; it was a marketing plan. Because if I dropped my water bottles, I had to go back and buy new ones. Very sneaky.

Anyway, I got back to our spot and Michael took off for the potty (yeah, he calls it a potty too), and then he came back and we ate our pretzels and drank our water and we...

Waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Apparently the concert was supposed to start at 7:30 PM. Not. 7:30 came and went and there was no sign of life on the stage, or at least I think there wasn't any, because you know we couldn't actually see the stage from our non-seats. So we kept waiting and the floor kept filling up and slooooooooowly the actual seats started to fill up. Then around 8PM I heard a guitar riff and a wild roar went up from the audience and I jumped up and down with everybody else struggling to see the stage and guess what?

I saw a roadie tuning a guitar.

And this happened about eight or nine million times. Some guy would come out, fiddle with one of the guitars, the crowd would go into a feeding frenzy, and then the guy would leave the stage.

After about two million years of waiting, I decided to make another break for the potty. I got in and out in under five minutes, which made me think that if I could move that quickly, why couldn't Bruce? But just as I was thinking that, guess what happened?

Yep. Another roadie tuned a guitar.

Eventually, the crowd got so big I could pick up both my feet and not fall down. We were wedged that tight. And wouldn't you know it, some jackass still found a way to shove himself through the crowd to stand right in front of us. Not "right at the very front of the part of the pit where if you only got a grey wristband but not a special pink one that was as close as you were allowed to get to Bruce," but right there in front of us. He was big, and he was religious, and he kept making jokes about "wouldn't it be great if he held up a sign about some weird Bible verse," and wouldn't you know it he brought his PARENTS with him and so he shoved around some more until he made enough room for them to stand in front of us too! Wasn't that special. Oh, but what really made it all special was that he ended up standing right next to me and that was when I discovered that I had a new, least favorite smell and it was...

Big guy who shoves people around and smells like rotting baloney.

Oh. My. God. The odor was just strong enough that if I turned my head in this guy's direction, I could catch a nasty whiff, but not strong enough to make me vomit on the spot which actually would have been good because maybe then this jackass would have moved someplace else! But no, the best I could do was turn my head away and ask Michael (who has NO sense of smell) to switch places with me So I turned my head turned away from him, only just as I was about to do that someone cut the lights, and I thought, "Oh my god!! We're all gonna die, packed like rats in this place!"

And yep, there was a bit of crowd surge as finally, FINALLY, the Boss himself, Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band, FINALLY showed up on stage.

And I would love to describe what the music was like at this point, but after the first opening chord, I was stone deaf and bleeding from both ears.

My GOD it was loud. Bruce came in and he hit hard. I mean, that music just felt like a fist to the face, and it drove me right back into Rotting Baloney Guy. Eeeeeew. And this went on for about 20 minutes straight. I can't decide if it was just one really long song or a bunch of songs run together. The Boss just kept hammering at that guitar, and then Clarence Clemmens (or was it Clarence Thomas? I always get those two confused) kept screeching on his saxophone and some chick with big blonde hair kept shaking her maracas like there was no tomorrow, and Bruce had not one but TWO skinny bald guys on either end of the stage playing piano and keyboard, and those guys sort of reminded me of George Hrab, who is an excellent musician and songwriter and has never made my ears bleed, and you know what? I'd pay $99 for a seat, or maybe even for a non-seat, to see George Hrab (and Phil Rossi too for that matter) because I know I'd enjoy that show. But then just as I was thinking about how awesome a combined George Hrab/Phil Rossi concert would be, Bruce started doing high kicks!

Oh my god, no Bruce, don't do it! Don't kick! It was terrible! It was like watching my dad trying to stomp on a possum that got into his barn and ate all the horse feed. It was like watching George Bush trying to be funny! It was painful, it was agony, he'll never make it into the Rockettes so my god why does he keep kicking, and oh my lord did the Rotting Baloney Guy just FART?! Oh! It's disgusting, my eyes! My nose! My ears!! Why is Bruce Springsteen trying to beat the audience to death with his music?! Oh the humanity...

But. BUT! After the first twenty minutes of all of this torture, Mr. Springsteen actually did something that I thought was rather cool.

He stopped.

And took requests.

Yep. He waded into the audience (well not actually into them, more like above them on a catwalk, and I don't blame him because quite frankly I think those people would have eaten him alive) and picked signs from people, and each sign had a request for a song on it, usually accompanied either by the reason why that person wanted to hear that song or some weird freaky decoration to get the Boss-man's attention. And after picking up a bunch of signs and chatting with the audience (and he really was kind of funny when he was chatting, I have to admit), he picked the first song from the pile of signs he collected, set it up in front of his mic stand, and he and his band played that song.

And it was the first song I heard that night that I actually liked, and I will probably go out and buy it if my Springsteen-obsessed husband doesn't already own it. It was called Stand On It, and it was a really good rock-a-billy song that I could have danced to if I had had room to dance. As it was, I was still squashed up against Rotting Baloney Guy and I didn't even have room to breath.

And so the concert went. It was a lively show, and I heard some stuff I liked and the Boss did give a very enthusiastic performance (but my god, those flat-footed high kicks! **shudder**) and the crowd absolutely loved him, and I did manage to save some of my hearing by pressing my left ear against Michael's shoulder. I would have taken turns with my ears, putting the left one down for a song and then the right one, but anytime I put the right one down on Michael's shoulder, I caught another whiff of Rotting Baloney Guy and that sort of killed that idea so now you know why I'm completely deaf in my right ear.

