girls in their summer clothes

It is May 1. I would like to think it should be warm enough outside to wear summer clothes but the air out there is not in agreeance. This morning I was driving Amelia to school, in our winter attire, and naturally we were listening to Bruce Springsteen. I was singing very loud-like and the child asked me to stop.

Which was rude, right?

So I turned the music down and a conversation began.

Me: You know Amelia, if daddy ever dies this guy who's singing is going to be your new father.

Amelia, slightly, if not fully, confused: He is??

Me: Yep. And he will sing to me every day because I deserve to be sung to everyday. By Bruce. And your new last name will be Springsteen. As will mine. And it will be awesome. Right?

Amelia, by this point was in full blown panic mode: IT WILL NOT BE AWESOME.

Me: But why ever not?

Amelia: Because everything I have written Amelia Dabels on will BE WRONG! And plus, I don't even know how to spell it....

Me, pulling up to the school: Umm, okay then....

And then she got out and was gone. I hope her day isn't ruined.

Off I went to the doctor to get a pharmaceutical that will allow me to board a plane because as of yesterday at 3 pm someone hit the panic button somewhere in the universe and I cannot seem to convince myself that planes do, in fact, stay up in the air. They don't all come crashing down to earth from very high places allowing me more minutes than is humanely necessary to come to terms with my vicious and ferocious end.

Speaking of vicious and ferocious, over a week ago I was contorting my body in an unnatural and slightly precarious way. Without getting into details I couldn't possibly begin to explain without blowing your mind, I will tell you that I knocked, with my shoulder, an unopened can of Diet Pepsi from upon my bedside table right onto my pinky finger which was with my hand on the floor holding up my body which was, as previously mentioned, precariously perched upon my bed.

The pain was inexplicable. Ask the man, he was there. (This is not a sexual reference in any way. I was studying and he was interrupting, as per usual.) I writhed around and held my breath and felt the curses bubbling up from the deepest most inner recesses of my curse kingdom. My eyes watered and I begged the universe to just let me live. "Please, for the love! I will give you anything if you just let me survive this horrific pop incident" I offered up my first born, willingly I might add (she can be difficult as of late) if I could just get through the pain. "When is it going to end? When? Ohhhhh, whennnnnnn?" I begged while writhing on the bed. The man offered no words but a look of support I will always be grateful for. He even offered to hold my hair while I puked.

My very short hair. Although, I did feel pain puke was imminent...

Anyway, I toughed it out. However, I lost all feeling in the tip of my pinky for many many days. Even today the tippiest tip is tingly and numb. And when I hold it up, at an awkward angle, towards my face, palm facing back and to the left, with my elbow down and to the right I get sparks that shoot up into it and I don't find it at all pleasing.

So basically, I just don't do that.

Now, it is three more sleeps until I board a plane, fully medicated and probably ridiculously giddy from  excitement accompanied with a mood altering substance. So, in the meantime, please excuse me. I need to teach the child how to spell Springsteen while I wait for my vicious pinky injury to heal.

Good day.

whatchya readin'?

I have a suitcase and a swim suit. And now I am collecting reading material. Also, I might be taking suggestions. It just depends on what you suggest.

So...what's going in my suitcase?

dinner from a can...again

Monday morning we woke to snow. The man announced that he was not working another second in the snow this winter. He was staying home.

Awesome, I thought. I had a paper to write so he could be me for the day and I could be an unemployed writer. Which is exactly how I want things to be anyway so it seemed the perfect opportunity to make my dreams come true for the day.

Here are some snippets of a conversation we had throughout the day:

"Since you're home today, you can make dinner for the kids," I half suggested and half announced.

"No problem," he replied.

He proceeded to be in and out for the day, working in the garage, running errands so I didn't have to, disappearing, reappearing and disappearing again. At 3:45 I started to wonder what his plans were for dinner but I didn't care enough to wonder out loud.

At one point he said to me, "You know that stuff you made yesterday for dinner and then put the leftovers in the freezer?"

"Yes..." I said.

"Can we just have that?"

"I suppose. But then you aren't really making dinner, are you?"

He disappeared again. Eventually he showed up with an arm full of Chunky Soup cans. A variety even. I love his creativity. When I peered at him and smirked he said...

"I am not in the mood to cook."

And I thought to myself, wow! he really is me today.

a little of this, a little of that...

A little of this...

Holden and Amelia were having a conversation about her new book. She claims it will be the best book she ever wrote. He needed to read it. She needed to help him. A conversation ensued.

Holden, who is 10, "Amelia, what does this say?"

Amelia, who is 7, "It says Cancun."

Pause while a confused look finds itself on Holden's face.

"No, wait..." she reconsidered. "That says Chihuahua."

Those kids kill me.

And now a little of that....

Here is my newest post for Art a la Carte. It's called Impressions.

and the wieners are...

We pulled names. There are winners.

Or wieners, as I like to call them. If you are one of the wieners, Facebook me your address and I will get these prizes off to you!

Thanks for playing with me on my bloggy birthday!

i promise not to use the word 'vagina'

The quack in me loves the quacky things in life. Like acupuncture and Chinese herbs and essential oils. Are those quacky?

I guess it depends who you ask.

I recently came to own a little bottle of magic called Past Tense. It's a concoction of oils that you can roll onto your head when you have a headache.

And mercy, I have those.

This stuff is great, and this is actually a story I am telling, not an infomercial. Although I do think the stuff is great.

So anyway, the other day I had a doozy of a headache, I blame the weather change but this is not the point. My head was pounding. Throbbing. Hurting so much I was feeling the need to medicate with a bottle of Advil. But because I'm quacky I reached for the oily treasure first.

I rolled it onto my forehead. Then I rolled it along the back of my neck. Then...I rolled big round rolly rolls on my temples. It was like I was putting up wallpaper on the sides of my head. And then I sat down to do homework. My head bent forward.

Big mistake.

The oil rolled into my left eye and before I knew it I was running around shrieking. My left eyeball was on fire. I had oil all over my hands from trying to control the situation. My makeup was waterfalling down my face. I went into the bathroom and wet a cloth and put it to my eye.

The pain subsided, eventually. I stared at my messed up face and red eye in the mirror and it was determined, by me, that I had to pee.

So, I sat to pee. I unwound some toilet paper, rolled it into a ball and rested my head into it.

I am wondering yet if you know where this is going.

When I was done doing what I was doing I took my face out of my hands. The face that had the oil on it. The hands that were holding the toilet paper.

And I stood.

And wiped myself...




P.S. Don't forget to enter my birthday giveaway in the last post!!!