Hollow Weenies and Crystal Balls...

OKay, the post has nothing to do with the title, but Roxie told a funny joke, and that was the punch line, and I LIKED it!

Anyway...

I'm tired. Knackered. Destroyed. Explaining the ins and outs of my day would just be confusing, but it's getting so I'm starting to count the stress of my day in trips. A T/Th goes like this: One trip to get Chicken, one trip to take her to soccer, one trip to take T to karate, one trip to pick Chicken up, one trip to pick T up, one trip to get milk/toilet paper/deodorant/whatever, and so on. Now Mate is a veteran 'tripper', and he usually gets a trip or two, and I've managed to juggle things so the short people don't take all those trips--because a trip counts double when they come, just in stress--but today, which should have been a one trip day was actually a two trip day with little people, so that makes it a three trip day with a drop in from my folks in between.

When I was decorating the outside for Halloween.

Now, you may think it funny that I was decorating the outside when the inside was leveled, destroyed, annihilated, obliterated, chaos, destruction, maelstrom, disorder, squalor, just plain old general nastiness, but since I tried to support the flagging economy by a generous purchase of chocolate, I thought it would be a good idea to make it known to children in various states of dress that there would be chocolate inside my abode.

Really, how much of the house do trick-or-treaters see when they knock on the door?

Well, not as much as mom and dad did when we kicked our way through the detritus so they could come in and sit down. No--I am not speaking in hyperbole. For once I wish I was.

Anyway, they enjoyed coming in and seeing the kids in their costumes, and I ran around and cleaned house while they were here (the better to give the illusion that I this is what I was PLANNING to do during this time, when, in fact, I had solid plans of catching a nap in said squalor while Ladybug sat on my lap watching Spongebob) and I gave my mom the Little Vampire's book to read to the kids so she knew Cave Troll was being a TOTALLY different kind of vampire than the ones in my books, and generally, my folks are nice people, but...

But when they left, my daughter turned around to me and said, "Mom, remind me tomorrow that I need to go out and get a life. They kept asking me what I was doing tonight and why I wasn't going out with my friends and what I was doing at school and I had nothin'."

I said, "Honey, you can go out and get a life after your soccer games, the little kid's gymnastics, Cave Troll's post-soccer skating party (for which I have recruited crazy auntie Wendy to come skate, since BAD things happen when I try it!) and, of course, we clean the cesspool we live in."

She said, "I guess I'll get my life some other time!"

I said, "That's okay, the odds of cleaning the house were pretty steep anyway."

And I'd like to say "And then we flopped on the couch in a mutual mother daughter moment of complete sympatico," But actually, that was when Big T called to say that his movie fundraiser ended early and could I please come pick him up after I cooked dinner and before I took the little kids trick-or-treating, which I did.

Mate came to help with the trick-or-treating, which was nice--he really hasn't had a lot of experience with that, being the official candy-giver-outer with the older kids, and he enjoyed himself.

I came home and let him give showers and got to work on a hat for the CaveTroll's soccer coach, and wondered...

When can I finish that gay werewolf story again?

*sigh* Not tonight, my friends, not tonight.

(Note--I've written this entire post while hoping a pic of everybody in their holiday finery would eventually download. Mate's playing WoW, so it ain't happening--but never fear. If I have to get up at dark-thirty on a Saturday, I WILL get you pictures because, frankly, from the youngest to the oldest, they were ALL hella cute:-)

Writer Down!

Okay--whose idea was it to put huge limitations on the human body? Seriously? I've been writing...WRITING for the sake of heaven--not running or jumping or beating up small mammals or hunting prehistoric arctic bear, and for the last few days I've been waking up to a back and shoulders who are saying, in collective harmony, "Fuck you, heifer, fuck you and the spine you rode in on, we're having a rebellion!"

To the muscle groups screaming in agony because I've been hunched over a keyboard for ten days? I hate you all. 'Nuff said.

So, because of that and a brain that is still the unfortunate texture of oatmeal, it will probably be a short post, but there are some items on the agenda.

First off--Ladybug isn't sleeping, and apparently, when Ladybug don't sleep, don't nobody sleep. If I compare my brain to oatmeal one more time, I'm going to have a REALLY unfortunate sneeze, so, well, you get the picture. Amy Lane, Zombie Queen.

Second off--You won't be 'waiting' for 'Waiting' much longer--if my back and neck would only behave and hold off on that tantrum for a few more days, I will have it to you in the next two weeks. And then it's all me and RAMPANT, until such time as the bank account says I can print Bitter Moon II. (*sigh* I hate having it wait like that...I worked so hard to finish it in time to come out this fall...it's just wrong. Wrong I say, sick and wrong.)

Third off--Ladybug again. She was sitting at the table, eating a chocolate with all the daintiness of a member of the royal family while making nom-nom noises and saying, "mmmm...chocolate...."

"Gees, Ladybug, you're such a girl!"

"Yes, mama. I AM a girl!" And so she is:-)

And finally...

Curmudgeonly Colleague approached me today, all glittering and alight with disgust and censure because of my crack in the last post about going home to write some 'guy/guy werewolf porn'. I assured him that really, I was speaking in hyperbole, and he said, "Thank God. Knowing you, I know you could probably actually do that!"