Oh, and Rotting Baloney Guy farted at least six times during the concert and I think it's a wonder that you aren't all reading about how everyone who attended the Bruce Springsteen concert in Richmond last night died from asphyxiation or carbon monoxide poisoning or something. Really, something crawled up inside this guy's ass and died. But not before making a nest under his armpits, which I saw every time he raised his arms as he sang along with Bruce. Ugh.

The show lasted three hours, and by the time it was over, including the encore which was a really rollicking version of "Twist and Shout", it was closing in on midnight. We got out of the coliseum pretty quickly, found our car with all four tires still attached, and headed home. Miracle of miracles, we did not spend hours in traffic waiting to get onto the interstate. Someone was smart enough to bring out the traffic cops to direct the exodus and so we managed to make it home by 1:30AM to wake up the babysitter and send her home.

So, in conclusion, I spent a lot of time on my feet in overpriced non-seats standing next to a guy who smelled like rotting baloney and farted a lot. And if you see me yelling at my kids this week, it's because I AM STILL DEAF from the horrendously loud but otherwise enjoyable music. It was a good show, even for a non-fan in a non-seat, and I would do it again but only if my husband pays for real seats and I have ear plugs and nose plugs for the concert.

The End.

Fried But Not Tasty

I'm going on five nights of insomnia now, and it's just about killing me. And I caught the creeping crud from Sam! How does that kid manage to get sick in the summer?!

I'm trying to function normally during the day, but it's damn hard. In addition to taking care of the kids and the house, I'm trying like crazy to get some promotional work done. It's not been easy. The 50th episode of my podcast, Heat Flash, goes up on Friday, and I have yet to toot my horn about that. Will start on that tomorrow, which is the last chance I have before I leave for a wedding in Pennsylvania. Very inconvenient time for someone to get married, right before my big podcasting milestone (grumble, bitch, moan).

Anyway, just letting folks know I'm not dead, just dead tired.

It's That Time Of The Month!

For those of you who have never experienced the joys of having a menstrual cycle (and you know who you are GUYS!), allow me to describe what it's like.

Imagine your uterus has decided to claw it's way out of your body, through your cervix, down your vagina and between your legs, turning you inside out in the process so it can drag your sorry butt down 75 miles of baaaaaaaad highway as it goes for a long, messy stroll.

No, wait. I forget. Those of you who have never experienced the joys of a menstrual cycle (MEN!) don't understand terms like 'uterus' or 'cervix' or 'vagina.' So let me rephrase that in terminology that you will understand...

Imagine that your testicles have decided to crawl up into your body and claw their way out through your urethra and out the tip of your penis, turning your sorry carcass inside out in the process and dragging you behind it down 75 miles of baaaaaaaad highway while your wife nags at you for forgetting to put out the garbage before you went out on this little stroll. That's kind of what it's like. Only it's actually worse. Much, much worse.

God I feel lousy.

Mama Got Back!

I have a confession to make. I am addicted. I know I shouldn't have, but last night I stayed up waaaaay to late playing with Manga Studio and drew another cartoon. I can't help it. I love to cartoon! And Manga Studio is so much fun to work with. I'm a graphics junkie!

But that's not really the addiction I wanted to talk about. No, I want to discuss the **other** addiction. The BIG addiction. The addiction that's getting to be a pain in my ass.

I am addicted to calories.

Yeah, I know. Shut up, you can't be addicted to calories you moron. Everybody has to eat **something**.

I don't usually talk about my weight here in the blog, mainly because so many of my friends look at me when I say anything about it and go, "But you look so frikkin' thin!" To which I always say, "That's because I keep all my fat cleverly concealed in my ass!" And I have to admit, I'm not really overweight. I have a shape and it's not round, it's hourglass. But there's a little more sand in the hourglass these days and that's getting to be a problem.

The problem started waaaaay back when, during my second pregnancy. I put on very little weight during that pregnancy, only 17 lbs. And then afterward I dropped weight like nobody's business. I mean, I didn't have to do anything, the fat just melted off of me like snow in July. So what's the problem with that, you ask. Well, for starters, I lost too much weight the year after Sam was born. Ask my best friend Mary. I got so thin she urged me to see a doctor and have some tests run. The tests all came back negative for whatever it was they tested me for, so I was all right. It was just hormones, my doctor said. My metabolism was running a little fast because of post-pregnancy hormones and breast feeding. It would slow down eventually and then I'd go back to my normal weight.

Except that in the interim, I got into some bad eating habits. Like say, polishing off a bowl of ice cream before going to bed every night, and drinking lots of coffee and tea with sugar and milk in it, and eating just about anything else under the sun because I kept losing weight and nothing, I mean nothing stuck to my ribs.

Until one day something did stick to my ribs and then my weight loss slowed. That's right, it slowed and then before you knew it, my weight crept back up to normal and then a little beyond.

I was fine with that for a while. I was a little heavier than I was used to, but only a couple of pounds and all my clothes still fit, so I was good with it. I mean honestly, I had a nice hourglass figure, right?

But then I stopped breastfeeding Sam and I started gaining more weight. And then my hormones started going wonky twice a month and that brings us to the current situation.

