Me & Ma

I'm turning into a 21st century Ma Ingalls. I can't decide if this is scary or funny, but it's the damn truth. See comparisons below:

Ma: had basket of mending
AJWP: just stitched patch reading "kiss me" onto torn pocket of Petunia's jeans

Ma: went into town every other month to buy dry goods
AJWP: goes to BJ's every other month to buy bulk baby wipes and pickles

Ma: made own cheese from lining of cow's stomach
AJWP: eats lots of cheese

Ma: kept pot of soup warm for Pa
AJWP: burns Crock Pot chili for Petunia

Ma: Motto: "Waste not, want not"
AJWP: Motto: "When in doubt, throw it out"

See what I mean?

I wannado that!

Do you know about Wannado City? I just read about it in the Sunday paper and it looks really rad. It's a complex where children can try on different careers (it's an indoor role-playing theme park, actually, but doesn't that sounds way too B/D for little kids?). They have over 100 careers ranging from neonatal specialist to flight attendant to journalist to hairstylist. For each career, they provide a whole staged area complete with lifelike props, real products, and paychecks the kids can really spend. Doesn't that sound so, so fun? Don't you wish they had a park like this for adults?

They call me the wanderer

Wouldn't it be nice to take a trip? I've been daydreaming about some upcoming road trips and doing a little armchair traveling. Here's a list of 20 places I really want to go:

1. New York, as often as possible. Next scheduled trip: End of March.
2. London--how is it possible I've never been there? Tickets are really cheap in late winter, and you know I love the cheap.
3. Ansbach, Germany. My family was stationed there in the early 1990s, and my brother and I want to go back together sometime soon. Hello, Aquella!
4. Belgium: Country of my birth. Odd, huh?
5. Savannah again--it's so pretty there!
6. Austin again, if only for the fried pickles at Katz's Deli. Yum!
7. Anywhere warm and tropical and sunny. Tahiti, anyone?
8. Punxsutawney, PA for Groundhog Day, as mentioned earlier this month. Trip scheduled for February 2008.
9. Galveston, TX again to visit Orca. Ahoy, Orca!
10. Northampton, MA for the Spring Bulb Show at the Smith greenhouse. Scheduled trip: This weekend!
11. The Badlands. Or South and North Dakota in general.
12. Prairie land. I've never seen a prairie, you know?
13. Wyoming, Idaho, and Utah. Maybe for Utah, I could just go to Sundance! That would be too, too rad.
14. De Smet, SD. I heard a story about it on This American Life, and now I want to go. It's where Laura Ingalls Wilder once lived.
15. And speaking of beloved childhood books, I'll add PEI, Canada to my list. I want to see the Lake of Shining Waters and the Haunted Woods!
16. Back to Oahu for another visit with some family friends. This time, maybe I'd be brave enough for Shark Encounters!
17. Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard. I've lived in MA since 1994, and I've never been to either island.
18. The Grand Canyon. Is it as cool in real life as it looked in The Brady Bunch?
19. Santa Fe. I almost moved there after college, and I've still never been.
20. This crazy hotel in the Poconos. So very tacky, yet so very fun!

So that's my short list. Where do you want to go?

The Big "C"s

When I was in college, my friends coined the term The Big "C" to describe a person who gets a huge bargain on goods or services. "C" stands for "Consumer," and it's a title of pride and envy among us to this day.

Thankfully, being cheap is a shared value for Petunia and me. We come by it honestly, since both of our families were cash-poor when we were young (in fact, I consider my mom the original Big "C" since she outfitted Orca and me with duds found in neighbors' trash cans and bought our first bikes using hundreds of Pepsi coupons). On weekends, Petunia and I can be found trawling sale and clearance racks wherever we go. And that, my friends, is how we just scored big and outfitted our bedroom with $440 worth of linens for just $44. Hello, 90% off sale at Target! Hello, new bedspread, curtains, pillow shams, and decorative pillows!

Wheely Willy

Holy shit, you have to see this site! I'd forgotten all about Wheely Willy until today. One warning: don't read his bio if you're tender-hearted about animals or PMSing like me.

"Are they made from real Girl Scouts?"

Hooray! Our Girl Scout cookies have arrived! In honor of this joyous occasion, here are three Girl Scout facts and one important question:

1. I dropped out of Brownies in the early 1980s because they wanted me to sew dolls from old socks. Instead, I attended my brother's Cub Scout meetings and learned all the words to the Boy Scout Oath. Hmm, I wonder if that's what made me gay?
2. The cookie known as the Samoa in other parts of the United States is called a Caramel DeLite here in New England. The official story: there are 2 different suppliers, and they get to name the cookies whatever they want. My guess: New Enganders love to pretend we're PC, so we'd boycott a cookie called "Samoa" while complaining that the supplier is "wicked retahded" for naming it that.
3. The Girl Scouts don't discriminate against lesbians the way the Boy Scouts discriminate against gay men and boys. Do you think that's because so many troop leaders are lezzies?