And then I felt guilty.

Uhm...for those of you who have read 'Yearning' (easily accessible on my web-site, Mr. Curmudgeonly Colleague, if you'd like a chance to issue a rejoinder) could you, uhm, help me out here with reasons why it's not just 'guy/guy werewolf porn'? It sounds self-aggrandizing when I say it, but I know the story has more substance than that, and I'm so deep into 'Waiting' that I just can't form words of self-defense and persuasive prose when I'm coming up with, well, Alternative Lifestyles Romance prose... So, if you've read the story and liked it, feel free to comment and tell me why it's NOT porn.

(And if it IS porn, then I apologize, Mr. CC--yes. Apparently that's what I'm writing right now, but that DOESN'T mean you wouldn't like Bitter Moon!)

Well, I knit...

Okay--remember that seminar I joked about last week? Yeah... well we got part of that today. I was lucky. I got there late, sat outside and listened to the the sound the bullshit made as it hit the bleachers, and knit under the one spot in the foyer with a broken light. But I got something done, right?

The second half wasn't so bad--gang awareness, as in, "Are you aware that your school has gangs?"

Yes. I am aware my school has gangs. And now I'm aware that 'cuz' means crip, 'blood' means blood, and 'thizz face' means what you look like when you're high. I'm also aware that there are some pretty twisted people out there, some of them mothers. My favorite shot was of moms, sporting her gang colors while mugging the camera with her dead son, in his coffin at the funeral. Uhm, son was also sporting colors. (She even had her hair tipped in red--it was pretty disgusting.)

Ick.

Needless to say, I came home and worked on some guy/guy werewolf porn to get the nasty taste out of my mouth. Seriously--it may squick some people out, but I'm pretty sure Proud Mothers Of Gang Members get a nastier place in hell and a longer stay than Romance Writers of Alternative Lifestyles--I think it states that in the bylaws when you join.

And other than that? Well, I do have a funny moment of the day (besides teaching another late teacher how to knit as we ignored the keynote speaker telling us that we should try to be less white as we teach our ethnically diverse students. Honestly, not sure what to do about the whiteness--I do my best to hide it, but it happened before I was born.)

Anyway, I came home and was putting the short people down for a nap, per usual. (oddly enough, it is the Cave Troll who needs the nap--Ladybug powers on through so she can sit on my lap while he's sleeping.) Anyway, I gave directions--I told the Cave Troll to "run down the hall, take off your shoes, take off your shirt and crawl into the covers!"

Immediately after issuing this order I heard a patter-patter-patter..bump bump bump BAM!

"Mo-mmmmm!! I fell down and hit my head!!!"

Uhm, apparently he was trying to follow all those orders at once:-)

Normalcy

Hullo!

Let me start by saying that my last posts was inspired by everyday life at the grindstone--no particular moment or person, just a lot of them lumped together. As Donna Lee said--we've ALL been to that seminar!!

And as for today's blog? Not much to report, really. I was going to clean the kitchen table--that was my BIG goal for today. At this moment, it's at 50% crap-pacity, but 50% isn't clear, so I guess I just completely screwed THAT pooch, didn't I?

Anyway, I did manage to go shopping (forgot cat food!), get a pumpkin (which we can't carve until I clean the kitchen table!), and visit the yarn store (where I spent $15 more than I told my husband I would, when we really can't afford it!!).

*sigh* If it wasn't for the montage you-tube video on SmartBitches/Trashybooks, my day really would have been a complete waste of time! (For those of you who have seen the video montage for Friday--can we all just say *sigh*?)

But there are some small things to report-- The Cave Troll's LAST soccer game was Friday, canyagimmehalllelujiaamen? Amen! And it was none too soon--I heard a couple of parents loudly discussing Proposition 8 (at this point the number one thing that embarrasses and humiliates me about my home state) and how OF COURSE they were voting yes, and I had a sudden urge to move to Canada. Mate said yes, but first we had to pull out of the housing slump so we could get enough money from this house to rent an apartment somewhere else. To quote Bruce Willis? Fucking' California. Anyway, all of my embarrassment about my writing coma verbal diarrhea has gone bye bye. Hell--if I'm the weirdest person they've ever met, maybe they need to get out of the suburbs, ya think?

And speaking of the Cave Troll, I must have let his name drop on a couple of blogs, because another person named 'Kewyn' just e-mailed me asking where I got the name. It seems he always wanted to know. Well, glad I could give him an answer, because he was told it meant 'quiet' and really, wouldn't THAT be a cruel thing to name a kid?

And speaking of the Ladybug (okay, for the record? We're ALWAYS speaking of Ladybug. She really is at that age where every smile is gold.) I was in the kitchen writing and she was sitting on the floor, conspiring with her brother for ways to drive me batshit (okay--YOU tell me what they were talking about!) when suddenly she SHRIEKED and HOLLERED and SCREAMED! SPIDER SPIDER SPIDER SPIDER BAD SPIDER MAKE IT GO MAKE IT GO MAKE IT GO!!!!

And the Cave Troll grabbed his book and squash-ted it like an arachnid. I was so proud of him-- just like his mama. The screaming like a girl and crying when the Daddy Longlegs walks down the wall? THAT was 100% Mate.