Two times a month, I suddenly pack on an extra five pounds and it takes me two weeks to get rid of it, just in time to pack it back on again. It's a menstrual thing, I know it is, and the weight is mostly water weight, but it's also some weight that I put on because I get these horrendous cravings for sweets and salty foods. During those two times of the month I will mindlessly devour anything I find that is not nailed down or else is not one of my kids. And on a few occasions, I have even considered eating the kids, the cravings were that bad. So I'm constantly gaining and lose those same five pounds and while I'm still not fat, I'm running into this little problem.

None of my damn clothes fit half the time.

I do not have the money to buy a whole new wardrobe. Really, I don't. I just bought new shorts because summer is coming and I know my capris will not fit during those "fat" times. But I can't afford anything else. And I don't want to own a second set of clothes just to have for those "fat" times of the month. I don't have the closet space for it. It's driving me crazy. I know in another week I'll be back to a comfortable weight and my clothing will fit just fine (and some pieces will even be a bit loose), but right now I feel like the Sausage Queen of Hamburg, I'm that swollen with water weight.

What to do? I looked up "water retention" on Web MD to see if there was anything I could do without getting a prescription, and all they told me was exercise and drink lots of water. Taking in more water is supposed to convince my body to not hold onto so much extra fluid. So I've been exercising and drinking water until I feel like my back teeth are floating. And my weight hasn't budged.

Oh well, the hazards of getting older. "One day I shall wear purple" and all that crap. Just as long as I've got something to cover my ass.

What I Learned On My 39th Birthday

I learned that...

If you agree to let your five-year-old help you bake her birthday cake and yours, you will end up waiting until the last minute to do it because of scheduling conflicts.

If you wait until the last minute to bake the cakes, you will have to kill yourself to get them done in time for the party. And you will still have to let the five-year-old help.

If you agree to let your husband go to VIRTUS training at the church instead of staying home to help with the party, you're not going to have enough adults on hand to handle the upcoming disaster... er, party.

If you get the cakes backed, but then you leave the cake in the pan too long or too little, one layer will split right across the middle when you try to get it out. And your five-year-old will have a heart attack over this.

If you call often enough and frantically enough, and if you leave a really big note on the door, your husband will get home from VIRTUS training in time to fix that stupid cake.

If you look like you're still pulling your hair out, your best friend will come to the rescue by picking up the sodas, chips, and dips that you forgot to get for the party. Never underestimate the miracle of a best friend.

If you put all thirty-nine candles on your birthday cake and light them, you will set off the fire alarm.

Why I Didn't Get My Lazy Ass Out Of Bed At 5AM

Here are my top five reasons for why I did not get my lazy ass out of bed at 5AM like I was supposed to every morning last week. Okay, I know some of you are going, "Why the hell is she getting out of bed at 5AM?" The answer is, "So I can get some work done before the kids wake up and start screaming!" And you probably still don't get it, so never mind. Here are my reasons.

1 - I stayed up way too late the night before, and needed more than four hours of sleep to function properly that day.

2 - I went back to evening karate classes, so I'm dead tired and I hurt like hell the next morning. Not getting up if I don't feel good. Plus I stayed up too late the night before.

3 - For once, I got to bed on time, but then my oldest daughter came running into the room at midnight screaming that there was a storm in her room. "Honey, there's a storm outside. It's not in your room." It took fifteen minutes to get her back to bed, just long enough to totally screw up a good night's sleep.

4 - Oldest daughter came running back into my bedroom a second time, three hours later, screaming that the cats were under her bed. "Are they our cats?" I ask. "Uh-huh!" she says, nodding. "Then why are you scared?" I ask. "I'm not. They just woke me up." Grooooooan.

5 - Top reason why I did not get out of bed at 5AM. I dreamt that my husband was a young, naked Antonio Banderas, and he offered to take me bowling. When the alarm went off at 5AM, I turned the damned thing off, curled up to my husband and went back to sleep. Hell, do you know how long it's been since we've had a date? No way was I missing that one.

And there you have it. My excuses for sleeping until 7AM. Ta-taa!

I Want To Blog...

I really, really do, but stuff keeps coming up. You know, it was so easy to blog when Sam was an infant. She nursed 12 times a day, so all I did was sit in the glider and type away on my laptop. Now when I nurse Sam, I spend all my time trying to keep her fingers out of my hair, my ears, my nose, my eyes... That little fart keeps thrashing and twisting in my arms, and then she'll roll over and thump me in the chest, as if to say, "More milk, lady! These boobies aren't working fast enough!" And the chewing! My god, I'll be lucky if I have any nipples left by the time this kid weans.

What were we originally talking about? Oh yeah, blogging, or my lack there of. It's kind of difficult these days...

Still Kicking

So I'm still sort of hanging onto the blogosphere by my fingernails. It's calmed down a bit around here, but I'm still juggling a few things, which is why I don't post so often. It occurs to me that it was much easier to post when Sam nursed twelve times a day, because then I was spending a lot more time sitting the glider with the laptop pulled up to me while I fed her. Sam only nurses 2-3 times a day now, though, so I no longer have that mandatory sit-in-front-of-the-computer-so-I-don't-go-crazy-while-nursing-the-baby-time anymore.

Both Michael and Sam are sick. I'm fighting to keep Cassie and me from getting whatever creeping crud they have. I'm so tired of trying to work around someone being sick. On Wednesday I had to take Cassie to the doctor for a check up. Every time I go, I have to initial a privacy statement. They give me the same paper each time, with a new date stamped on the bottom where I'm supposed to initial. I took a look at how many times I'd been in the doctor's office with Cassie since August and I nearly fell over. Since June I've brought Cassie in seven times. And that's just Cassie. I've also had quite a few appointments for Sam as well. And I've been to see my own doctor on two occasions during that time period. Why the hell can't we stay out of the doctor's office?

