I don’t mean to be that lady.

Honest, I don’t.

It’s not like I plan these things out, and it’s never on purpose.  It just happens, sometimes.

It all started so innocently, too.

There I was, standing in the laundry aisle of Walmart, contemplating my laundry hamper options.  I had $200 burning a hole in my pocket, and I was trying to figure out how to stretch it as far as I could.

Oh, sure, if I were back in Orange County, $200 would have been enough to renovate the living room, the laundry room, and maybe even go out for dinner with what was left over.  That was because the weather is always sunny down there.

Don’t get me wrong – I don’t miss it down there.  Heck, I don’t even miss the weather.

What I do miss are garage sales.

It turns out that garage sales are a seasonal thing up here in Portland.  I can’t say I blame everyone – who would want to drag all their stuff out to their muddy front lawn just to watch it get soggy with the rain?  It just makes sense to wait until summer time.

Still. I miss year-round garage sales.

What’s worse, without the competition from the garage sales, the prices for used items Craigslist is astronomical.

Beautiful, vintage, 1970’s sofa!  Plaid, with green and orange stripes!  Very low wear, light cat urine spraying, and only a few holes.  Cost $900 new… asking $850 obo!

I’m only joking a little bit. I did see a used, hideous, green velvet sectional sofa listed for $900 the other day, simply because it was “vintage”.

Dear people of Craigslist:  calling something “vintage” instead of “really old” does not make it worth more money.  It just makes you seem kind of cheesy.

Anyways, with no viable options on Craigslist or at the Goodwill, and with no garage sales to fall back on, I found myself wandering the aisles of Walmart, trying to see how far I could stretch my money.  I wanted to fix up our closet and laundry room, so there I stood, pondering the hampers.

This is what happens when you get old, and boring.  I used to ponder the cosmos, and eternity, and theological principles and my calling in life.

Now I ponder stuff like:

If I got a laundry sorter with a drying rack, would I still be able to afford the storage shelves for our closet, and maybe have some money left over to search for a used table?  But what if I bought the hamper and then found something really neat at Ikea and couldn’t afford it?  Maybe I should wait? 

Being a grown-up is so incredibly thrilling sometimes. 

As I stood there pondering the vast complexities of laundry hampers and closet storage units,  I leaned back and rolled my shoulders.  Ouch.  My back hurt.  I’d slept on it wrong and had forgotten to stretch it out before heading out of the house.

I could usually fix any back problems with a deep stretch – I’d mastered the art of popping my own back years ago.  But now I was in the middle of a store, and I doubt anyone wanted to see me sprawled on the cold linoleum, contorting myself until I made it pop.  I’d just have to deal with it until I got home.

Speaking of home…. Yeah.  Yeah, I should probably hold off buying anything until I checked Ikea….. but man, that was a really neat drying rack up on the top of that laundry sorter.  What if I…?

Deep in thought, I leaned back slightly, and that’s when I felt it – a narrow shelf hitting me at just the right spot below my shoulder blades.

I never consciously thought about it – it was almost a reflex. Mentally tallying the cost of my imaginary purchases, I did it without thinking –  I leaned back slightly, braced myself against the shelf, and rolled my shoulders back… and pop!pop!pop!  My back reset itself, and I straightened up with a relieved smile.

And immediately heard: POP! POP!SNAP!POP!

Leaning against the shelf had caused the lip of the shelf to dislodge from the brace holding it up.

It happened in slow motion – I tried to stop it, but it was like a horrible domino effect I was powerless to stop.

If my “Oh no… oh no… oh no!” didn’t draw enough attention, the glorious sounds of the crash certainly drew everyone’s attention, causing other shoppers to stop mid-shopping and turn their carts around to peer curiously down my aisle. 

Because with that one simple action, that one thoughtless, satisfying little crack of the back, I became known as “that lady who knocked down the entire vacuum cleaner display at Walmart.”

I spent the last couple of weeks in California, visiting family.

It was great.  I have tons of pictures, got lots of time on horseback, and had a wonderful time.

Do you know what was not great?

The drive.

Specifically, the drive back.

I tried to split it up, but the second day still ended up being 15 hours.

Fifteen hours.

One Honda Civic.

Too much stuff.

A four year old who can’t sleep in the car.  He did manage to nod off for about 45 minutes once, but for the most part, when he gets sleepy, he just cries.  He has a legitimate cough right now, so I even tried drugging him with Dimetapp (don’t call CPS!  He actually needed it for the cough.)

No, he didn’t go to sleep.  He just got really sleepy, and then cried about feeling sleepy.

Add to the mix a two year old who has learned how to get out of his carseat harness.

Do you know what’s tons of fun?  Going 73 mph down the highway and looking in the rearview mirror and seeing your kid unbuckled and twisting out of his carseat.  No amount of talking, cajoling, yelling, or spanking managed to keep him in, either.  I cinched him down tight enough it should have been physically impossible for him to have circulation in his limbs, let alone wiggle out, but he still managed.

Next time I’m bringing duct tape and zip ties.

Also, we musn’t forget the 60 pound six month old puppy in the backseat.  She was the best behaved one of the bunch, but she ate something weird the night before, and had gas.

Horrible gas.

The kind of gas that eats at your nostrils and sears itself into your brain while simultaneously melting paint off the wall.

Since driving 750 miles in one day with all of that wasn’t nearly enough of a challenge for me, I decided to add something interesting to the mix.

See the zebra striped lunch bag?

This is what was inside:

Because, honestly.  Who can say no to that face?

So, yeah.  750 miles, two kids, a puppy, two kittens that had to be bottle fed and cleaned every two hours, and 15 hours straight in the car.

Roadtrips aren’t quite as much fun as they used to be.

No, I’m not talking about California.  California was never my home.

I’m talking about my true home.

The Library – the beautiful, restful, book-filled, peaceful library.

If I close my eyes and imagine it just right, I can actually smell it – that sweet scent of books and wooden shelves, overlayed with a hint of the must of old Encyclopedias and dusting spray.  It’s a heady scent, and it evokes a strong response in me. 

Home.  My home.

I miss my home.

Oh, there’s a library in my town.

And heaven help everyone, I still visit in upon occasion.

It starts before we’re even in the door.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!  C’MON, SQUID!  WE’RE IN THE LIBWAWY!  LET’S GO LOOK AT BOOKS!  WANNA GET A NEW BOOK?  LET’S GO GET A NEW BOOK!”

“DragonMonkey! SHHHHHH.  SHHHHHHHH.  We only whisper in the library.” I stand outside the door, waiting to open it, making sure everyone understands.  The boys are poised like border collies at the crack of the door, intent, waiting for it to open.  It takes a few moments before they lift their eyes to mine, and once I finally have their attention, I repeat myself.  “We whisper, boys.  No talking.”

“WHISPER, MA?  WHISPER?” 

“SHHHHH, Squid.  Whisper means you talk in a quiet voice— like this.  You whisper like this.”  DragonMonkey looks up at me for approval, and I nod with a smile. 

“Yes, DM.  Just like that.  Very good.”

“OKAY, MA” Squid bellows.  “OKAY.  WHISPER.”  Where does a one year old even get a voice that loud?

I hold my finger up to my lips, shushing again.  “We whisper.  We walk quietly.  You two stay right beside me, and we will each select one book.” I lower my eyebrows for emphasis, staring hard into their eyes. “ONE book,” I repeat.  “And then you will follow Mama, and I will get one book, and then we will check out our books and go home.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mama,” says the DragonMonkey obediently.

“Okay, Ma,” says Squid, who insists on sounding like he’s a little bitty Beverly Hillbilly, no matter how often I correct him.

They both stare up at me patiently, all giant, innocent eyes and quiet politeness.

