Where am I?

I threw out my back this morning while putting on my bra, which should give you an indication of the out of shape fat ass I have become. I'm currently on my second muscle relaxer and writing a client's media kit. It should be awesome.

The good news is I am inching my way out of my writer's block. I have some ideas I want to flesh out on paper, and when I am done with this latest bunch of clients, I will do just that. It feels good to want to write. I haven't had the urge in over a month. I hope to finish the last few jobs I have outstanding before the urge leaves me!

I am also moderately obsessed with The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follet. I know it's not a new book, but I'm rarely the first one to show up at a party. Anyway, I am staying up late, reading when I shouldn't be, and taking it everywhere with me in hopes of catching a few minutes to read. I love it when I am breathless over a book, and I am happiest when fiction consumes my reality. I've missed the smell of ink. It feels good to have it back.

And last but never least, Kara tagged me to write a 6 word memoir. It didn't take me long.

I refuse to let fear win.

Where is Petunia Face?

We interrupt this severe case of writer's block with an important update: I found Petunia Face!

The lovely Susannah at Petunia Face kind of, sort of, accidentally deleted her entire blog over the weekend. You know, the blog recently nominated for a 2008 Blogger award? The blog with legions of borderline obsessed fans? The blog that reminds me daily that I can't string three words together to form a sentence? Yeah, that blog.

Well, after accepting the fact there really isn't a help desk at Google or Blogger, she started a new blog (old posts still available!) you can visit called Petunia Faced Girl. I promised Susannah it was no big deal she tripped and fell off the internet. Every problem has a solution, and we can polish this turd and make it sparkle! So, go visit her, say hi, and tell your friends. Also, if you link to Susannah on your blogroll, please update your link. The new address is www.petuniafacedgirl.blogspot.com.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go stare at a blinking curser.

Favorite Moment

Thank you, Word to Your Mother, for making me laugh so hard I couldn't hear my perpetually sick child hacking up the last lung he has left.

If you've ever seen Everyday Italian with Giada De Laurentiis, you're laughing, too. And if you haven't, click on over and enjoy the teeth and cleavage.

p.s. Mikey is doing better. The doctor at the Urgent Care said he has a bad ear infection. He missed his birthday party at school today, but should be able to attend the last day of petri dish school next week.

Birthday Blues

Today is Mikey's 4th birthday. He is currently in bed sleeping with the Mister in between fits of coughing. I'm going to try baking a chocolate cherry cake without eggs. Wish me luck.

I had planned on doing this with Mikey, but maybe we'll bake another one on Sunday before the in-laws come over.

Happy Thursday, everyone!

A Song for Mama

The Mister left for another business trip on Monday. The day before, Sunday, he spent the better part of the afternoon playing with Mikey in the backyard, hoping to make up in a few games of baseball whatever he might miss in the next few days. We noticed Mikey wasn't acting like himself when he came back inside, but we attributed it to hours and hours of nonstop physical activity. Turns out is was the beginning of a bad allergy attack brought on by something outside.

By the next morning, his nose and eyes were watering. He was sneezing constantly and had a tight cough. Naturally, I was hosting the end-of-the-year school party on Wednesday. Forty adults and children, including the teachers, principal, and school secretary and I had a questionably sick preschooler and the Mister wouldn't be returning until Wednesday night.

Monday was a blur of activity. I had planned to clean and clean and then clean some more. Instead, I spent it with Mikey on the sofa while he sneezed into tissue after tissue. When he wasn't sneezing, he was crying about his eyes constantly watering. In the afternoon, I dropped him off at my mom's and went back home to get ready for the party--hoping I would at least get enough ahead that I could finish another job I am working on. Didn't happen. I went back to my mom's and decided to just stay the night. Nico must have sensed something was amiss, because the entire day he behaved like an angel and promptly went to sleep without a peep or complaint.

Mikey slept with my mom, and they were up most of the night.

The next day, Tuesday, I waited until Mikey fell asleep at around lunch time and took the opportunity to run home, do some work for clients, and do some more cleaning. Midway through a letter, my phone rang. The rug I had ordered was about to be delivered early, and the delivery people wouldn't place it for me. So, there I was, moving furniture and 9x13 rugs all over the house with a pile of work to do and 40 people showing up in less than 24 hours. After moving every piece of furniture in my family and dining room twice, I grabbed Nico and headed over to the store to buy food for the party. Luckily it didn't take long to buy the food because my mom called and asked me to come home quick--something was wrong with Mikey.

When I got there, his eyes were almost swollen shut and were pouring water. His breathing wasn't labored, but his cough didn't sound good. He was also curled up in a ball in my mom's lap, screaming that his ear hurt. I made a mental note to rip the Mister's head off, again, for being out of town--even though it was completely out of his control.*

I rushed Mikey home and gave him his allergy medications and some albuterol. I put Nicholas to bed (again, an angel all day) and settled Mikey down in his bed while I tried to get the house ready for the party. By 10:30, I couldn't do anymore. I pushed myself until midnight, and decided to go to bed when I heard Mikey calling me.

"Mama, will you snuggle with me?"

"Of course, sweetheart." I know his allergy medications wire him up. I was hoping, but not expecting, a full night of sleep.

So we talked. And we giggled. And we tangled ourselves up repeatedly in the blankets and welcomed the breeze from a sheet-parachute. Finally, at around 2:30am, Mikey snuggled deep into my side and looked up at me in the soft, blue light of the moon that filters through blinds we need to replace.

"Mama, will you sing me a song?"

"Of course, sweetheart. Which song would you like?"