Every time one of the kids gets sick, it kills my exercise schedule. I've been trying to go to the day time classes at the karate dojo. Normally, I pack up some toys and a snack for Sam and I let her play on the side in a play pen while I take class. But I can't go if either she or Cassie are sick, and I won't go if I'm sick, so I've missed a lot of classes over the last few months. I'm feeling the effects too. We had a test Thursday night, and even though I wasn’t testing, I was reviewing, and man did I feel shaky on a lot of things. I'm having the same problem just getting into the gym. I can't go if I've got a sick kid. The nursery won't take 'em. Yet it seems to me that Sam always, ALWAYS gets sick within a week of me returning to the gym. I suspect it's because someone else is bringing in their sick kid and just infecting the rest of the population. I'd like to catch the parents that do that sort of thing and slap the crap out of them. Really I would.

But anyway, I took this review Thursday night, and I was dragging. Michael was sick, Sam was sick, I haven't been in class or to the gym much, and my interest in karate has been pretty low. I had to force myself to go to the test, and when I got there I wasn't happy. Usually Michael and I get a sitter for the kids and we go together so it's like a date (yeah, I know, a really weird date where we beat each other up), but he was sick so I had to go alone. Whine, whine, whine. And I went through the test, wondering what I was doing there. I just didn't feel like I could hang, you know? I did not have my act together, and I hate feeling like that. There's nothing that annoys me more than to see a black belt who can't do their katas properly or keep up with the rest of the class. That's a lazy black belt, and I realized that's what I had become. Lazy.

I can't just blame everything on the kids being sick. If I wanted to, I could have found a way to fit in the practice time and the class time. In fact, I have. After hearing my instructor complain about having the play pen in the dojo, I got kind of pissed. It's a lot of work for me to show up to that day time class, what with having to feed Sam right before we go, and then packing toys and a snack and some juice, and then having to set up that damned play pen (it's a bear to unfold), and then I get to go through class gritting my teeth every time she makes a noise because I know the instructor expects her to be quiet, but she's only 18 months old, for pete's sake. And so after his complaining, I kind of went on a tear about how hard it is for me to even get there and how I'm sick of missing classes and I realized that the afternoon classes weren't even all that challenging anymore anyway so why was I going? I mean, I don't even break a sweat when I'm there and that's not good.

At some point, in the middle of this rant (which my poor husband had to listen to), I realized that if I wanted to change things, I was going to have to CHANGE things. In other words, I was going to have to drop the afternoon classes and start going to the evening classes instead. It's the perfect solution. Michael stays home in the evenings, so I don't have to take bring in Sam. If he's watching the kids, I don't have to worry about missing class because one of them is sick (although if I'm sick, forget it - I'm still not going). I can still take the same amount of classes if I double up one of the evenings I go and take a regular class along with that evening's specialty class (black belt training or weapons training). Yeah, it would be perfect.

Except that my lazy ass didn't want to do it.

Why? The evening classes are harder, for starters. The daytime classes are filled with older students who have various injuries (like me with my bum knees). The evening classes are mostly younger students. They're also run by some really tough instructors, one of whom used to run the daytime class (back when it was a kick-ass class to take). And they spar a lot more in the evening classes. Sparring is hard work, let me tell you. It's not only potentially painful if you get hit (and I know because I've had some ribs broken, plus both knees, plus my nose), but it's also very aerobically demanding. In fact, an evening of sparring is just plain frickin' exhausting.

But that's what I want, right? Tougher classes, more time in class, a chance to feel like I'm worth my black belt?

My lazy ass started making excuses right away. "I have two bad knees -- what if I get injured while sparring?" "I haven't taken classes regularly in ages -- what if I can't keep up?" And my favorite... "But if Michael and I both take evening classes, we'll never get to see each other any more!"

Whine, whine, whine. All this was sitting at the forefront of my little pea-brain during the review Thursday night. Then the instructor called me out on the floor with a group of brown belts to do some kata. Except I didn't get to line up with them. Instead, he told me, "Sensei Helen, you stand back there, a little separate from the group. You're going to do something different."

And that's when it hit me. Yeah, I get to do something different. I was the only black belt there that night, the only one who knew the black belt katas, the only one who was going to look killer doing the higher level stuff. And man, did that turn me on.

And I did do well. Fortunately, I have managed to squeeze in some practice time, and I looked good, doing MY kata while everyone else did something else. And it was a long kata too, which meant long after everyone else had finished up, I was still going, with everyone watching me.

I'm such a frikkin' show off.

But it worked. I suddenly found my motivation to go back to evening classes. I like doing karate. I like that I do something different from most of my friends, that I do something HARD. I worked to earn my black belt, and I remember how Michael and I just about tore each other up during our black belt test, and how people to this day still come up to us and say, "Man, I remember that test. I thought you two were going to kill each other. That was so cool!"

So next week, I start evening classes again. I already told my instructor, and he's very happy about that. He wants me back on a regular schedule, and I want that to.
Speaking of which, my blogging time is up. Time to go wake up the rest of the family. See ya later.

So I Fell Off The Blogosphere...

I'm not even sure if I'll get this entry written and posted, but I've been gone for more than two months, and I thought I should explain.
Hell with that. Explaining takes too long. Let me sum up.
My folks visited for the week of Halloween. Cassie refused to wear the Hermione Granger costume Grandma bought. Sam refused to wear anything.