I heave a sigh, and crack open the door.

Like a pack of ill-behaved dogs they squirm past my legs before I’ve even opened they door far enough to step through.

“YAAAAY!  THE LIBWAWY!  LET’S GO GET A BOOK, SQUID!  LET’S GO GET A BOOK!”

“YAAAY!” echoes the Squid, at full volume.

“SHHHHHH!” I hiss, also at full shushing volume.

Both boys obediently fall silent – except for the sound of their hooves on the library floor. 

I know they have feet.  I know it. I see them all the time while we’re at home – soft, pink, little fleshy feet, with tiny little toes.

And yet….

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!  THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMPTHUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMPTHUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMPTHUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!

“Shhhh!” I hiss again.  “No running!” I glance to the side…and, yup.  Everyone in the library has lifted their heads and they are all staring at us as we pass by.

THUMP. THUMP THUMP. THUMP. THUMP THUMP.  Technically, they’re not running anymore.

Technically, they’re just walking.  Bouncily.

THUMP.  THUMP  THUMP THUMP.  THUMP. 

Bouncily and loudly.  Seriously.  How can two little boys walk so loudly? 

The problem with visiting a library is that every little noise is so amplified.  To make it even worse, the library has always been my place of peace, where I could run from the noisy world and have a few moments of peaceful silence. 

When I disrupt that silence I feel like I’m dancing on a priceless work of art with muddy boots.

They hit the inner doors and there is a momentary squabble over who is allowed to push the Wheelchair Access button that opens the door automatically.

“I PUSH IT.  MOVE YOUR HAND, SQUID.  MY TURN.  MOVE YOUR HAND, I PUSH IT.  NO TOUCHING! PLEASE!  MAMA, TELL SQUID NO TOUCHING.  I SAID PLEASE.”

Squid, not to be outdone in the argument, simply squeals – that high-pitched, annoying, whiny squeal that I always swore my children would never, ever make – back in the days when I didn’t have any children, and I knew how to do it all.

Seriously, here’s my little Public Service Announcement to all you childless people:  I was excellent with children.  Excellent. Multiple kids, problem kids…. no problem.  Bring ’em on.

And then I had children.

The problem with having kids is that they are YOUR kids.   You’ve created tiny little people whose public behavior is the result of all your personal strengths… and even worse, all of your weaknesses.

I’m still good with kids.  I’m just good with other people’s kids.

“KNOCK IT OFF,” I hiss as quietly as I can.  “Both of you, stop, THIS INSTANT, or we aren’t going to get any books.”

“NOOOOO!” The DragonMonkey howls, at full volume.

“NOOOO!!!” The Squid echoes, eyeing his brother to make sure he’s hitting the identical pitch. 

“SHHHHH.  Quiet.  Both of you.”  I lean forward and glare at them, trying to impart how serious I am.  “Both of you need to be ABSOLUTELY QUIET.”

DragonMonkey nods.  “I’LL BE QUIET.  I’LL BE VEWY QUIET,” he says shrilly.

“I QUIET,” The Squid echoes.

“SHHHHHH.  QUIET, SQUID.  NO TALKING,” DragonMonkey booms helpfully.

“I QUIET.  QUIET.” The Squid raises his voice to match, and then surpass DragonMonkey’s volume.

“Tssst!”  It works for Cesar Millan…why not for me?  “Both of you.  Not one more sound.”

They manage to be silent for at least five seconds, until they see me reaching for the door handle.

“NO!  IT’S MY TURN TO PUSH THE BUTTON!  PLEASE,  MAMA, MAY I PLEASE PUSH THE BUTTON?”

“BUTT’N!  BUTT’N!  BUTT’N!  PEASE, MA, BUTT’N!” 

“SHHHHH,” I say, for the millionth time.  “Nobody gets to touch the button because you are fighting over it.  Now get in the library.”

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP.  They clatter their way into the children’s library, and for a brief moment there is peace, as they each choose out a book.

Only…. I want a book, too.  I really, really want to check out a book.

I know exactly where my book is located – it’s down the “M” row, on the left hand side, about 3/4 of the way up on the second highest shelf.

I glance over at the boys, trying to gauge their moods.  If I drag them out of the children’s section with me and into the main part of the library there will be much crying and gnashing of teeth.  As far as I can tell from Squid’s response, the main part of the library is infested with rabid wererats that gnaw on children’s eyeballs.  I have no idea why he flips out so much when I carry him through there, but I’m hoping one day he will get over it. 

He seems calm enough.  So does DragonMonkey.  They’re both seated quietly at the table, flipping slowly through the pages of their books. How long will it take me if I go by myself… twenty seconds?  Maybe thirty seconds with the return trip?  It’s a small library – I’ll only be 30 or 40 feet away at the furthest….

I take one more look at them, at the sight of them engrossed in their books, at how calm and picturesque they seem, and I decide to chance it. 

I haven’t even made it to the “J-K” row before Squid dumps a shelf of books on the floor.

No, he does not dump a book, or even a little row of books – he dumps an entire shelf of books on the floor.

When I hear his laughter and the sound of the first few books hitting the floor I double back at a jog, darting around the corner to try avert disaster – and in my rush I accidentally stomp on a baby.

I can’t help but feel it’s not really my fault.  Seriously – who leaves a baby just sitting there on the floor?  They might as well have sent me a handwritten invitation to stomp on it. 

Still.  I feel really bad.  I stomped the baby pretty hard, and while I am in the middle of fumbling out an awkward, embarrassed apology to her irritated mother, Squid finishes dumping the entire row of books on the ground.   He then proceeded to do laps around the bookshelf on his toddler hooves, trampling books and glancing back over his shoulder at me, laughing hysterically.  I’ve been bad, and I’m-a-gonna get a paddlin’, but you gotta catch me fiiiiiiiirst….

DragonMonkey apparently thinks all the activity and loud energy in the room is hysterical, and feeding off of it he begins running in noisy circles that are annoying but harmless….. until he accidentally bumps into someone else’s toddler, ramming the little boy into the table and making him cry.  

We have been in the library— my beautiful, tranquil, restful home— less than four minutes and we’ve turned it into a war scene.  Crumpled, broken babies are sobbing, toddlers are screaming, books are scattered on the floor, the library floor echoes with the solid THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP of both boys’ hysterically-hyper little hooves, the librarian is waving me away with a terse, “No, no, I *GOT* it,” at my awkward attempts at clean-up, and other mothers are glancing at me with pursed lips, ushering their children away from mine like they are infected with leprosy.

I whisper out an apology, quietly gather my children and slink out the side door, head lowered, and spend the next few minutes crying quietly in the car.

I miss the library. 

I honestly don’t know why the librarians haven’t banned us from coming yet.  It never ends well.  In fact, the sight of me sitting in the parking lot as I wipe angry, embarrassed tears from my face is probably starting to become a familiar one.

I’ve tried everything.  I’ve tried:

• Walking a mile to the park (a mile! With a one year old!), playing in said park for AN HOUR, then walking another half mile to the library in an attempt to wear them out before hand (note:  it didn’t work.)
• Strollers: Did you know that the instant a stroller enters a library it apparently heats up to 917 degrees Kelvin, instantly blistering a toddler’s skin, causing them to shriek nonstop at full volume?
• Baby backpacks: This one was so promising.  It worked right up until the moment the leash part of it got wrapped around a little girl’s neck and Sebastian bolted the other direction, jerking her off her feet and semi-strangling her.  Just…. just don’t ask.  It wasn’t pretty. 

So, you can understand my excitement when I share this with you:

Last week we went to Story Time.  Again.  I wasn’t hopeful, but then something miraculous happened.

Both boys sat quietly, listening intently to the story. 