Oh yeah-- I made her a hat to go with the poncho. She really does look like she could turn the world on with her smile:-) (Okay--that joke would go better with a pix, which I haven't taken. Let's just say she looks like a toddler version of Mary Tyler Moore at her most Georgie Girl:-)

And now, off to watch TV and knit hats for the Cave Troll's soccer coaches. Because I can.

Tantric-mommy-teacher-yoga

Hi! I'd like to welcome you all to our seminar on Tantric-Mommy-Teacher-Yoga...are we all assembled?

Now, I know why five of you are here--it seems as though you are having troubles getting along with young Rectum Hemrrhoid, and Mrs. Hemrrhoid seemed to feel this seminar was in your best interest. And you--yes, you in the front? Emma Abler? Yes--you're Rectum's favorite teacher. Mrs. Hemrrhoid seemed to feel you'd be able to give some of your fellow teachers some insight as to how to deal with young Rectum without injuring his fragile ego.

You in the back--Ms. Lane? You're not doing anybody any good by rolling your eyes you know. This seminar isn't just for an isolated case, you know--there are several families in this community that have requested that teachers pass this course--the Nekcramps, Arsaches, Megranes, Eyetix, Twitches, and Ulcers have all told your administration that there are certain flexibility skills the teachers here are lacking, and that's my job as a consultant. I think you should show some respect, don't you?

*smile* Okay now! Are we having fun? Everybody have their professional black yoga pants, glossy shoes and dress-shirts on? Are we ready to go? Good. Now the first step in Tantric-mommy-teacher-yoga is the hardest. I want everybody to stand up straight and put your arms over your head. Very good. Now, I know this next part is difficult--some of you are middle-aged, many of you are a little thick in the middle, but really, once we get this part over it's going to be cake! I want you to lean back, until you can see the back wall, and put your hands down on the floor. Yes, Emma, you've got it! You're literally bending over backwards!!! (Ms. Lane! Do you use those words in front of your students? Shame on you!)

Okay--now that you're backwards, we have the parents of high school students here to volunteer. Now, I know this is going to feel invasive, but we're going to attach a nearly grown human to your breast. Some of you women, you might recognize this sensation--no, Ms. Lane, it's NOT over when your youngest turns two, it's part of your profession, you signed on, remember? Gentlemen, this is going to feel a little weird at first, but trust us. All our data shows that if a nearly grown human munches on your mammary for a while, you WILL start to lactate. That's all we want from you-- a little milk of human kindness, is that so hard?

And now for the last stage--some people have said this is the most uncomfortable part, but some of our clients have told us that it actually feels pretty good! Okay...without falling down now, I want you to spread your legs. Now we're going to go around and pull your pants down, and then introduce the phallic-shaped-personality invader to your backside. Oooops...Ms. Lane--you insist on being difficult don't you? Now relax, dammit, relax! *whew* Now that wasn't so hard, was it?

Good.

Excellent in fact--all of you, very good. Now you said it couldn't be done, but do you see what our seminar has done for you? We've taught you to bend over backwards while simultaneously breastfeeding the world and being *bleeped* in the *blargh*! Don't you all feel like better teachers for that? I thought you would! Uhm...Ms. Lane...put down your phallic-shaped-personality invader... now, be a sport--this is for the greater good...Ms. Lane...Ms. Lane? Uhm... excuse me everybody...I really have another seminar to attend and I'll be back to remove your devices as soon as I'm done.... AAAAUUUUUUUUGHHHHHH!!!!!!

Rabbit Holes

My eyes are like hot little coals, boring into my oatmeal mushpan brain, so it's probably going to be a very quick blog!

Firsts--Roxie's socks knocked my socks off!! I was the recipient of a drive by soxing on Friday, and I could not be more tickled... I seem to have squandered my one picture on Ladybug, but I'm going to give getting these lovely multi-colored hippie rainbow socks on the blog--because the thought behind them was one of the things that perked me up this weekend and helped me keep the faith:-)

Seconds--I'm not sure if you guys watch Fringe or not--we do. The thing is, there are these bizarre little pictures at the commercial break, and your job is to look at the picture and try to figure out what's wrong with it. Is it an apple slice, or are there little baby-fetus-shadows in the seeds? That sort of thing, right? Anyway, one of the bizarre little pictures was of a six-fingered hand. The Cave Troll came out for a hug when the six-fingered hand crossed the screen, and the Cave Troll spent the next five minutes looking at his hand, looking at the screen, looking at his hand... you could tell the little goober was trying to figure things out but it just wasn't computing!

Thirds--My brain has slid down the writing rabbit hole--and it's seriously hard to pull it back out. The problem with the rabbit hole, is that unless i'm actually communicating by writing, I...well I sound considerably weirder than usual when I'm down the rabbit hole. I tend to talk a lot, and what's coming out of my mouth usually surprises both my listener--and me. I guess if I was with my regular peeps, it would be no big deal but... well, let's just say that there are some mom's on the Cave Troll's soccer team who probably won't be hanging too close to me at the game. C'est la vie... I mean, maybe by next year, I'll be rich and famous and they'll just figure I'm eccentric or something. (Do you think Nora Roberts ever has this problem? Stephen King? Someday, I'd like to ask.)