I've been working like crazy on my podcast, Heat Flash. Several of the stories have shown up on the ERWA's story galleries, so I know the writing is good. I wonder if the podcast is good too.
Sam, Cassie and I keep giving each other some sort of near-lethal upper-respiratory infection. I'm on antibiotics right now, and am so fed up with being sick I'm just blowing off the whole week. I'm doing the work I have to do, but have opted to skip going to karate and the gym and doing anything else. Did I mention that I have a pinched nerve in my neck as well?

I've decided getting up at 4AM in the morning is not feasible at this time. Yeah, I get a lot of work done, but it's almost like being in an entirely different time zone from the rest of the family. Nobody else wakes up that early, and nobody else goes to bed as early as I need to in order to get up the next morning. So I haven't been seeing Michael at all. Plus, with being sick so much, I've gotten out of the habit. I'm resetting my clock for a more reasonable time, still letting me get up early enough to work on the podcast before the kids wake up, but not so early that I might as well be in Englad, you know?

Michael cleaned the office over the garage, which means there's now room enough for both of us in there. It looks very nice, and I am actually considering moving back in. The biggest problem I have with it though is that my computer in there runs on Windows 2000, and some of my software doesn't work on an OS that old. So I need to update my OS. Plus, that computer doesn't have a DVD drive, which means it can't read any of the disks I've stored all my old files on. Michael is toying with the idea of building me a new computer. He bought a $100 case for $10 the other night. I only hope he doesn't junk up the office again in the process. That would kind of defeat the purpose, you see.

Sam is running, playing, laughing, giggling, and dancing all the time. She climbs on everything, including the coffee table, and gets into everything, like Michael's papers in the roll top desk. The roll top broke, with the top half disappearing into the back of the desk. We keep the bottom half down, but Sam has figured out how to pull out the chair, climb onto it, and reach over the remaining roll top to get Michael's papers. Not good. Kid's too damn clever for her own good.

Cassie is growing like a weed. In fact, I'd almost say she's freakishly tall. She's doing pretty good in preschool, and in karate class too. She keeps begging me to get her sparring gear so she can join the Power Kids class. So guess what she's getting for Christmas? Don't tell her though. I'm having a hard time imagining my freakishly tall four-year-old sparring with the older kids. My baby's growing up so fast!

John turned 40 the other day. Ha ha! You're older than dirt John! I just had to say that.

And I've got a ton of work to do. E-book covers, podcasting, stories to write, a book to outline, an image to finish up for a contest. Baby is screaming right now, so I'll wrap this up.

Hope I don't fall off the blogosphere again.

The Litany of Things Gone Wrong

It would not be life if things didn't go wrong. Here's the skinny on what's up - or rather, down - at the Madden household.

Two weeks prior to Fantasci 6, the entire family came down with the creeping crud (actual scientific name for unknown upper respiratory infection we all had).

The day after Fantasci 6, the entire family came down with the cousin of the creeping crud, an all new yet strangely familiar upper respiratory disease with bonus symptoms (i.e. Cassie puked at school).

The sedan kept stalling on Michael, forcing him to take it in to be serviced. The diagnosis? A fried alternator that needed to be replaced to the tune of a couple hundred dollars.

Our oven died, and was replaced to the tune of $500.

A sensor in the front driver's side wheel of our SUV went wonky (again, another actual scientific term) and had to be replaced. To the tune of $440. As an added bonus, Sam and I got to spend two whole hours in the Saturn dealership waiting for this to be fixed. Yea!

Yesterday, everyone but me came down sick with the mother of the cousin of the creeping crud (and yes, that really is its scientific disease name). Sam can barely breathe, which makes breastfeeding fun. She's also been using my shirt as a hanky. Eeeew. Michael is so congested, he's walking around in a daze. Cassie hasn't succumbed to it yet, but she's coughing and wheezing, so it's only a matter of time. Me? I'm disinfecting the crap out of everything, including my nipples once Sam's done breastfeeding. And I may just burn my shirt from today...

So how are things in your neck of the woods?

How Not To Enjoy Blow-Off Day

Michael's been away on a business trip all week, so you know what that means. After a week of struggling with two kids on my own, Friday arrives and with it comes Blow Off Day, the day where I do absolutely nothing but what I want to do, outside of taking care of the kids.

It should have been a breeze. My plan was to get up extra early and blow some fun time on computer graphics. Then I would wake up Cassie, get her dressed and fed and dropped off at preschool. Then Sam and I would head out for a nice lazy walk. Then we would head out for the morning. First stop, the hospital to pick up copies of my last mammogram (yep, coming up on time to get the boobs ironed out). Second stop, Barnes and Nobles because I have a coupon burning a hole in my pocket. I thought we might look through some manga and cook books and whatever else caught my eye. I'd have a frou-frou coffee with extra whipped cream (the baristas always give me extra whipped cream when they see Sam because they think she's so cute). Then I'd hit the toy store and pick up a small gift for the party Cassie is going to tomorrow. All of that would be followed by a trip home, during which Sam would fall soundly asleep. I'd carry her to her crib, lay her down, and sneak off to do some more fun stuff on my computer. I'd pick Cassie up from preschool around 4 PM. At home, the kids could enjoy cartoons while I whipped together a quick dinner. We'd eat, pop in a movie (we only watch TV on Fridays and Saturdays around here, so yeah, Friday is a big day for the boob tube), and head up for bath and bed around 7 PM. After stories, both kids would be in bed by 8 PM, 8:30 PM tops, and I would have the rest of the evening to myself.