ARE YOU READING THIS?  DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS?

They sat quietly….the entire time. 

They clapped when the librarian asked them to clap.

They sat when he asked them to sit.

They listened to all three books that he read.

They sang when he asked them to sing, and called out answers when he asked all the kids questions, and when he brought out the bubbles at the end, nobody pushed, or hit, or stomped on any of the other children…. not even me!

We’re not there yet, but we’re getting close.

Poor Squid.

Back in the beginning, when he was still firmly ensconced in my uterus and was making me toss my cookies all over Orange County, he was featured heavily on this blog.

Then, when his lazy butt lingered FOREVER in my uterus and I went over two weeks overdue, I wrote about him all the time.

Then I gave birth.

And the Squid disappeared from this blog.

Oh, sure, his name appeared from time to time, but never as much as DragonMonkey’s.  He became a bit player – it was almost like this became “The DragonMonkey Blog”, and the Squid was just one of the props we featured from time to time.

There was a reason for that.

How the heck am I supposed to come up with a funny story out of a baby that sits around doing this all day?

From a writing perspective, it was just plain easier to write about the DragonMonkey.

You want proof?

I give you exhibit A:
 
This is a one hour car ride – and these photos were taken at the same time (well, seconds apart.)

                         The Squid.
               Cool.  Calm.  Happy.
So chilled out he looks borderline stoned.   The DragonMonkey.  No description necessary.

One of these photos is a cute picture.  One of these photos can be turned into a funny blog post.  ‘Nough said.

Squid was the baby that everyone wishes they had.  He came out smiling:

Squid made parenting seem so simple.  It was such a relief after the DragonMonkey. 

Everything made Squid happy.  Everything.

 

 

 

 

Now you know why.  You were just too good.

Now if we could just keep you from flushing stuff down the toilet, you’d be absolutely perfect.

Happy Birthday, Squid.

You’re two years old today, and I can’t wait to see the man you grow up to become.

It was too quiet upstairs.

“Squid?”

“Yeah, Ma?” 

I sighed, inwardly.  I hated it when he called me “Ma”.  It made me feel like I should weigh about 270 pounds, dress in rough homespun, and be driving a team of mules with my large, work-reddened hands.

“What are you doing?”

“I be good.”

Hmmm.  Doubtful.  Being good was never that quiet, so I left the dishes where they were and dried my hands on a towel as I made the journey up the stairs to the playroom.

When I arrived he was kneeling on the train table, his back to me.  At the sound of my steps  he turned around and held up a puzzle piece with a gigantic, toothy smile.  “See, Ma?  Good.  Be good.”

Huh, whattya know.  He was being good.

“You doing a puzzle, Squid?”

His smile grew even wider, his blue eyes innocent.  “Yeah, Ma!”

“Yes, Mama,” I corrected.

“Yeah, Ma!” he repeated.

Sigh. 

“Alright, you keep being good then.”  I went backstairs to finish cleaning up the oatmeal they’d splattered everywhere during breakfast.  Five or ten minutes passed, with him still silently doing puzzles upstairs.   I called up occasionally, to make sure he was still alive.

“Are you being good, Squid?”

“Be good!” he’d chirp back, in a happy tone.

Was it possible my almost two year old was some kind of child genius who could entertain himself quietly for 20 minutes straight, without moving, playing with a puzzle that was designed for 5 year olds?

Nope. 

My mom-senses tingling, I made my way to the playroom again.  Squid turned around at my approach, and held up the puzzle piece.

“See, Ma?  Be good.”  Smiling, he waved the puzzle piece at me…. in an attempt to distract me as he hunched his body forward, hiding something.  I took a few steps to the side… and saw the 5 pound bag of brown sugar he’d stolen from the countertop.

“SQUID!  DID YOU GET INTO THE SUGAR AGAIN?”  I stared down at him, at his sugar-encrusted face and hands, and at the open bag between his knees. 

He looked back up at me, blue eyes large, and shook his head.

“No, Ma.  No.  DagonMokey di’ it.”

Awesome.  Not even two years old and he already knows the fine art of lying. 

Whoever says they like little kids because they’re “so honest and forthright” sure hasn’t spent a lot of time hanging around them.

Why didn’t I say this on, oh, the actual New Year?  Or at least New Year’s eve?

Because New Year’s eve, this happened:

And then I promptly ran around for the next two days squealing like a Guinea Pig on crack.

**************

I noticed the first few flakes when I happened to glance out our living room window.

“BEAAAAAAAAN!!!!!!”  I screeched.

“What?  What’s wrong?”

“BEAAAAAAAAAN!!!!  BEAAAAAN!  YOU GOTTA COME HERE, RIGHT NOW!  BEEEAAAAAN!!!!!”

“What’s wrong? I’m on the pot, pooping busy doing intelligent, sexy accountant stuff.”

“HURRY UP!  COME HERE!   HURRY!  HURRY!!!!”

Only he didn’t.

And that’s how it came to happen that I nearly broke our bathroom door, slamming it open and startling The Bean as he, uh… “shuffled papers”in the bathroom before he took his morning shower.

He was happy to hear it was snowing, but nearly as excited as I was. 

Not only did he refrain from immediately jumping up and down for joy, he asked me to leave, so he could finish up his, err — stuff.

Spoilsport.

While he finished his shower and calmly dressed,  I ran about the house driving the children into an absolute frenzy, trying to find all the various pieces of never-been-used,  second-hand winter equipment we’d dragged from California.

Twenty minutes later the four of us managed to spill outside.  The Squid toddled behind us in too-large rainboots that managed to stay on his feet mainly because of the extra pair of socks we’d stuffed down into them.

The DragonMonkey dashed about in his nicely fitting boots, scratching at the slowly accumulating snow with his bare hands. 

Two minutes later he was near tears from the cold on his hands so we improvised with one glove and one slightly dirty-looking woman’s sock.

Becky Bean:  bringing the classy all the way to Oregon.

Hey, at least he was able to “make snowfight balls” to his little heart’s content.

We expected the snow – which had not even been in the forecast – to die down after a few minutes, but it just kept coming… and coming…. and coming.

By late afternoon we had two inches coating the ground.

I can’t think of a better way to have started 2013, can you?

 

Also, for the record – my dog is awesome.

And beautiful.

She’s also borderline more intelligent than my children.

Also, shes really, really big for barely turning four months old – she’s probably going to be close to 80 pounds when she’s done filling out.

January:

• As part of an inherent, natural adaptation designed to keep me from eating them, early morning babies are cuter than rest-of-the-day babies.
• “Hi.  Hello.  Hi.  Howdy.  Hello.  Excuse me. Hi. Yes, a very nice day.  Hi.  Excuse me.  Howdy.  Oh, you first.  Thank you.  Hi.”  ……….. Hiking in Southern California just isn’t quite as relaxing as it is in other parts of the world.
• This morning’s bacon screamed in high-pitched, anguished tones as I was cooking it.  Should I be concerned?
• Two boys.  Early risers.  Destructive.  Will trade for horse, full night’s sleep, or thin/toned thighs.
• Updated ad:  Lack of sleep forces quick sale  Two healthy male Caucasian young’uns, to good home only.  Beautiful movement – possible endurance prospects!  Excellent vocal cords – should mature with an impressive set of lungs.  Lack of verbal skills means they can go any direction/nationality.  Don’t let this opportunity pass you by.

   

• Becky Bean:  asking non-pregnant women when they’re due since 1981.