Fourths--To all of you doing the blogtoberfest thing? Blog on, sisters--blog on. I seriously was going to skip tonight because, well, I may have mentioned the eyes like hot coals thing... but I figure that if you guys can do this every day, I can do it just once every other day.

Fifths--Kid capsule.

Ladybug--her favorite song right now is 'Everybody wants to be a cat'. Singing that to her guarantees that she will forgive you for losing her purple sparkly shoes. She also dressed in an old sunsuit and a tutu this afternoon--her own costume discovery. She was gorge-mous:-)

Cave Troll-- still sits on my lap every night, and he loves to give kisses. He's getting older and soon he won't do this anymore--I want to savor it.

Chicken--I lost my running for the Mother of the Year award today. That old novelty song came on-- 'Nothin' but mammals'--well, let's just say I cranked the ipod up in my minivan, and the two of us head-danced our way back home.

Big T-- Big T likes to lecture big-boy things to the little kids. Since (Goddess save us all) Proposition 8 is a big topic on television right now (and for those of you outside of California, I'm embarrassed and humiliated for my state to even explain what Proposition 8 is. Suffice it to say that 'Redneck Homophobia' is a rampant understatement.) and so Big T thought he'd give the Cave Troll a little mini-social studies lesson on the background of proposition 8. When he told me that he tried to explain the concepts 'gay' and 'bf' to his four year old little brother, he seemed very put-out that the Cave Troll wasn't particularly interested. I told Big T that, considering that he was trying to lecture the four year old on human sexuality at, yes, THE TENDER AGE OF FOUR, he was lucky the little guy didn't tell him to GFY.

I got an abnormal amount of amusement watching Big T try to figure out what that stood for. Ayup-- that Mother of the Year award sliding further and further away. Damn. I was hoping for something to replace the broken bowl tchotchke on my shelf.

I'm a writing coma, who'th'hell're'you?

Seriously--20 pages of Teague & Jack in two days--I'm barely able to converse with my native species, much less blog. (For newcomers, Teague & Jack are relatively, uhm, raw...I'm afraid of what part of their story I'll just start blurting out!)

Anyway, my document handler is totally spazzing out--you'd think I had six or seven copies of a five long books in there or something. Sure, it TELLS Mate that I've got 17 gigs left in my hard drive, but I'm thinking if I had all that extra space then it WOULDN'T BE SPAZTICKING OUT ON ME, WOULD IT? Have I mentioned I'm a little out of touch and weird right now? It's going to take some serious interacting/sleep recapture to recoup from this last round of writing. The good news is, Jack and Teague'll probably be up before Thanksgiving, and I'll be cruising on Rampant in time for next summer! (Uhm, not that I'll have enough money to publish then...I'll be lucky if I can publish Bitter Moon II right now. In fact, we're looking into ways to charge for Jack & Teague stories, just so we can afford to publish everything else!

Again, uhm, anyway.

Anyway, it's Sunday! And thanks to our special number generator... (snark. Chicken put everybody's name into a hat and I drew. Low tech. Notice the pictures on the blog? Thought not!)

Michelle in Colorado Springs, you've won my blog-contest--YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!! So contact me at the e-mail in my profile or amylane AT greenshill DOT com, and we'll have a chat about what you want from my stash/book stash and what mathom you want to start!

Excellent. (Me, doing the little happy dance!) My second successful blog contest--now if I could get pictures done...

Well, for one thing you'd see the Pony Puke Bucket of Boat Trash Poncho--it's, uhm, special. I don't want to give anything away, but, if the damned photo loads...well, you'll at least see where the name comes from.

And that's it. Well, maybe not it, but I've maxed out on my ability to concentrate today. The photo loaded--huzzah! You now have proof that not only have I not sold my children to gypsies, but I'm still knitting as well. Okay, I admit it. She's hella cute;-)

Chat w/you all later, when I'm semi-coherent... let me go skipping down the hall now chanting 'Jack and Teague and pictures OH MY!!!' *hee hee hee hee hee...*

Weird shit

OKay--a drive-by blogging here.

First off-- yeee! Lots of replies in the comment box--I can't wait to put the names in the hat, but I'll leave the contest open until Sunday and then pull out a winner!

Second off--I almost hit a flock of ducks flying through an intersection this morning. They were crossing against the light--I shit you not. Chicken sat next to me, eyes wide, as we noted the panicky look in the beady little eyes of the last three teal-headed mallards in the flock. It was one of those intersections that you can see for miles and the green light lasts forever, so we were heading at a good clip when the flock took off from (apparently?) the FUCKING STOP SIGN TO OUR RIGHT! When we were through the intersection we both panted in relief for a moment, and then I said "Excellent, Chicken--if we'd biffed it in that intersection, you realize our last words would have been "DUDES!!!!"

Third off--Ladybug sick:-( She has congestion added to the spiking fever, so she's actually more miserable than Cave Troll--and more pathetic. Unlike the Cave Troll, she cries for mama, and mama feels guilty. Especially at two a.m. when she hauls her blazing, pudgy little bod into bed and I shove an icy thermometer in her armpit, and then make her eat grape flavored motrin. (blech!)