Yeah, that was how the plan was supposed to work. Here's what really happened.

I got up early, just like I planned and spent some quality time with my graphics programs. I put together a really nice graphic for the podcast I'm starting up next month. I puttered away on my laptop happily until 6:25 AM, and then went to wake up Cassie to get her ready for school.

Only to discover that her right eye was glued shut by greenish-yellow goop. Twenty minutes later, when I had finally soaked away the last of the super-goop, I discovered my child had pink eye.

You know that put a kink in my plans.

I can't take Cassie to preschool when she's got pink eye, so I called the school to let them know she'd be staying home today. No biggie, I can still enjoy Blow Off Day with both kids. Of course, I'd have to take Cassie to the doctor, and to do that I'd have to make an appointment...

Since the doctor's office doesn't open until 9 AM, I had to delay my walk. I let Cassie watch some TV while she ate a waffle and I went back to work on my computer graphic. It was really turning out beautifully. I decided to let Sam sleep, since we weren't going anywhere until after I called the doctor. When she finally woke up around 8 AM, I pried myself away from my graphics program and fed her breakfast. Then I let her wander around the living room, destroying everything she could get her hands on while I went back to my computer graphic. Cassie continued to nibble at her waffle and watch the Wiggles with one eye glued shut again.

At 9 AM, I made the call to the doctor's office and spent fifteen minutes on hold. When I got through, I was told I could have an appointment that afternoon at 2:30 PM. Great. That would be right smack-dab in the middle of Sam's nap. But Cassie has pink eye so I had to take it. I hung up the phone and started herding kids upstairs to get dressed. The afternoon was shot but I could still make it to Barnes and Nobles and enjoy browsing through books.

Unfortunately, we didn't exactly hustle. For various reasons, we didn't make it out of the house until 10:30 AM. No problem, though, I could still get in a short trip before lunch, and then put Sam down for a short nap so I could have some quiet time. Cassie could read in her room while I went back to work on my graphics. Right before we hit the parking lot of B&N, I remembered I was supposed to pick up my mammogram films, so I had to keep going and circle around to the hospital. Not a huge trip, but it did eat away that much more time from my book browsing.
At this point, Cassie started complaining of being hungry. "We'll get something to eat at the book store," I said, envisioning us all smiling as we shared a cheese-stuffed herb pretzel and I happily sipped my frou-frou coffee. "But I don't want to eat at the book store, Mommy. I want to eat at Wendy's."

"Wendy's?"

"It's my favoritest place in the whole world!"

We debated the advantages of the B&N café versus Wendy's all the way through the hospital and back out again. We were still debating it as we headed into the bookstore. Sam started to fuss. I gamely tried to pick out a cook book while Cassie went on and on about Wendy's and Sam's complaints about being stuck in the stroller grew louder. Then Cassie said she really needed to go to the children's section of the bookstore, so we went. I thought maybe the kids would get engrossed with the train table and I'd get to look at the cookbooks I'd picked out at random. Instead, I spent most of my time chasing after Sam as she ran amok in the kid's section, yanking books and toys off the shelves. We didn't stay very long (although somehow I did manage to pick out one cookbook and use my coupon; I hope I bought a good book...).

Upon leaving the bookstore, Cassie immediately announced that it was now time to go to Wendy's. Since I obviously wasn't getting any frou-frou coffee now anyway, I relented. It was close to home, so why not. We headed back across town, found the Wendy's and I enjoyed what had to be the absolute cheapest meal of my life. I can't really eat the food at Wendy's - the burgers give me heartburn - so all I ever get is the baked potato and chili from the value menu. Cassie and Sam seemed to enjoy their meals though, so at least someone was happy with the cuisine.

After lunch, we went home and played outside for a while. Sam was thrilled with this. She'd had enough of the car for the day and was anxious to stretch her fat little legs. Too bad we only had 30 minutes before we had to head out for Cassie's doctor's appointment. Oh, the screaming we had when I put Sam back into her car seat. And the thrashing too. Kid nearly knocked me on my butt in the driveway. Somehow, I managed to get her strapped in and we all took off again. Sam's screaming sounds a lot like a police siren, so we made good time as other cars pulled off the road ahead of us.

We spent an hour and a half at the doctor's office, most of that in the waiting room. I had expected to spend much longer there, but I guess they were having a quiet day. My diagnosis of pink eye was confirmed and the physician's assistant prescribed an antibiotic. It was at this point I remembered that I still had to get a toy for the party Cassie is going to tomorrow. Naturally, the toy store is on the exact opposite end of town from our pharmacy. Could the doctor's office call in the prescription for me, so I could pick it up on my way home? Of course they could! Thinking I had just made life easier on myself, I took the kids back out to the car and headed for the toy store.

By now, Sam was getting seriously pissed. She'd missed her nap and had been stuck in the car seat most of the day. When she wasn't in the car seat, she was in my arms to prevent her from trashing whatever location we happened to be visiting at the time. She screamed all the way over to the toy store and...

Fell asleep. I had to carry that little lump all through the toy store, and man was she heavy. I also had to argue with Cassie over what to get her little friend for the birthday party. Personally, I can only afford to spend so much on birthday gifts, especially since all of Cassie's classmates seem intent on inviting everyone in the class whenever a birthday rolls around. The present buying thing gets expensive, you know?