February:

•  The Squidgelet is one year old today.  To celebrate we are heading out to buy him his very first birthday suit made out of clothes.
• I dreamed I was a fox, and that my purpose in life was hunting down zombie baby bunnies (a la Buffy the Vampire Slayer) and ridding the earth of their evil presence by biting their heads off.  Beat THAT, Internet.
• Project going to the gym after work:  Success. 
  Project working out for longer than 10 minutes and not getting called to collect your kids and go home because one of them sprayed vomit all over Kids Club:  Not such a success.
• Simultaneous child flu dilemma:  How do you choose which kid gets held lovingly while soothed in a comforting manner as they puke in the toilet, and which one is left to scream in desolate isolation on the cold bathroom floor?  Obviously, it’s the one you love more.
• Thank you, TV show I was watching, for ending the episode with the character shouting out, “Damnit!”  I really appreciate it.  It’s been great listening to the DragonMonkey wander around the house whispering, “Damnit.  Damnit.  Damnitdamnitdamnitdamnitdamnit.  Damnit.  Damn.  Damnit. Mit. Damn. Damnit.”
• Yes.  Thank you, Internet.  When I googled “quick easy recipes for a crowd” to figure out what to make for people on Squidgelet’s birthday party on Saturday “Bourbon beef tenderloin, “Shrimp salad cups”, and “Six layer chocolate cake” were exactly what I had in mind.  Those sound very easy.

March:

• A little over 48 hours from now and we’ll be at seven straight days of no puking from the Squidgelet!  This will be our longest streak since December.  Cross your fingers, peoples!  Also, in similar news…. he’s eating again.  After two weeks of surviving on, well, AIR, as far as I can tell, the little booger is eating again.
• The DragonMonkey grabbed our little net for scooping fish out of the aquarium and announced he was going bug hunting.  Since I have no idea where he learned this concept I asked him, “Then what?” 

  His response?  “Then I catch a bug, and I put a bug in a cage!  Then I pet a bug!  Then Mama open cage and Mama eat the bug.  Yummy!” 

  Well…. at least he’s providing for the family?

• “Good morning, Max.  You look good.  Nice, haircut. Good morning. <sound of kiss> Sleep tight?  You look nice.” 

  When I overhear snippets like this out of the DragonMonkey it gives me hope I’m not totally screwing him up.

• “You want to finish your bachelor’s?  What do you need with an education?  How’s that going to help you when you’re in the kitchen making me food and babies.  An education isn’t going to help you keep the house clean.” 

  Today’s quote is brought to you by my husband, The Bean.  There, there, ladies.  There, there.  I know you’re all disappointed you didn’t nab him first.

• When I first found out I was pregnant back in 2008 I tired to imagine what life with a child was going to be like.  I knew being a parent wasn’t going to be easy, but I can assure you, I did not envision myself having to say, “For the last time, DON’T pee on the dog!”  Oh well.  Live and learn.
• I have magical powers.  I summon baby vomit by making plans to go to the gym. I’m not really sure how I can use this to fight crime or fulfill some powerful destiny, by maybe I’ll think of something.
• Today my plans to go to the gym produced a fever in the DragonMonkey.  My superhero powers are refining.  Influenza Girl to the rescue!
• Some families read stories before bed time, or engage in cute little verbal rituals.  In my family, we do this: 

  “I PEE ON MAMA!” 

  “DragonMonkey, PUT THAT AWAY.  If you pee on me you get five spanks.” 

  “Pee on Mama little bit….. one spank?” 

  “No.  Any pee that goes on Mama results in five spanks.  Now PUT THAT AWAY.”

  Every night, without fail.

• Dressed up like Katniss, complete with side braid.  Sitting in the theater, waiting for a midnight showing.  Surrounded by talkative teenagers.  Not only do I feel really old in comparison to everyone else, all I can think is how comfy my bed would be about now.
• It is 2:30 pm.  I just pulled into the driveway in Bakersfield.  Let the wild rumpus of horseback riding begin.
• I love country music, and most days I’m proud to love it…. but when I hear “I love the gap between your teeth” as one of the lines in a popular top 10 song, sometimes I have to wonder.
• “… And now we’re going to test your baby’s blood for a reaction milk….” says the doctor in a patronizing tone.

  “But won’t the IgE antibodies only be present in his bloodstream if he has been consuming dairy products?  He’s been off them for weeks.” 

  “…. Uh….. I don’t have time to go into how it works, but if he’s allergic to milk, it’ll show up.” 

  I lack a medical degree.  That doesn’t mean my brain is filled with only butterflies and ponies.  Sigh.

• The Bean’s out of town in Kentucky until tomorrow night.  If’ I’m really quick, and really discrete, maybe I can hurry up and buy a horse while he’s distracted.  When he gets home I’ll just tell him it’s always been here, and he just wasn’t paying attention.  I figure I’ve got a 50/50 shot of this working.

April:

• Yesterday evening the Squid stood and took his first few steps.  By this morning he was taking four and five steps in a row.  he took a long nap, woke up, and now he’s just nonchalantly walking everywhere.  It’s impressive and extremely disconcerting.
• After thirty minutes spent playing around on one of those “create your own style collage” sites….. and after going through hundreds, maybe even thousands of tops, pants, accessories, and jackets…. I came up with a pair of jeans, a black tank top, and a pair of converse shoes. 

  The good news is that my dreams are very achievable.  The bad news is that I have no sense of style.

• Only 56 more days before we’re on the road to Oregon.  That’s 1 month 26 days, and just a smidge under 8 weeks.  Not that anyone’s counting.
• The DragonMonkey’s prayer tonight:  “Bless Dada, Mama, Squid, Tata (Grandma), Toto (Grandpa), Shcautzie (their dog), Jimmy, Tammy, people, horses, doggies, Santa, and windows.  Amen.”
• People don’t seem to understand that “period specific” dress kind of needs to be, uh, “period specific”.  Last night we saw people dressed up to honor the 100th anniversary of the Titanic sinking, and they wore flapper dresses, 1940s jazz singer outfits, and basically a wide variety of costumes set somewhere within, oh, 30-40 years of what Titanic passengers might have worn in 1912.  TO put it in perspective, this means that in 100 years, when people who show up in period specific dress to a 9/11 memorial, they could be wearing leisure suits, parachute pants, grunge, and jeggings…. just like the people did in 2001.
• Tomorrow morning I get up, get dressed, go to work…. and give my 35 day notice.  The whole moving thing is about to get *real*.
• First box:  Taped.  Labeled.  Stored. GAME ON.
• …two saddles that I’ve out-fatted, an English saddle, one bareback pad, two halters, a trailering helmet/guard, a bunch of bridles, martingales, draw reins, several sets of split reins, one sturdy saddle rack, three different bits that I’ve never even used…. That imaginary horse I own is really decked out.
• “Twelve Steps to Spring-Clean Your Facebook Friend List!”  Laura Ingalls Wilder wouldn’t have made nearly as much money with her books if she were born in 1995.  Sometimes it’s just embarrassing to live in today’s society.
• One 1-hour whirlwind of a shopping trip and six clothing stores later, all I got was confused….. people actually like that stuff?  It looks like a pile of technicolored dirty laundry.
• My friend Google told me yesterday that there is a year-round pool open near my house, practically in my backyard.  Win.  Win, win, win, win, win, WIN.  On a brighter note (pun intended), I bet for the first time in my life, everyone else’s legs will be just as white as mine.
• Just got home from a surprise going-away party – a goodbye beach bonfire, with hot dogs, smores, sun, sand, family, friens ,and Pacific Northwest Tree Octopus cupcakes.  What an incredible night.