Fourth off-- Bitter Moon II edit is complete! I'm exhausted, and I've thought of no fewer than four distinct details to add throughout the book, but I'm also pleased. I mean, it's probably going to suck, but I'm pleased, because it's 821 freaking pages and because I've worked my ass off for this one and because even if it does suck, and suck horribly, it's not because I didn't do my damnedest to make it sort of almost decent.

And finally, I leave you with this observation:

When I was a kid we had a dog named Socko. We didn't get Socko fixed until he was almost a year old, and we did it because we were forced to.

Socko was a good dog-- he was sweet and well behaved most of the time, but if there was a bitch in heat within a three mile radius, that dog would lose his fucking mind. I shit you not, he ATE A FENCE--and one that was shored up by a 4x4 where he was chewing the most--just to escape and get laid.

He came back three days later--after we had searched the pound and cruised the 1x2 mile block and put up signs. One day, we just opened our door, and there he was, passed out on the porch after having gone out and gotten laid, gotten stoned, and gotten his ass kicked to his the fullest capacity of his great puppy heart.

A week later, we took him to the vet and cut off his balls, because dammit, if he didn't have the good sense not to do that to himself, well, then, we were going to have to do it for him.

The reason I was thinking about Socko today is because it occurred to me that sometimes, as a teacher, I start thinking that teenaged boys are a lot like Socko. They need to be locked in a pen made of 4x4 posts, and if they think it's a good idea to chew through those posts and escape, well then, by gum, we need to kick their asses and cut something off.

Seriously--this kind of threat could eliminate a lot of work for my people, don't you think?

Have a good weekend everybody!

Hullo, 500!!!

And really, that's all I gots...

Okay, I lied. I've gots a little more.

First of all, someone really likes me! Jen B gave me an 'I Love The Blog' award, and since my blog is devoid of bells, whistles, and practically pictures of any sort, I've got to say I was tickled beyond measure. (I haven't given up on pictures, guys--I promise. When I'm done editing, I SHALL post a picture of Ladybug in the Pony Puke Triple Bucket of Boat Trash Pink Poncho...or the PPTBoBTPP, as I've never called it but am snickering about now!) Anyway, Jen's blog is wonderful--I'm TOTALLY enjoying the idea of a group of bloggers chatting about romance/paranormal/kinky sex books! And they're all SO nice!!! And they don't shun you for TMI, which is always a good thing as well. You are supposed to give the award to your own inspirations, but here's the thing.

I really only haunt nine, maybe ten blogs, on a regular basis--and that's the truth. My blogspace is my circle of friends--there are lots of folks out there I'd love to visit if I had more time, but I don't really, so I visit my circle and think wistfully of a desert island with margaritas and wifi. If you've seen me reply to you any time in the last year, you know I adore you--period, the end. j'et adore, mon amis--you all keep me sane, and thank you!

And that brings me to my next thing-- Holy Goddess, Queen of Cats, it's my 500th post! Yeah--I know what you're thinking. "Well, my numbers could be that high too, if I didn't edit and didn't post any pictures!" *sigh* Okay, knock me off my high horse... well, I'm sort of scared of horses, so I wouldn't really be on one. Maybe just knock me on my ass, we'll call it even, and I can get on with my blog-stone. (You know, like milestone, but, well, not?)

So, to celebrate, we'll do what we did last time--but on a smaller scale.

I'll be giving away one book--your choice, OR a skein of sock yarn (or two!)--again, your choice (color, type, etc.) to the person whose name I draw out of a hat. It's a humble prize, yes, but we're sort of in a humble place right now, and about the only thing we have lots of with which to share are my books and my yarn--and, dammit, I feel like celebrating! 500 posts! And you people really like me!!! I may even give out more than one skein of sock yarn! (I've been trying to match yarns with personalities for years now--I could just go hog wild!) This is all stash acquisition yarn, btw--yarn that's been given to me is being carefully hoarded, like Smaug the dragon hoarded gold (mine...all mine... precious...did you miss me, precious...yess... sweet sweet yarn...). There shall be no yarn mathoms in THIS household! (Although that's actually a pretty cool idea--maybe I'll start it. You know, now that I mention it... I'LL DO IT!)

Okay-this just in! For those of you who remember 'mathoms' from the Hobbit? To the winner of the contest, I'll give not only their own sock yarn, but also a skein of yarn designed to be a 'mathom'-- a recycled gift. This means that the winner of the contest will put their name on the yarn tag, and then the next time they send a package to someone, they'll include the mathom. Let's see how many people can pass this mathom along until someone breaks down and makes it into socks! (I like this idea...I'm thinking, even now, about a good mathom skein in my stash... ooohh, the possibilities!!!) (For the person who wins the book, how about one book for them, and one book to add to paperback book swap? Will that work?)

Okay--I like this! Anyone who wants in, say something cool in the comments, and your name, too, will be put in a hat.