And finally: Whatever happened to the Trefoil? "Classic shortbread," indeed.

Hard to stomach

This morning I got a call from one of my families. "We think you gave the kids bad dairy yesterday," the dad says. "They've been vomiting all night. Don't drink any milk this morning."

Um, WHAT? I POISONED the kids? I began to panic.

Me, freaking out: Oh my god, that's terrible. I'm so sorry--I feel awful! I wonder what would have done it. Let me check my fridge--no, the milk's fine, and the yogurt's good, too. Actually, I ate and drank the same things as the kids, and I feel fine. I wonder if [other child] is sick, too? Why don't I call his parents and get back to you right away? Oh, this is terrible!
Dad 1: They're doing much better now. I gave the baby some breakfast 10 minutes ago, and he seems to be holding it down. I'll see how he does, then give you a call if it looks like we'll be there today.
Me, silently to self: WHAT THE FUCK??? You want to bring your child to my house when he's been THROWING UP all morning???
Me, to Dad 1: Um, I'll give you a call back right away.
____________________
Dad 2: Good morning!
Me, nervously: Good morning. I'm calling to see how the little guy is feeling.
Dad 2: He's fine. Is everything okay?
Me, pissing myself in relief: Oh, I'm so glad he's well! It sounds like the other kids caught a stomach bug, but their parents and I were concerned about food poisoning.
Dad 2, confidently: It must be a bug, since Junior ate the same things they did and he's doing great.
Me: I'm so glad. I'll see you guys soon!
____________________
Me: Hi, it's me again. It turns out that [other child] is feeling fine, too. I wonder if the boys caught a stomach virus?
Dad 1: Well, we thought it was bad dairy because the boys threw up a lot of undigested milk.
Me, to self: Well, they would, wouldn't they? They're sick!
Me, to Dad 1: I'm so sorry they aren't feeling well!
Dad 1: Actually, they seem fine now. I guess we're just going to treat this as a normal day. We'll see you soon!
Me, nervously: Um, I'm concerned about that. Since Baby has been vomiting, I worry that he could pass the virus to the other 2 kids and to me.
Dad 2: Would you prefer we keep him home?
Me, guiltily: Yes, I would.

So that's that. No food poisoning, no vomiting here at Chez AJWP. Except the whole episode makes me feel terrible! I know I did nothing wrong, but this is the first time I've had to tell a family that their child couldn't attend my program. I'm angry that the parents don't respect my sick policy, but I'm even angrier at myself for being so wimpy. I'm great at setting limits with the kids, but why am I so sucky at setting limits with their parents?

The Uterus Monologues

Y'all know that recipe for Neiman Marcus chocolate chip cookies that appears in your email inbox every so often? The next time it makes the rounds, do yourself a favor and print it out. Those cookies beat the shit out of Tollhouse! I credit the oatmeal and the FOUR HERSHEY BARS you grate into the batter. I might be the only person foolish enough to try the recipe in the first place, but I'm also the one sitting fat and happy with a tummy full of cookies. I should just paste them right onto my uterus, though, since she demanded them in the first place. Damn PMS!

Speaking of uteruses (uteri?), I had a surreal experience this morning. I was taking out the trash in the 6 o'clock hour when Pregnant Neighbor accosted me. "I want to show you my belly!" she exclaimed. "Uh, okay," I said. And faster than I could say "boundaries," she pulled up her shirt, tugged down her sweats, and displayed a tiny, tiny bump. "Wow," I said (I'm v. articulate first thing in the morning). "I know! It's got to be a girl! My ultrasound is on the 10th and I'm going to know for sure then. Want to hear the names I picked out?" she bubbled. I chatted with her for a few more minutes, then excused myself to start mopping. When I got inside, I realized something: I never thought the first naked pregnant belly I ever saw in real life would be the belly of a relative stranger. I always thought it would be the belly of a beloved friend or sister-in-law*; she'd tell me she was pregnant and we'd cry and hug and drink International Coffees in a sunlit room in celebration of our Special Moment. After today's ambivalent encounter in our gritty South Worcester neighborhood, I can tell you I much prefer the fantasy.

And speaking of fantasies, how much do I want to be YelloCello's friend? I bet she'd indulge my Sisterhood is Powerful Jean-Luc daydreams. Her description of playing her cello to her baby and cats is beautiful and powerful, and her writing is rich and evocative. If you can't make those stupid Neiman Marcus cookies, you can pamper yourself by reading her post from Sunday. Lovely, no?

*No pressure, Orca.