May:

• Last night while I was sitting on the toilet going pee (or, uh, powdering my nose), The Bean burst in holding a cat, then thrust him under my nose in excitement.  “Quick!  Smell him!  Doesn’t he smell strange?”  Marriage is weird.
• I have to take a shower.  I’m sticky, and dirty, and I don’t want to ruin the nice, clean sheets.  But if I take a shower it will remove the slight horse smell still lingering on me, and I’m probably not going to be around horses again until mid-June at the earliest.  What a lose-lose situation.
•  Is there a better love story than The Cutting Edge?  It’s been 20 years since that movie came out and it’s still the only romance I can watch repeatedly and not grow tired of it.
•  Dude.  Going to a noisy gun range, surrounded by strangers and explosions and flying casings and the scent of gunpowder, stressing over not yanking the trigger, not yanking, squeeze-don’t-yank-crap-roll-shoulders-try-again….. is INCREDIBLY relaxing.
•  What happened:  The DragonMonkey got my makeup (AGAIN).  I made him wash it off with the hose…. with his clothes on.  Said clothes got wet.  What it sounded like:  I dragged him outside, beat him wildly, set him on fire, and then killed his favorite puppy.
• Dear Internet:  I have a Mother’s Day question for you:  How do you get permanent marker off of toddler skin?
• Some idiot packed the kitchen first.  Was it *really* necessary to pack the salt away on the first day?  Why, Becky?  Why?
• The Bean and I are going out on a date tonight.  I thought we were going out for sushi–yaaaaay!  It turns out we are going out to a Japanese pub.  I checked out their menu, and according to Yelp, some of the tastier items are: 

  Sea urchin dumplings, tongue, fried gizzards, bacon-wrapped garlic (probably not a good date night food), pork belly, raw oysters, and my personal favorite, liver on a stick. 

  Next time I get to choose the restaurant.

• After four and a half years of juggling a new marriage, two new kids, full time jobs, and countless lonely evenings and Sundays while he’s at school….. The Bean is taking his last final this morning. 

  WE. ARE. DONE. 

  Also, he finished school in 4 years witha  nearly 4.0 average (two or three B’s total?) all while working a combined 40-50 hours a week at two jobs (at one point it was three jobs). 

  At the risk of sounding like a jerk:  Occupy THAT.

• The Bean is home all day today.  And tonight.  He’ll also be home all day tomorrow.  After work on Monday, he’ll come home…. and it won’t even be nine or ten o’clock at night.  I could get used to this.
• Ow.  My eyes.  But I saw the eclipse….. I think.
• After a very long day spent packing the trailer, we are at the final few items.  Space is very tight so it’s taking some finagling to make it fit.  I just need to focus, push through, and we’ll have it done…. yet all I can think is, “Would it just be easier to heap it in a big pile on the front yard and set it on fire?”
• T-minus five.
• T-minus, uh, three.  Hmmm.  No wonder NASA didn’t hire me.
• My boss took me out for a delicious goodbye breakfast at a classy hotel. I just got back into my car and noticed I have food on my face. It’s dry, so I must have smeared it there sometime at the beginning of the meal.  Sometimes, I hate being me.
• 3:40 in the morning.  Last time up Brookhurst Street, quick stop at 7-11 for coffee…. Three…. Two…. One…. Blast Off.
• So far, so good, and we even arrived in Redding ahead of schedule!  We’re going to leave early again tomorrow, and may even make it home by early afternoon.  Also, Northern California sure is gorgeous.  Also, a lot of the area around Central California really isn’t.  Modesto, what were you thinking, naming that creepy turn-off “Shanks Road”?  Was that a warning, or a self-defense weapon recommendation?
• Oh.  Oh, my.  Oregon, you stunning little state, you.  Where have you been all my life?
• Going 62 mph in the fast lane of the freeway.  Passing people.  This is going to take a bit of adjustment.

June:

• Either our front yard came equipped with a complimentary flock of hundreds of the world’s tiniest hummingbirds…… or HOLY CRAP this place has some scary mosquitoes.
• Becky, you idiot, you must learn to read maps ahead of time.  The local Starbucks is only 1.7 miles away if you take the highway.  If you take sidestreets because you have a stroller, two kids, and a dog, it is almost six miles roundtrip.  Moron.
• Well, it is twilight edging on full dark here.  Finally.  At 9:50 at night.  My body is so confused by this new sun schedule.
• I dreamed I was a 19th century hooker with a heart of gold.  When an uppity, cruel 20 year old client started picking on the 7 year old handicapped son of a fellow prostitute, I had enough.  I challenged him to a brawl, saying if he won, he would get five, uh, free ones.  IF I won, he would never show his face at the brothel again. 

  He accepted.

  Little did he know I was actually a time traveller who had several championship belts from my time in the ring as an MMA fighter.  The beatdown was juuuuuuuuuust about to begin….

  …..when Max woke me up to go pee.  Sometimes I hate that dog.

• ….. today, over at a little town on the Oregon coast, it’s the one weekend a year you can go crabbing without a license.  In addition to the fun of crabbing, there is a crab derby.  Twenty-six tagged crabs are released, and one of the grand prizes you can win is a vasectomy.  I’m not making this up.
• After a long week of studying up on the proper do’s and dont’s of recycling, learning about recyclables versus composting material, reusing paper towels, and sorting everything into its proper bin, The Bean and I proudly dragged our trash bins to the corner….. and watched as the same trash truck picked them up, one after another, and dumped them in the same hole.  What the heck, Portland.
• I just finished parking my car in downtown Portland for the first AND LAST time.  Childbirth was less work and much less stressful than that experience.
• Sigh.  Passed the driving test, but due to the fact I have a leased car it will take awhile before I get my Oregon plates….. so three more weeks of averting my eyes and hunching my shoulders while making my way down the road with my California plates.
• How to tell if you have a favorite child:  The DragonMonkeys’ room’s theme:  Camping!  Maybe some cowboys and horses!  And trains!  Stars!  The Squid’s room’s theme:  Broccoli.
• Oh.  Gee.  Darn. I seem to have missed this year’s Portland Naked Bike Ride.  No, that’s not a euphemism.  It’s exactly what it sounds like – a bunch of people who get together and get up on their bikes and take off into the sunset, fat and various body parts jiggling in the wind.  Yeah, I’m just crushed to have missed out on it.  And actually, I think I’m going to go wash my hands, just thinking about it.  Ewww.
• The best part of staying in a hotel is the delicious continental breakfast that you get to trip and spill all over the stairs.  I mean, that is what you’re supposed to do with it, right?
• Going riding…. for the second time in a week.  I am not excited about this at all. My life is just awful, terrible.  Everyone should pity me.  Also, I am being sarcastic.
• Murphietta’s Law:  No matter where you are, or what item you are carrying – be it a wallet, purse, bag of groceries, backpack, or whatever – if it tips over, a tampon will fall out, and there will be witnesses.
• Did I say 11 am?  I meant four.  I am leaving for Renegade Rendezvous endurance ride at four.