So go ahead and comment--and I guess I'll go ahead and edit. *sigh*

However, since I've decided that when I'm done with this next edit, I'll do a short Teague and Jack installment to reward me for my efforts (since I'll have one more edit after that, and then maybe a long wait before submission, since we're, well, you know... part time and all...) and therefore, reward anybody reading for sticking with my excruciating navel gazing when dealing with the angst and aggravation this time around. Howzat sound? Sounds like a win/win to me!

Next post, I'll do Cute Kid Tricks--both mine and other peoples--but it might be rough. I was all set to go to my department meeting today--seriously, I had childcare lined up for both short people (a feat, since they're in two different places) but then... bump-bum-buuuuuummmmm... the babysitter called because Ladybug was sick. I'll probably be here tomorrow. With her. *sigh*

But at least I'll see you guys commenting for the contest. *brightens* It could be a decent day!

Sing it with me...

Just... just watch it, that's all... (Don't worry--kid and work friendly!)

Forgive me, I don't usually discuss politics.

*Note--for some reason 1/2 this post got deleted before the first post--I went back and added the first part again, so if you read it in the interim, double check. It makes more sense now!)

I really don't (discuss politics that is) although most of you have figured that I'm sort of rabidly left-wing. (I'm not sure if it's been the appeals to the Goddess that tipped you off or the human rights slant to my books. Either way, good guess!) I'm not going to go on a rant right now--I may later, because, well, some of you live outside of the U.S. and if a certain ticket wins next month, I may be asking you for asylum--but right now I'm going to talk about my mom.

My real mom did an awful lot of drugs in the '70s--she was self-medicating for mental illness--but she hasn't been able to take care of herself for most of her adult life, so she lives in a senior care home. She's a little out of it sometimes--enough so that I forget that she's hella smart. Crazy smart. Paranoid/schizophrenic genius smart, to be exact. Every now and then she has a completely lucid moment that reminds me that I get my weird sense of humor from both branches of the family tree--and it also reminds me that even if there's only one monkey in a barrel, the barrel can still be a lot of fun.

One of my favorite moments was when I saw a cat outside her care home--I was sort of excited because I knew she liked cats, and most halfway houses don't let you keep them.

"Oh, mom--you've got a cat--that's awesome!"
"Yeah, honey," she said with a completely sweet and straight face, "He's a real mother fucker."
I was absolutely stunned until she explained that he beat the carp out of every cat on the block. She adored him.

This weekend we had a similar moment. Actually we had two.

The first will appeal to my editing staff. I was discussing the resurrection of a certain character with my grandma, and my mom spoke up. "Yeah--don't kill her off, honey. Fooey on that."

I smiled. "Well, three out of four editors had a stronger word than that," I said mostly to myself.

Grandma heard me--so did mom. They laughed heartily, and I remembered that grandma worked for the OSS during WWII. I'm pretty sure she knew EXACTLY what that word was. Mom was laughing because she agreed.

The other moment came when I was driving my mom home.

I honestly didn't know if my mom followed politics--she has to share a television with a zillion other people, and their tastes run from Spongebob to Hannity and Colmes. So I saw a McCain/Palin sign and, out of curiosity asked her what she thought of Sarah Palin.

I should have known--most people who did that many drugs in the '70s usually started it as a political statement.

"Oh honey," (and here's where I should have known I was in trouble. 'Honey' seems to precede some of her most shocking moments). "Palin's fucked. She really is. No good. No good at all. Don't vote for her. She's totally fucked."

I had to crack up--even if I'd been a rabid Palin supporter, it was the delivery!!!

Shopping on a budget

I'll be honest. I'm not used to it.

I knew it would be a challenge, because Mate and I are always better at living beyond our means than within them, but I never thought that going on a date with my husband would involve going grocery shopping and then doing the happy dance when it came out to less than we'd planned. *sigh*

And other than that--well, it's been a peaceful week. I mean, it sucks that the Cave Troll was sick and all, but what it boiled to really was a lack of stuff to do. We only had 2 soccer practices and 1 game--instead of 4 practices and 2 games--whoopeee! A week that felt sane. I didn't even take the little wiggly people to gymnastics today--today was the Cave Troll's day of rest after his fever finally (!!!) broke for good. Ladybug is looking surprisingly symptom free and, well... grocery shopping really was as exciting as it got.

I'd wish that all weeks were this peaceful, except the short people are so bored, they're thinking about eating the furniture to see if they can shit out legos-- I'm pretty sure the Cave Troll is not only looking forward to school, he direly misses soccer and gymnastics as well.

And I'm editing. And editing. And editing. Gee, ain't THAT exciting? Well, it sort of is to me--this book has been a challenge on about a zillion levels, and the editing process is no exception. I'm more than ever convinced that my hubris is outstanding and more than ever grateful to the people who read my work-- I'm to the point in the editing process where I'm pretty sure I suck, and the rest of life is an illusion. Don't worry--it will pass, but right now, whenever I surface from the book, I'm pretty disappointed that all this work on the manuscript doesn't have some extraneous side benefits--you know, like cleaning the kitchen, cooking dinner, or bathing the short people.