Cassie eventually found a toy horse set that fell within my price range. After paying for it, we headed off to the pharmacy. I had this plan (again with the plans; you think I'd learn by now) to pick up Cassie's prescription, rush home, turn on the cartoons, and whip together a quick dinner just like I'd planned. We'd all relax after running around all day and maybe even have time to play.

That plan went to hell in a hand basket when I got to the pharmacy and was told I'd have to wait another 30 minutes to get my prescription. It had been called in, but they were busy, so that was that. It turned out to be an hour long wait in the end, during which time I once again chased both kids around the store, trying to prevent them from breaking anything. Cassie started to complain about being hungry again, so I bought a ginger ale and a granola bar and the three of us split that while we waited. When we finally got the prescription, we headed home. By now Sam was furious about being stuffed in the car seat again, and not only did regular cars pull over as we drove, but so did a police car as well. At least we made good time on the drive.

Well, I did manage to get dinner out quickly. I had cooked chicken stew the day before, so all I had to do was heat it up again and serve it. Neither Sam nor Cassie wanted the stew though, and that started the nightly food wars up again. I did cave to Sam and let her have some baby raviolis, but only because they're so easy to fix. With Cassie, I finally had to turn off the TV and tell her no more cartoons until she'd eaten her dinner.

"How many bites?" she asked me.

"All of it," I said.

"But how many bites is that?"

"All of it means you eat every bit of food on that plate, young lady."

"But I can't do that! I don't want stew!"

"Well too bad, because I'm not cooking you anything else. You either eat the stew or you go to bed. TV is not coming on until you've cleared your plate."

And so on and so on... That particular argument lasted for over half an hour. I let Cassie sit at the table and whine over her stew while I finished eating and then went on to do my evening chores. I told her once I was done with the chores, her plate was going away and she was going to bed. Did she listen? Did she even attempt to finish her stew? Nooooooooooo. She sat and whined and cried and pouted and then threw a screaming fit when I finally came for her plate. Oh well.

Cassie did calm down in time to get a bedtime story. Sam sat through one board book and then tried to mug me for breast milk. I made her wait while I read to Cassie. Then we did our usual bedtime routine of rounding up monsters (we give them to Cassie to eat before she goes to sleep) and saying good night. Well, I said good night. Cassie said, "Mommy, I need someone to stay with me tonight!" This is her latest delaying technique. I always answer with, "I'll be right down the hallway if you need me. Good night sweetie." Then I walk out of the room. We've done this often enough lately that Cassie no longer cries when I leave.

After getting Cassie down, I tried to nurse Sam. She was more interested in chewing on my nipple than in nursing, so she went to bed early too. She screamed all the while as I worked on this blog entry, but now she's quiet. It's 8:30 PM. I finally have the house to myself. I'm dead tired and the only thing I got done that I had planned to do was my graphic for my podcast. Everything else just got derailed. I'm so pissed. I hate it when Blow Off Day gets screwed like that. Maybe I should try again next Friday. We'll see.

Anyway, Michael will be home later tonight. Once he's home, he gets the girls all weekend. I'm going to be busy working at Fantasci 6 this weekend, handing out brochures and promotional materials for EPIC. Should be fun.

My Trip To Hell

Just a quick update to let folks know what's going on. We've had a slight change of venue since my last post. On Sunday evening, Michael, Cassie, Sam and I arrived in Hell. Well, it may not be Hell for **them** but it's definitely Hell for ME. For the curious, Hell looks a lot like the Hilton Head Marriott Resort in South Carolina. To get here, we had to make a NINE-HOUR CAR TRIP, during which Sam decided to practice her scream-, er, singing skills. She sings very loudly, and several cars pulled off the road ahead of us, thus facilitating our entry in Hell that much more quickly (and yet the trip still seemed to last an eternity; what a paradox!).

We arrived late Sunday evening. I must admit, the scenery in Hell is lovely, but the conditions of my being here are sucky. I am not here because of any sin **I** committed. No, I'm here because I married a geek. Okay, maybe that is sin. Any way, Michael is attending a never-ending geek-fest on aeronautical modeling and simulation. Meanwhile, I am stuck in a hotel room with the kids. Since yesterday afternoon, Sam has running a fever of 103+. She was up all Sunday night and up all last night screaming. She's also been screaming a lot during the day. When Sam's not been screaming, she's been actively trying to dismantle the room (I believe she has a future as a rock star). Cassie has been well-behaved, but is chomping at the bit to go to the lower pits of Hell (i.e. the beach) so she can drown herself in the surf while Sam screams about the sand (to which she is apparently violently allergic).

Meanwhile, I want a shower (to wash away the sands of Hell which have become stuck in my nether-regions), but I can't seem to get one without some disaster occurring while I've got shampoo in my hair. I'd also kill for a decent cup of coffee, but we all know that there is no good coffee in Hell (that's why it's called HELL, right). There is this brown-colored urine the locals call coffee, but it is still actually urine.

While the coffee sucks big time, the food is slightly better. Not because we're eating at any of Hell's fancy restaurants, but because Michael has thoughtfully stocked our hotel room with goodies from the local Piggley Wiggley (yes, there are Piggley Wiggley's in Hell). So while Michael enjoy-, er, endures the string of luncheons and receptions hosted by his geek-fest, the kids and I are surviving on PBJs, bananas, and microwaveable soup (we brought our own microwave just for this purpose).