July:

• Riding a horse is like scratching a mosquito bite.  It feels good and satisfied the itch as long as youer’ doing it, but as soon as you stop the itch returns, usually worse than it was before.
• Why, yes, people of Oregon.  Fireworks are shiny, and they do make lots of noise.  Fascinating, isn’t it?  Can we be done now?
• Sigh.  Thank you, Code Enforcement, for the $191 fine for being four days late in licensing our dog…. and now we can’t pay the fine because the judge is out of town, on vacation.  Hello, Small Town, USA.
• Children.  Some days I truly, truly believe I should have eaten them at birth.
• Haikus to the swarms of Western Box Elder Bugs that infest our front yard:

  Stay out of my hair
  Please, please don’t land on my shirt
  NO! NOT DOWN MY BRA!

  or

  Why me? Why my house?
  No one else’s yard will do?
  I don’t want you here

  or

  You ain’t endangered
  Enough with the gross bug sex
  We don’t need any more

  or

  Die, die, die, die, die
  Seriously, please just die
  Die, die, die, die, die

• Poor, poor little Oregon mosquitoes.  What did you eat before I arrived?  You poor, starving little things.  There, there.  I’m here now.
• I taught the Squid how to lick a plate today.  Also, he grabbed The Bean’s beer earlier and dumped it on the ground, so some of it got on his shorts.  The important part of this is to fast forward to right now.  Right now he is walking around, shirtless, licking a plate and smelling of beer.  I feel like all the other parents out there should just give up now, because they will obviously never be as cool as me.
• Sigh.  DragonMonkey hid his booger in the house and won’t tell me where he put it.  My apologies to anyone who comes to visit me any time soon.
• Spent the afternoon pampering the dog – petting him, shaving him, bathing him, slowly grooming every inch of him.  It took almost three hours of being bent over without straightening up, and my back is SHOT form the process.  Apparently, all that attention confused Max.  In the three minutes it took me to go upstairs and change Sebastian’s diaper, Max proceeded to anointed my kitchen with about 46 cubic gallons of, “Ohmigawd, something is different” pee.  While I fumed and cleaned up the mess, the boys ran onto the front porch and played “Let’s Throw the Bags of Shaved Dog Hair Around Like Confetti”, which is apparently the best game ever. 

  I will not kill small, defenseless creatures, human or otherwise.  I will not kill, I will not kill, I will not kill small defenseless creatures…..

• DUDE.  I dreamed I was a My Little Pony.  I’ve been waiting for this dream since I WAS FOUR YEARS OLD! 

  I was Twilight Sparkles’ up-and-coming protege, with more magic than any pony ever.  We formed an elite team and used our powers to take down a nasty band of terrorists holed up in Afghanistan. 

  ARE YOU PAYING ATTENTION?  I WAS A MY LITTLE PONY WITH AN ASSAULT RIFLE.  IT WAS AWESOME. 

  So, after we infiltrated the house, I decided to take down the sheikh (who I think was actually Iranian…. whatever, my geography sucks when I’m conscious, and obviously even more so when I’m asleep) by hiding out in his harem and killing him in his sleep. 

  ONLY INSTEAD OF KILLING HIM, I SOMEHOW ENDED UP PREGNANT, AND I SPENT THE REST OF THE DREAM HOVERING AROUND THE TOILET, PUKING AND FEELING SORRY FOR MYSELF.

  I waited for this dream for 27 years.  I want a do-over.  Why does being an adult have to ruin everything?

• I went outside to load the stroller into the trunk of the car.  In that brief time (seriously – three minutes tops?) the boys rolled a toy over to the counter, stood on it, grabbed a full bag of brown sugar…. and then proceeded to have a sugar-throwing fight in the main part of the house.  Sugar.  My entire house – sofa, living room, entry way, kitchen, kitchen floor….. EVERYTHING is coated in gritty, sticky sugar.  It was so thick on the floor that when I came in through the door it was to the sight of DragonMonkey laying on his back on the kitchen floor, flapping his arms and trying to show Squid how to make a sugar angel.
• And forever after we shall be known as “that family that knocked down two display cases at Walgreens.”  Sigh.

August:

• Dude – why haven’t they banned the USA from playing basketball in the Olympics yet?  It’s not even sportsmanlike – it’s like watching high schoolers playing with third graders.
• “Being fat is like a trophy for all the awesome food you ate.”
• Squid was so angry he lunged forward, grabbed my finger between his teeth, and bit down hard enough to make me cry.  I couldn’t get my finger out – the more I tried to pry open his jaws, the harder he bit.  It’s been forty minutes and the teeth marks are still there. 

  Why? 

  Because I wouldn’t let him play in traffic.

  I MUST NOT SELL MY CHILDREN TO THE GYPSIES.  I MUST NOT SELL MY CHILDREN TO THE GYPSIES.  I MUST NOT, MUST NOT, MUST NOT…..

• Dear Oregon. I like you.  You’re very pretty.  And wow, have you lost weight? No?  Well, it looks like you have.  Your legs look GREAT in those jeans.  Anyways, can I ask you a little favor?  Can you please stop giving me poison oak?  I’m running out of space on my legs to look all nasty and leprosy-like.  Thanks!
• “What do you mean I don’t have any game?  I get up early, I go to work, and I bleed numbers out of my face.  How much more sexy does it get than a tax accountant?”  Back off girls, he’s mine.
• The weather is going to be hot the next two days – high 90s, maybe even reaching 100 – warm enough to be uncomfortable, but not crazy warm like it used to get in Taft or Kernville.  Let’s not even talk about how hot it gets in Phoenix. 

  The Portland news station has been reporting on this upcoming heatwave for over a week, alerting the public about emergency “Cooling Stations” and issuing dire warnings about the heat, like we’re about to be enveloped in a deadly forest fire/acid rain combo. 

  It’ s heat, people.  Your skin isn’t made of wax, and you won’t melt and die.  This is the first time since I’ve moved here that I feel like a smug Californian.  I imagine it’s how Oregonians feel when they see SoCal’s ridiculous “Storm Watch!” newscasting urging everyone to stay inside every time it rains.

• Seriously?  Two months after I leave California, Dexter decides to film a scene at the bar I used to work at.  I’m so stinking jealous.
• What I have:  An old, square workdesk someone left behind at our house, a bunch of free wood I picked up off of Craigslist, some tools, a desperate desire for chickens, and health insurance.

  What I lack:  A plan, knowledge about chicken coops, any previous carpentry experiencing, an engineering-type brain, ability to understand “How to Build a Chicken Coop” designs I found on the internet, knowledge about chickens, adult supervision, and babysitting for my young, accident-prone children.

  <Whirr, whirr goes the Makita>

  Let’s do this.

• I am driving around town with my new Oregon license plates…. and for the first time since we got here, I feel like I belong.
• The Bean and I each have separate bank accounts and we often transfer money back and forth.  Every time I am responsible for the transfer I like to come up with a new and interesting “memo”.  Listening to his little accountant sounds of dismay over improperly labeled credits and debits makes my week (“Becky, you know this appears on our formal bank statements, right?”) 

  Last time the fund  transfer was for the purchase of Guatemalan hookers.  This time it’s “Groceries for Guatamalan hookers”.  I mean, everyone knows they don’t just feed themsleves.

September

• Well, that’s good.  Squid’s one unmarred cheek just looked out of place on the rest of his bruised-up face.  Glad we know have symmetry.  Sigh.  Better go get out his cutest, most expensive-looking clothes and do his hair extra-nice so people don’t think he’s a feral baby and start offering to adopt him.
• Just finished attending Portland’s Pirate Festival in St. Helen’s.  The wenches were a little more… err…. realistic than I am used to seeing. On a related note, after today I will never be embarrassed of my cellulite again.
• Countless hours of Internet surfing finally paid off – reunited a lost dog owner with a found dog ad on Craigslist….. man, that feels good.
• Kids are handing out free kittens in front of Walmart.  Do you have any idea how much inner strength one has to have to say no to a free kitten when it is right in front of you?
• Sitting in the sun at a small town Sauerkraut Festival, watching my sons jump on a bouncie, great band playing in the background, scent of autumn filling the Oregon air.  Man, I have a great life.  What did I do to deserve all this?
• And now presenting today’s episode of “sweet nothings” by The Bean.  “Some people say fifty years of marriage is a commitment.  Pah.  You wanna see commitment?  Look at this car of mine.”  He gestures at the gleaming Civic.  “Now *THAT* is commitment.” 

  He looked up at me, expectant, only to be surprised as well as vaguely insulted when I didn’t fling myself into his manly arms with a reckless passion, overcome by the sheer romance of his flowery speech.