Soothing the savage beast

Sometimes when the kids are cranky, I pull out a box of instruments and put on some loud music. I'm not talking Raffi or Sesame Street, either; when things get stressful, I put on music I like. My theory is that if I'm relaxed, the kids will relax. It usually works like a charm! Another upside: I bet I'm the only family child care provider in all of central Mass whose kids love Steely Dan, The Police, and k.d. lang. Sweet!

Let's call the whole thing off

I'll just say it: I hate sports. I'm pissed that I have to hear coverage of the Olympics while I'm mopping and Lysol-ing at 6:30am, and I couldn't give a damn about Emily Hughes replacing Michelle Kwan in women's figure skating. To me, the whole thing is a gigantic waste of time, just like the SuperBowl and the World Series. This time around, I'm extra-special pissed about the name change from Turin to Torino. What's next, Cologne to Koln? NO, because Koln isn't "exotic" enough. It's all about consistency, people: We don't say Firenze for Florence, now do we?

Introducing Hester Willa

Since the beginning of January, Petunia and I have worked hard to renovate our second bedroom. We stripped its grody pearlescent wallpaper and painted the room a pretty butter yellow, then ripped out its nasty cat pee carpeting and laid a laminate wood floor. [Our cat Reuben is supervising our work in this photo.] More recently, we framed some Cleo the Cat cards with paper we found at Papersource, decoupaged a switchplate with that same paper, and hung some colorful paper globe lights. We're considering fabrics for a slipcover as well. I'm telling y'all, Trading Spaces has nothing on us! For once, I'm working cheerfully and energetically, too. That's because I know that all of this effort is for our very own son- or daughter-to-be, Hester Willa!

Make no mistake, we're not really going to call our child Hester Willa. It's a sort of pre-adoption nickname. V. old school New England, though, isn't it?

What's funny is that all this work makes Hester's arrival seem more real to me. Sometimes I worry about the details of how our adoption will occur, but in my heart of hearts I know it'll work out, that we'll become parents of the child we're meant to love. Putting together Hester's nursery is a visible, tangible sign that we'll become parents someday. It might not happen this year or next, but I'm getting more and more certain that it will happen.

Recently, someone I love told me that our wanting to start a family is "sick," "ridiculous," and "disgusting." She compared the adoption process to being gay, saying that it was just another one of my "projects." Obviously, she wanted to hurt me. She succeeded, but not as much as she might have liked. A year ago, comments like these would have turned me into a sobbing mess. Now, I have more confidence that we'll get through all this waiting and wondering, with or without the support of family and friends. We're feathering our nest for the eventuality of parenthood, and it feels really good.

I cannot tell a lie

Holy crap, I LOVE federal holidays! I'm lucky to have the day off, and I'm using the time v. constructively. It's only 10am, but just look at what I've done so far:

--6:30am: Wake up; brush teeth; make coffee
--7am: Drive Petunia to commuter train in Framingham
--8am: Get Clover's oil changed, finally
--8:30am: Swing by Target to pick up cat food for neighbor and Baked Lays and sour cream for me (note the gleam in my salt-crazed, PMS eyes)
--9am: Arrive home; cavort with Clary B.; mix up ranch dip
--9:10am: Make turkey hotdogs and eat with chips & dip while reading article in T&G about how Baked Lays are a good choice for snacking, but how you shouldn't eat 1/4 of the bag in one sitting (oops); feel grateful that I don't have to be a good role model today
--9:35am: Start laundry; get out Pledge to start dusting upstairs
--9:40am: Decide to listen to some archived This American Life shows while cleaning; get distracted by blogs
--10am: Write this post; wish for the 1000th time that Mr. Belvedere would come over to do some light housekeeping

So that's not a bad start to the day, is it? And it's going to get even better, too--I'm taking myself out for lunch! After that I'm going into Boston to pick up Petunia, visit Papersource, and eat some fried pickles (the salt thing just won't quit). Good times! Here's wishing you a happy Presidents' Day as well.

Hello, Kitty!

There's much to love and admire about Stuff On My Cat, but what really kills me in this photo is the room, not the cat. This cat's mom or dad wasn't content with a Hello Kitty knickknack on a shelf in the corner. Oh no, the person who decorated this room said, "I have a vision: electric plum walls, hot pink furniture, cuteness EVERYWHERE!" I applaud her/his commitment to detail. Brava!

Video killed the radio star

So here's some excellent news: Petunia and I are going to see Terry Gross interview Ira Glass at Symphony Hall! We're big NPR geeks, so this is hardcore awesome for us. I loves me some This American Life, know what I mean?