I had had hopes for wireless internet connection during our stay, but broadband in Hell costs $10 a day and we can only afford one day, so this is it. Not a huge loss though, as I've had dial-up that runs faster than Hell's broadband. In any event, you won't hear from me again until I manage to escape, a feat of daring which involves making another NINE-HOUR CAR DRIVE back through South Carolina, North Carolina, and part of Virginia. Hopefully this will happen on Monday. Oh, did I mention Sam hates car trips? Pray for me.

Of course, my current trials are nothing. Michael's geek-fest is an annual thing, and next year it's being held in a different part of Hell known as Hawaii. Getting there involves a NINE-HOUR trip on a plane. Michael says we're going. I say only he's going... In a shoe box.

Signing off now. See you in a week.

Maybe.

If I ever get out of Hell.

My Lovely, Lovely Day

6AM - I clean two piles of Fritti’s cat diarrhea off the living room carpet. Joy.

7 AM - Fritti returns to the scene of the crime and turns himself inside out by vomiting. Verily, it is explosive and wet, and I dare you to find more impressive special effects in any horror movie known to mankind.

7:45 AM - Cassandra stages a pacifist protest against the current tyrannical parental regime by putting her toothbrush in her mouth, but then refusing to brush. Do I possibly have the next Ghandi on my hands, or is my child deliberately trying to make me strangle her?

10:30 AM - Sam has a poop to rival Fritti’s early AM offering. But since it’s contained in a diaper, it’s far easier to clean up.

2:30-4:30 PM - I bang my head against my laptop as it repeatedly locks up while trying to make a DVD. Tell me, what is the point of having a DVD drive if the frikkin’ thing will not burn DVDs?

6:15 PM - Once is never enough. Fritti wanders back into the living room, faces east, and then vomits. Then he faces south, west, and north, each time leaving more vomit. I swear, he pukes more than his own body weight. Has he somehow become a receptacle for other cats’ vomit? Is he puking for Lydia and BJ as well? I ponder the metaphysical possibilities as I yet again get down on my hands and knees to scrub the carpet.

7:30 PM - Sam rams her head into a dining room chair and leaves a big red mark on her forehead. Ouch!

7:45 PM - Anything Sam can do, Cassie can do better. While getting a horsie back ride on her daddy, Cass throws up both her arms and legs, balances her pointy little butt for two seconds on Michael’s spine, and then topples head first into the exercise bike in the living room, smacking her head on one of the pedals. After the screaming is over, I see she now has a huge goose egg between her eyebrows and a small cut on her left cheek. It’s a miracle she still has her left eye.

7:55 PM - As a grace note to the evening, Fritti wanders into the dining room and attempts to turn himself inside out again, this time by crapping next to my chair. Oh joy of joys.

I am now going to bed so I can look forward to yet another day in the life of Helen Madden. If I do not show up for the playdate tomorrow, it is because either Social Services or the ASPCA has shown up to take me away. God knows I could use the vacation.

The Early Bird

Know what I love about getting up early in the morning? I woke up at 4:45 today and so far I’ve nursed Sam, cleaned two piles of cat poop, folded the laundry, dusted the downstairs, made my bed, got Cassie up and dressed, fed myself and the kids, cleaned up the kitchen, bathed Sam, and taken a shower. And it’s only 8:30 AM! Go me!

Know what I hate about getting up early in the morning? It’s 8:30 AM and so far today I’ve nursed Sam, cleaned two piles of cat poop, folded the laundry, dusted the downstairs, made my bed, got Cassie up and dressed, fed myself and the kids, cleaned up the kitchen, bathed Sam, and taken a shower. God I’m beat.

Happiness Is...

...Coming home with two cranky children, only to discover that one cat had diarrhea in your bedroom and another cat vomited in your glider.

I’m overjoyed. Really.

When It Rains...

Michael is out of town, so you know life around here is a living hell at the moment. The morning he left, I had to hop into my car six different times to run six different errands - doctor’s appointment, bring Cassie a blanket at preschool, banking, grocery shopping, etc. Only the doctor’s appointment was planned. Sam got a little pissed the fourth time I strapped her into the car seat to head out the door again. “Fer cryin’ out loud, lady! Can’t a baby get a break?”

Naturally, Cassie came down with the stomach flu last night. She came running into my room at 1 AM complaining that her tummy hurt. Dumb me, I thought she was just hungry because she blew off dinner. I took her downstairs to get a bite to eat. The first time she threw up, it went all over the kitchen floor. The second time, I was carrying her over to the mop bucket. She got it half in, half out. The third time she puked, she finally made it into the bucket. Of course, there was a lot more puke the first and second time around.

So Cassie stayed home today, we all slept late, and we’ve all been way off schedule today, which I hate because that makes it impossible for me to get any work done. Somehow though, a miracle occurred around 2 PM. I managed to nurse a screaming Sam to sleep, then came downstairs and found Cassie zonked out in her bean bag chair. She was so out of it I was able to mop the entire downstairs before she woke up. So at least that got done.

My folks show up tomorrow. My sister shows up the day after that, the same day Michael gets home. His parents show up on Friday. Sam gets baptized on Saturday. I won’t have the house to myself again until Tuesday. I wonder if I’ll be able to get anything useful done between now and then?

A Close-Knit Family

Our house has 2300 square feet of space. So why the hell do we all keep ending up in the same 10 square feet every time I turn around?