• “Damnit!  I peepeed on my pajamamas!” I’m not sure whether I should wash his mouth out with soap, or mine.
• Oatmeal fight?  REALLY?  I go into the back room to switch out the laundry and the two of you decide to have an OATMEAL FIGHT?  That’s it.  I’m selling you to the gypsies.
• While I took a ten minute shower (indulging in the luxury of washing my hair for the first time in two days) my children had a salt and pepper fight in the kitchen and living room. I  was doing okay and maintaining decent composure until I cleaned it all up and went outside to take out the trash….. and they started a second war with the emergency reserves they’d poured into a toy truck. 

  I’m going to go ahead and count today a parenting win, as both children are still alive and unharmed.

• WE ARE ON OUR WAY TO GO GET CHICKENS.  YES, THAT’S RIGHT.  CHICKENS!!!
• DragonMonkey is insisting on calling the biggest, fattest chicken “The Mommy”.  That’s it.  It’s official.  Squid is my favorite.

October:

• He’s listened to Mozart.  he’s listened to Beethoven.  I’ve exposed him to Michael Buble, and Eric Clapton, and Etta James, and Sin Bandera.  Blues, and salsa, cello and piano, classical and country – he’s heard it all, and ignored it completely.  I’ve got the soft rock station on for company, and like a shark on the scent of blood, DragonMonkey zeroed in on two songs with an absolutely feral intensity: 

  Carly Rae Jensen’s “Call Me Maybe” and Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream”. 

  “MY SONGS!  MY SONGS!” he screams with all the frenzied delight of a teenage girl, every time they come on.  What have I done to deserve this?  Where did I go wrong?

• DragonMonkey just sidled past me with lumpy, dirty sock held behind his back – a sock that obviously hid something.  When I asked him what was behind his back, he responded, “Mama, it’s not glue in a sock.”  That sounds legit, right?
• Today’s “Special Weather Statement”:  A significant weather change is expected Friday and into the weekend…. we transition to a wet and stormy weather pattern….”  So it begins.  Somehow I find Portland’s understated warning text of “finish all outdoor chores” so much more ominous than all the “STORM WATCH!!!!”  warnings I’ve seen in Southern California.
• Today DragonMonkey turns four.  FOUR?!  To assist in the early celebrations, Squid has been up since about 2:30.  Yaay.
• Today I woke up early, took a long shower, blow dried and curled my hair, and applied my makeup in tasteful yet very alluring fashion.  I am now sitting in the house looking pretty dang hot in my tight jeans and sexy top.  The boys are quietly practicing their ABCs, the house is spotless, and I just folded the rest of the laundry and put it away.  Now what?  I’ve run out of things to do.

  Also, I’m lying.

• It’s so nice to have a vacuum – err, a dog in the house again.
• Good news:  This town’s parents are feeling very good about themselves, their offspring, and their parenting abilities.  Bad news:  I doubt I am invited back to baby lapsit at the library.
• “I”m sorry, Mama.  I won’t do this again.”

  “Huh?  Do what?  I was only in the bathroom for two minutes.”

  “I’m very sorry, Mama.  I won’t do it again. I won’t’ be mean to Squid.”

  “Oh.  Uh, well, it was bad that you’d id that, but that’s a good decision.  Thank you for your honesty.”

  “And I sorry I play with the toilet tank.”

  “You WHAT?”

  “And I sorry I bad with Squid in your bedroom, and I mess up your bed.  And I sorry I play with the toilet.  And I sorry about the banana.”

  Unfortunately, I made the mistake of saying “What banana?!” in a shrill voice, and now he won’t fess up about it.  Some days I miss my 50 hour a week job.  It was much less stressful.

November:

• Does anyone out there speak toddler?  Squid would like a “rawl-rawl-rawl-rawl-rawrawrawraw-raw!” Thanks.
• I’ve decided I don’t like writing books. Books are boring to write.  I just want to write a series of interesting scenes that I have in my mind for my characters, and not bother tying them together with any mundane details like “How did they get there”, “Why are they doing that” and “Who the heck is this person, anyways?”  You guys would all buy a book like that, right?
• If YOU have experienced hardening of your vaginal mesh, YOU may be entitled to compensation!!!!! CALL NOW!!  I really miss old timey commercials, where cute little twins sang about Doublemint gum, and whatnot.
• Language acquisition is fascinating:

  “My hair is longry!”
  “Huh?” 
  “My hair is long and hungry for a hair cut!  It longry!”

  “I was a jungle bee for Halloween!”
  “A bumblebee?”
  “Yeah, a junglebee!”

  “Look, Mama, a rocket!  5…4….3…2…1…. Admission!”

• “Hey!  HEY!  Don’t smell my butt!  That’s where my poo comes out!  Hey!  Quit it! PUPPY!  No smelling my butt!  It’s my butt!  NO!” 

  Adding Artemis to the mix of this household is turning out to be more amusing than I thought it would be.

• “MAMA!  MAMA!  Come see!  It’s a baby spider!  It so cute…. cute little baby spider.  Awww…. Come see!”

  “Let’s see what you have there —- DragonMonkey, gross.  Get that away from me.  That may have been a baby spider, but now it’s dead.  That thing is completely squished.”

  “Yeah, I no like it when they run away from me.”

• Trying to give the main character of my book a love interest is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.  It turns out I’m even more awkward at flirting when I’m in charge of both sides of the conversation.
• ……… and now, finally, my main characters are getting all makey-outy with each other, and it’s good stuff, and the story is just flowing out of me…… Only I’m typing this while at my local library, sitting right next to the Children’s Section, and “Harold and The Purple Crayon” is looking at me with judgy, judgy eyes.
• COOCHIE WHITE.  COOCHIE WHITES!  COOCHIE WHITES!  COOCHIE WHITES! Coochie!  coochie!  Coochie white.  COOCHIE!  COOCHIE WHITES COOCHIE WHITES!  COOCHIE WHITES!  COOCHIE WHITES COOCHIE WHITES!!!!!! 

  Dude.  Bean?  We really need to teach the Squid how to say “Christmas lights”, and soon, or the holiday season is never going to be the same for me.

December:

• On Thursday I finished NaNoWriMo, and today I ran my first 5k…… our goal was 41 minutes, and we finished in 36:57.  I feel like I could take on the entire world right now.
• OMG I USED TO LIKE CHRISTMAS, BUT THEN I HAD KIDS, AND A PUPPY, AND EVERYONE JUST LEAVE THE STUPID CHRISTMAS TREE ALONE OR I’M SELLING YOU ALL TO THE GYPSIES AND THERE WON’T *BE* ANY CHRISTMAS THIS YEAR.
• I didn’t tell many people that I was training for a 5k.  There was a reason for that.  I’m not superstitious— I don’t believe that’s the way God works…… But on the other hand, I started training for a 5k, and I got pregnant with Matty.  So I waited until he was older and went to sign up for one, and we had a financial catastrophe occur.  So I waited, and I started training again – and my RA came back, and I got pregnant.  So, this time, I started training secretly, and I kept my head low, and I snuck a race in….. And then I bragged about it on my blog yesterday. 

  Today I am the proud owner of a sprained ankle.  The doc thinks I should be able to jump right back into training for a 10k…… in about 4-6 weeks.  SIGH.

• Today’s installment of “Back off Ladies, He’s Mine!”, brought to you by my beloved husband, Bean:  “You’re not…. you’re not going to use crutches, or that ugly cane thing at the Christmas party, are you?  Because that’s not really the look I’m going for.”
• Know what’s sexy?  Corner of the lip pimples.  Now that’s sexy.  Be jealous, y’all.
• “Hi, Santa.”

  “Why, hello there.  Have you been good?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what do you want for Christmas.”

  “A clock.”

  A clock.  Really?  Next thing you know, he’ll want a nice set of dishes and some sensible silverware.