Oh yeah--I'm knitting. I know I've promised knitting before, but this thing I'm knitting--it's both butt ugly and really frickin' cool. I'm calling it 'Princess Arwyn's Pony Puke Bucket of Boat Trash'. Yeah--I know, it sounds hideous, but in reality it's all the things that little girls like on their fabric--fuzzy yarn, shiny yarn, beads, and a My Little Pony shitload of pink, all wrapped up in one petal-expanding A-line poncho. Every time we went into the yarn store, Arwyn would throw fuzzy purple and fuzzy pink yarn into my basket. I would always take it out, but she obviously wanted something fuzzy and purplink. I got this really cool chunky Cascade yarn (wool, glorious wool!) in pink, and have proceeded to add the fuzzy purple/pink/blue yarn, shiny yarn, and beads in stripes as I expand the poncho. She loves it, and I'm thrilled she loves it (she wears that sweater that Mate shrunk all the time, without even a little bit of complaining about the tight neck) but I've gotsta tell you, I'm SOOOOO tired of pink. I guess the next thing up in my home knitting is to finish Chicken's Mardi-gras sweater of acrylic shame. *sigh* The Pony Puke Bucket of Boat Trash suddenly looks TONS better.

Anyway, this is sort of a boring 'all is well' post. You know, a marker to my 500th post give away (three more entries--woohee?) Sometimes, you've got to be happy for those too:-)

Oh yeah--I thought this was cool.

Oh carp.

* My throat hurts and my head's stuffy. Fucking germs.

* Sarah Palin is making me flat out nauseous with anger, disgust, and shame for my X-chromosome. Fucking politics.

* The students taught me a new word for blow-job today while discussing President Clinton in the context of Patrick Henry's ability to manipulate the media. Did anyone else know that 'domed' meant 'blow-job'? As in "Clinton was getting 'domed' while he was talking to people on the phone."? The politics of fucking--who knew?

* I need to finish an entire baby sock this evening. Thank God for awesome television!

* I'm looking for inspiration to keep editing. Fucking revisions.

* I'm thinking of writing a new Jack and Teague adventure to reward myself for finishing Bitter Moon II, even though we probably don't have the money to publish right now. Fucking hotties!!!!!! (rrroooowwwrrrr! Love that v/adj. switchover!!!)

* The short people need to finish 'The Muppets of Oz' before I can watch the CSI premiere. Fucking muppets.

* The dog keeps farting. Fucking dog.

* I want ice cream for dinner. Fucking diet.

* It FINALLY GOT COLD! Excellent fucking weather!

* Most of my students will have book reports tomorrow. I can't say a bad thing about that--I still love my kids this year!!!

* Muppets are over! C.S.I. and Supernatural HERE I COME!!! (Oh, Jensen, baby, didja miss me?)

* The Cave Troll may finally be on the mend--but he's been spiking a fever for four days so he won't be going to school tomorrow. He misses school--he keeps telling us things like "That's a lower case 'a' on your shirt, and that's bigger and that one's smaller' and good shit--I feel bad that he's missing school, but he's been REALLY sick! And Ladybug may be getting sick as predicted. Did I mention the fucking germs?

Have a happy Friday!

Cave Troll Down!!!

So the Cave Troll climbed into bed with us Sunday night/Monday morning. I rolled over, touched his leg, WOKE UP and said, "Holy shit, who put the nuclear reactor in our bed because something is burning the fuck up!" No, I didn't say that. I do recall saying, "Oh, fuck--how sick are you?"

103 degrees sick.

Last night, he was 103 degrees sick too--and I gave him some motrin and in two hours he was still 102.5 degrees sick, and thinking that medicine should only be given if it's going to do a blessed fucking thing, I called the doc, and the doc said "Give him more other meds! And an ice pack!"

I said "He's had one sort of med and he's already wearing bag of frozen peas and carrots that will never see a dinner table!! "

They said, "Well give him both sorts of meds, and other than that, it sounds like you know what you're doing!"

This morning I had a slightly more sane conversation with a very nice man who assured me that the Cave Troll would feel like radioactive shit today, and possibly feel a little better tomorrow, with a chance of being able to survive school on Thursday.

But by then, Ladybug should be her own pudgy smiling bundle of nuclear waste, and then we start with the panic and the phone calls and the molested peas and carrots all over again. Uhm, yay?

It's not that we haven't gone through this before. I may have mentioned the one year when it was only Thing 1 & Thing 2 and Mate and me, and we all came down with the fucking hot-snot plague for an entire week. I remember that Big T got to go to his 1st grade Valentines day--and we were really pleased about that, because the next day, Mate stumbled out of bed to find T dressed with his back-pack, ready for the bus, sporting flushed cheeks and a fever of 102. I'll never know how we made it that week--I think maybe nobody was eating or drinking, but I seem to recall Mate and myself each making one hallucinogenic wild-eyed trip to the store for more baby meds and something to drink that would make nobody throw up. And that, Ladies and Gents is as bad as it gets--really, I've been there.

But that doesn't make it any easier to watch the Cave Troll, known for swathes of destruction and his hellbent quest for world domination, laying slack and fish-eyed, begging me for more ice for his head and asking me to get rid of his popsicle--he doesn't want it. It's gonna suck when Ladybug goes under--for one thing, she won't just lay down on the couch. I mean now? I've got 170 pages of editing/revision under my belt. That's hard to do when you've got a broiling 40 lb. growth attached to your lap. And seeing her suffer isn't a lot of fun either.