"Ah, ro ro." A spanish lullaby my mom always sang to me, and I sing to the boys. When I was done, he asked for Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star. Again, I obliged. Finally, his favorite, a song I made up one night to the tune of Fere Jacques.

"Mama? Will you sing I love Mikey?"

I love Mikey,
I love Nico,
Very much!
Very much!

I love daddy, too. I love daddy, too.

They're my boys.
They're my boys.

"I like that song, mama."

"I know you do. I like it, too."

"I have a song for you, mama."

I love Nico.
I love Nico.
Very much!
Very much!

I love daddy, too. I love daddy, too.

And I love mama.
I love mama.

And that is how, at 3am and by the light of the moon, we both fell asleep with watery eyes.



* The Mister begged and pleaded and got out early. I was running around this morning trying to get everything ready when I heard the door open and watched in disbelief as he tossed on the table two days worth of mail I forgot to pick up, all the while flashing a grin that said he just picked up 1,000 extra bonus points.

What Car do you Drive?

We bought an almost new Ford Expedition right before we had Mikey. Up until then, I was tooling around town in an electric blue Volkswagen Beetle. I've had the opportunity to drive many different cars in my life, and some of them luxury models, but I have never loved a car like I did my Beetle. But alas, we decided to get the Expedition because we were told, repeatedly, that a Beetle would never be able to accommodate a young family. To this day I wonder about that decision. On his way to pick me us up from the hospital, The Mister stopped to get gas and almost choked when he paid $50 for a full tank. And he choked again when we refilled it a couple of days later. We were happy when we were in an accident when Mikey was 9 weeks old--he never even woke up. And we are still happy every time we save money picking up furniture or home improvement supplies or make long road trips with every possible piece of child equipment we could ever need.

I just paid $75 for a little more than half a tank of gas, and I'm not happy.

Every time we look into getting a different car, like a hybrid, someone talks us out of it. The CHP officer told us we would be safer in a truck until the SUV craze is over. High elevation vehicles do damage when they plow into lower, lighter cars. Someone else told us that cars like the Prius are dangerous because the fuel cell makes it difficult to extract someone from a crash. Another person said they release all sorts of radiation that have been linked to genital caners.

My brother drives a Prius, and while he hasn't been in any crashes, he handles the LA freeways just fine. I can only assume his testicles are in working order.

I also looked into the new Volkwagen Diesel Jetta Wagon that is coming out in August. Diesel is more expensive than gasoline right now, but I know you can buy a converter and run on bio-diesel. The only wrinkle is access to bio-fuel stations. There don't seem to be any in my area. I heard you can also get the fuel (grease/oil) from local restaurants, but I'll need to do more research.

So what do you drive? How many kids do you have? Do you like, love, or hate your car? And what do you think of the Prius for a young family of four?

Uniforms and Wardrobes

Did you see Nicole's Style: June '08 post? I've gone back to it several times already to look at all the items featured.

• My BFF, Kara, and I have wanted a crystalyn kae bag for over a year now.
• I've wanted a Manic Trout necklace for over a year, as well.
• The shoes are just plain charming. You don't walk in those shoes; you mince.
• The skirt is unapologetically Scandinavian, and while I am not Western European, I'm still drawn to the pattern and color combination.

But when I first saw the style board I was disappointed and immediately thought it was nothing I could ever wear. The heels are delicate and not meant for running after a preschooler and toddler. I look best in skirts, but I avoid them because it makes bending over for strewn items in public risky. The bag has fabric panels that don't always go with everything, and I don't often have time to change out my purse. The necklace, too, is brass and my wedding set is platinum (I always feel awkward about mixing metals). But really? The real reason I thought the outfit wouldn't work is because it's too young and free for a stay-at-home-mom like me.

And then it occurred to me that I could not possibly be more uptight.

When did moms develop the uniform from which we rarely deviate? Jeans, yoga pants, t-shirts, hoodies, semi-stylish sneakers, and, of course, the ubiquitous ponytail. To lend polish to the outfit? A Coach bag, naturally. It's all so safe it's suffocating.

There are some moms who look outside the wardrobe of domesticity, but they veer down an equally disturbing path. I call them RockStar Momz. They showcase their fake boobs with lowcut wife-beater tank tops and have name brands dancing across their pilates-toned asses in rhinestones. Their hair is platinum blonde with the random black highlights. They have every possible "it" label in their possession because they depend on US Weekly to tell them what is cool. The look is worse than safe. It's forced, and I can't help but think they want everyone to think they are sexy despite being fertile.

I don't want to be sexy, but I would like to be me. And my initial response to Nicole's post begs the question: When did dressing young and free become incongruous with being a stay at home mom? From the looks of the other moms at schools, malls, and restaurants across the country, I am not the only one who relinquished style to embrace motherhood. I have treated my wardrobe with the same practical eye that, until recently, I used to decorate my house. Everything safe, predictable, unlikely to offend (or inspire), and guaranteed to last several years in a life without oxygen.

I have taken some steps in distancing myself from the Mom Club. I stopped using Coach two years ago (I still have a wallet I need to swap out--any suggestions?), and I cut my hair shoulder length to make it harder to put it back in a ponytail. Now I just need to work on my clothes.

Maybe Nicole's outfit wasn't totally wrong for me, after all. I don't often wear shoes in the house, so the heels really aren't as problematic as I imagined. Fabric panels peeking out of a purse probably coordinate with more items than giant interlocking Cs. If I look better in skirts, I should wear them--wardrobe malfunctions be damned. Mixing metals? There are bigger controversies-- like waiting until you really are too old to buy an outfit you love.