• Stupid, idiotic Democrats and their stupid, gun-hating laws!  When will they ever learn?  This was COMPLETELY preventable!  Arm the entire populace and this kind of crap would never happen! 

  Stupid, idiotic Republicans and their stupid, fear-mongering gun laws!  When will they ever learn?  This was COMPLETELY preventable! Disarm the entire populace and this kind of crap would never happen!

  Too soon, people.  Too soon.

• Today the boys stripped the bottom layer of ribbons and ornaments off the tree and replaced them with tampons they found under the bathroom sink.  Merry Christmas.  Happy Monday.  Sigh.
• “Mama, how is Santa coming in?”

  “Uh…. Santa isn’t real.  We’ve been through this, over and over.  A long time ago, in the third century, there was a wonderful man called St. Nicholas, who did many wonderful things, and we honor his memory and the way he celebrated the true meaning of Christmas.  People, like your Grandpa, like to dress up like he used to dress, and celebrate Christmas.  Santa isn’t real….. He’s just a symbol of the season.” 

  “…. So Santa isn’t bringing me any presents?”

  “Mommy and Daddy will be bringing you presents.  But some of them will say ‘Santa’, because we like to participate in Christmas tradition.”

  “….. but how is Santa coming in?  We need to leave a window open.”

  “SIGH.  Fine.  He comes in through the heater vent.”

  “WITH ALL THE SPIDERS?!”

• Despite my attempts at honesty, according to the children in my house:

  Santa is real.  On Christmas Eve he will hitch all the reindeer to his sleigh, yell at them, and hit them with a whip, and then tie that sleigh to his big car, and stop by the gas station to make sure it’s got a nice full tank before heading out.  Also, he will be coming in through the heater vents, along with all the spiders (?!?!?!).  We should leave some food for him – maybe “lots and lotsa food” – and we should leave it on plates by the heater vents.  And maybe we should leave some food for the spiders, too.  But only the spiders with smiles on their faces.

• Things I am not lying about:

  The area I live in has giant, ugly, orange-toothed 20 pound beaver-rats called “Coypus” (they are also known as Nutrias.)  I know, I know.  I didn’t believe it either – but google it.  It’s a for-real thing.

  Also, there’s a squirrel bridge over in Longview.  Yes, that’s right.  A squirrel bridge.  It’s a little bitty miniature 60 foot suspension bridge, built just for squirrels.  It’s called the “Nutty Narrows Bridge”. 

  I promise you, I am not making any of this up.

************

Merry Christmas and a happy New Year, everyone, and may 2013 be just as exciting (if a little more well-behaved!)

I don’t think it’s going to come as a shock to people who read this blog that I like horses.

What you may not know is that I never competed, or showed, or did anything particular when it came to riding horses.   Well, once I did place in an ETI Competition  (Equestrian Trails Incorporated, or International, or something – some trail horse thingie), but that’s just because I showed up to ride my friend’s horses, and that’s where she was that weekend.  It was completely on accident.)

My lack of formal training and focus was due to three factors, primarily:

1. Lack of competitive drive:  Actually, this one’s a bit of a misnomer.  I do have a competitive drive.  In fact, I have a little bit too much of a competitive drive.  When I used to work with the local junior high church group, I once pushed a 7th grader off the stage in the middle of a “break the ice” social game because HE NEEDED TO GET OFF THE STAGE IN ORDER FOR OUR TEAM TO WIN, AND HE WASN’T PAYING ATTENTION, AND THE OTHER TEAM WAS ABOUT TO WIN, AND MY TEAM WAS GOING TO LOSE!

   It wasn’t exactly my best moment. 

Anyways, despite the competitiveness in my blood – or maybe because of it – I’ve just never felt the need to compete with horses.  I think it’s because horses are kind of my happy spot – they bring me peace, and I worry that if I bring competition into the mix, it might ruin that for me.

2. On the day we bought my first horse, Catarina, the unscrupulous horse trader who sold her to us asked, “So, what are you going to use her for?”

   “Oh, I’m just going to ride her.  I’m not going to actually show, or anything.”

   The trader rolled his eyes at me.  “Mark my words,” he said to my mother.  “In six months she’s going to be complaining. ‘I need matching tack, and a show outfit, and’….”  He laughed.

   I did not laugh with him.  “No, I don’t think that’s gong to happen to me.  I just want to ride.”

   He rolled his eyes at me.  “That’s what they all say,” he said, turning to nod at my mom.  “You mark my words – it’ll be within six months.”

   Hey, horse trader dude? I have two things to say to you – Number one, thanks for lying to us about Catarina’s age as well as selling us a lame horse. You suck. I can’t believe the vet backed you up.  How much were you paying him? You guys both really, really suck.

   Number two, I’m 31 years old, and I still haven’t gone down that road, so THERE. Hah. I guess I sure showed you.

3. Money.  That’s honestly the biggest reason.  Showing and competing costs money, and  I’m still daydreaming about the day I can take regular lessons.  Heck, as you all know, at this point I’m still daydreaming about the day I can have a horse again.  Would anyone like to buy a slightly used kidney?

Anyways, onto the point of this post.

I think I really like endurance. 

I will say that it’s tough to say “I love endurance!” when my longest ride was only about 15 miles.  It feels dishonest, somehow, like I haven’t earned the right to say it – kind of like how I feel I’m not allowed to go on and on about how much I love Oregon until I’ve survived at least two winters here.

Still.

There’s something about the start of an endurance ride that I could really see myself being a part of.  There’s a friendly excitement to the chilly morning air- the horses are jigging, and the riders are a little tense.

When they signal the start, it’s both understated and magical.  The front riders start out – all lean muscled and long-trotting or cantering – heads high and slightly braced against the bit with the excitement of the moment, and it’s a beautiful sight.  There’s a poetry to be found in the way the horses move, and the way the riders move with them – even when they’re battling, you can see the miles they’ve spent together in the way they respond with each other.

The crowd cheers, but quietly – they’re horse people, too.

I may, or may not have gotten goosebumps as I did my own quiet cheering.

Anyways.

Needless to say, I’m really looking forward to learning more about this sport….. which reminds me:

Aarene from HaikuFarm has finally released the paper version of her book:

Dude.

The book is good – like, really good.

I don’t know if it was the plethora of pretty horse pictures, or the readability of writing, or what – but it held my attention like a fiction book, which is saying something.

I have the attention span of a gnat, and I pretty much only read fiction books.

I wish that weren’t true, because at the rate I read books I would be the smartest person alive if I liked non-fiction, but it is what it is.

I love horses, but I don’t usually love horse books – especially non-fiction books…. but I really loved this book.  I bought it for myself, and I’m going to buy extras as presents for the horse people in my life. 

I learned a lot.  Seriously, someone out there needs to hire Aarene to write how-to manuals, because it was down-to-earth and easy to read, but it actually contained a lot of information.  That’s actually harder to do than you may think.

It’s also pretty funny.  I may have laughed out loud once or twice.

The only part that wasn’t funny is when I was reading along, laughing at the Bad Idea fairy and all of her, well, bad ideas…. and one of them was her deciding not to print out directions to the ride ahead of time, because she can just rely on her smartphone’s GPS, right?

Oh.

Whoops.

Well, if you can’t be an example, be a warning, right?

Anyways, I’m too late to recommend it for Christmas (am I the only person who hasn’t bought a single Christmas present yet?), but some of you guys out there will probably get a gift card or two ias gifts… and if you do, I heartily recommend this book.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to go daydream about horses.

This is my latest heartthrob:

Three years old, 16 hands, and a Standardbred, so he’ll probably be even taller when he’s done maturing.

Doesn’t he just look strangely lopsided without me on his back?