(And my 500th post is coming up. I'm going stash diving or book sending again--start thinking of what you want. This time, I think it will only be sock yarn--I've got me lots!!!)

Company Picnics and Resurrections from the Dead

My husband's company picnic was last night--I told someone it was like something from an 80's movie and they asked me to clarify, so let's go with this:

It was sort of big and overblown and decadent. For starters, they rented out the local minor-league baseball field and the kiddie bounce houses therein. (There were a lot of them, including a GIANT slide that my 2 year old insisted on climbing all by herself and sliding down all by herself, and an obstacle course in which she got trampled, jumped up and continued on with a smile--all of the attendants agreed that she was a little red-headded, blue eyed warrior.) There was face painting and fencing and a magic show--the Cave Troll got his face painted like a tiger, and we were able to track him all evening by the giant ROOOOARRRRRRSSSS coming from his epicenter. There was a 'Hardware' vs. 'Software' softball game--complete with trophy. (Software won--woo-hoo! My husband got to pitch!) It was catered, there was a magic show and face-painting and free soda and fireworks at night and a clown on a baseball field, under the lights, blowing bubbles while a hundred kids ran about with balloon swords, trying to pop them. I kid you not. The only place I've ever seen something like this was on 'Mr. Mom', with Michael Keaton, and that wasn't even at baseball field, it was at the boss' house!

So there--that was our Saturday night. I'm still not even sure how to think about it--all those kids under the light, chasing bubbles? Lovely.

And sur-freaking-real.

And other than that?

My weekend was consumed by angst, mostly--writer's angst is a terrible thing to behold, but I finally came up with a resolution to my dilemma. I may never be Dickens, but I think you all will be happy with the results.

Besides that little bit of business--and the fact that Bitter Moon II probably won't be out until December because I'm changing my dumbassed mind at this stage of the freaking game--there was a trip to the yarn store (mmmm...malabrigo...mmmm) and a run to the park and a chance for the big kids to wander around the book store with birthday money (for Chicken) and allowance money (for Big T) in their pockets. Needless to say, there is no more money in their pockets, and our TBR book pile can now be seen from space--go kids!

And other than that? I'm going to have my head buried in my ass, I mean my editing for the next month. Editing team? Well done! I love you! Thanks for all your hard work!!!!!

Now it's time for me to earn it.

I AM resolved. Sort of.

I'm having a terrible time resolving a central issue about Bitter Moon II that I thought I had resolved when I was writing the damned thing. It's SOOOOOO frustrating--because every time I ponder it, it makes me cry, and then I resolve it, and I cry some more, and then I think about changing it to the other way and then I'm happy but then I think about the resonance of the work as a whole and then I'M RIGHT BACK WHERE I STARTED.

Fucking book.

But beloved friends for helping me with it! Can I thank you enough? I think not. Thank you thank you thank you to Roxie, Eric, Needletart and Ceri for putting up with my incessant nagging... "Did you like that part? What didn't you like? I don't think I can change that for you. Would you still like me if..." And so on.

This lack of resolution is pretty strange for me--I'm usually such an 'artistic vision' person. I've been saying it for months--my artistic objectivity has been shot to shreds on this one, I'll have to rely on grit. Let's hope I don't get any in the book--that would be icky.

And now, to the non-insane portion of my blog (is there any of that?) I'd like to thank everyone for their good wishes! Mate and I went and saw a movie on Wednesday night--I've been recovering from that for the last two days. Good Goddesses need to go to bed early after their viciously exciting lives. And I'm still sort of reeling from a new edict from work (I still love my admin, but this one's gonna kill me) requiring that we call the parents of every kid who's failing our class and stating that LEAVING MESSAGES DOESN'T COUNT! I don't know if I can impress upon my admin how much a parent is willing to let anything coming from the high school go to voice mail when they see the caller i.d. come up, and the fact that our high school sends out as many pre-recorded messages as my two kids' high schools COMBINED doesn't help. There really is such a thing as over-communication, people. (And if you don't believe me, ask Jen. B--I left a comment on her blog last week that DEFINITELY qualifies.)

And hey--speaking of Jen B--THANKS, SWEETHEART!!! I won a romance book on her blog today--SQUEEEEEEEEEE.... free books! Considering how broke my entire family is about to be, I can only bounce up and down on my toes and squeal like a little girl. HUZZAHHH! It must be my week for it too--I won a subscription of BITCH magazine from Smart Bitches/Trashy Books--and seriously--can we say SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE some more? OMG--blogland knew it was my b-day and really came through, didn't it!!! (Of course all of your lovely comments would have been plenty--but that doesn't mean I'm not taking the books and the zine:-)

And other than that? It's soccer game tonight (only 3 of those left on Friday--hip hip HOOOR-FUCKING-RAY!!!) and Mate's company picnic tomorrow--with a fervent prayer for rain, because he has to bail on his softball team to take a friend to the airport and he doesn't want to feel bad about that. And Friday, maybe this Goddess gets some sleep. She's gotta--she's gotta rip her heart out of her chest and watch it beat for a bit because there is some serious editing to do.