Here's someone else I love: Jodie Foster. I've loved her since I was practically a child, and I didn't defect to Gillian Anderson during the mid-1990s like millions of other celeb-crushing lezzies. When Flightplan came out, I was psyched. I was psyched right up until I actually saw it last night. I have to tell you: I was disappointed. Jodie was excellent, but the movie itself sucks ass. If you haven't seen it and you're a really big Jodie Foster fan, rent it anyway. If you only like Jodie a little, skip it and pray that she'll choose a better film next time.

Speaking of shitty roles, I would pick Jodie to play me in the movie about my life. Who would you pick to play you?

Back on the bus, y'all!

Many thanks to Cupcake over at Tales of the Cupcake Mafia for her post about The Yarn Bus. I live for The Yarn Bus!

McApathy?

I've never been known for my healthy diet. Sweet and Fry are my two favorite food groups, and I'm somewhat ashamed to say that one of the things I miss most about the Southland is Chick-fil-A. I don't eat a lot of fast food anymore (though surely that would change if Chick-fil-A schooled the Northland in the finer points of the breakfast chicken biscuit), so when I do run through the drive-thru, I'm looking for a good time.

Last night I was out v. late running errands on an empty stomach, so I went to Mickey D's for their mighty kids meal (chicken nuggets and a diet coke, please). I love the mighty kids meal: it's cheap, it's fried, and it's small, so I don't feel bad about eating so much grease. However, there is one thing I despise about the mighty kids meal, and that's the gendered world of happy meal toys. I always forget about it, too (probably because I'm weak-kneed with hunger and salivating over the thought of Fry by the time I'm placing my order), so it comes as a shock each time: would I like a "girl" toy or a "boy" toy with my meal?

Let's not even discuss how fucked up it is that there's a division between "girl" and "boy" toys--that'll just make me angry. Let's discuss instead how last night I simply sighed and said, "Girl," since Strawberry Shortcake looked less violent than Dragon Booster. Ten years ago, I would have told the order-taker that there shouldn't be a difference between toys for girls and toys for boys, then followed up with an angry letter to the McDonald's corporation. Last night, however, I couldn't muster the energy to protest.

I don't want to become a person who's too tired to stand up for her beliefs, but sometimes it seems like I'm headed in that direction. This Fry-lovin' feminist is asking for your help: what's a gal to do in a situation like this?

Rich Stuff*

Several years ago, Petunia and I took a couple of personal finance workshops offered by the MA Treasurer's Office. They were led by this tiny powerhouse of a woman named Dee Lee, and they were simultaneously funny, terrifying, and instructive. When we took the first one, Pet and I didn't know a Roth IRA from an escrow account, and we nearly fainted when we learned we had negative net worth. By the time the second one rolled around, we were equally in the red re: net worth, but much more knowledgeable about personal finance in general. It's been a while since we examined our finances, and it strikes me that we've fallen into one of Dee Lee's dreaded traps: We've been working for our money, not making our money work for us!**

All of this is on my mind because I learned today that we came out ahead in our 2005 taxes. I could cry, I'm so relieved! This means I can stop shitting myself in anxiety and start making earnest promises to "do better next time." For real, though, I swear! I've already made some big changes to my accounting system (new accounting software, joint bank accounts, estimated quarterly tax payments, improved receipt-filing protocol--I'm not an INFJ for nothin', baby!), but the greatest change will have to be in my own bookkeeping. I need to remember my two goals: Goal #1: Get out of debt; and Goal #2: Maximize our savings. I also need to remember that the last time I followed a strict budget, we were able to buy our house. That should be a pretty good incentive, no?

*From The Goonies, remember? I live for that movie!
**Dee Lee absolutely killed me with her repetition of this mantra, but she had the last laugh: 4 years later it's still my guiding principle re: personal finance. You win, Dee Lee!

Noses are red, bruises are blue

Who needs champagne and chocolates? We're celebrating this very special Valentine's Day with a bottle of Robitussin and a box of Puffs Plus. Cheers all around! In honor of the festivities, here's a little V-Day ditty from my house to yours:

Don't kiss your honey
When your nose is runny.
You may think it's funny,
But it's not.

Thinking about Valentine's Day reminds me that this time last year I was lying in a heap at the bottom of the basement stairs. It was a truly spectacular display of clumsiness: one moment I was starting down the rickety basement steps; the next moment I was pulling boxes down on my head as I plummeted toward the concrete floor. I lived to tell the tale, but my bruises lasted a month and a half. Nothing says "romance" like a cold compress and a bottle of ibuprofen, eh?

Happy Valentine's Day, y'all!

You give me fever (extended remix)

Being sick is boring. However, being on the 'Quil is the opposite of boring: my heart is racing faster than Seabiscuit.

You give me fever

The cooties in this house finally caught up to me: I'm sick, bigtime. I'm talking fever, chills, croupy cough, etc. Two of my kids are out sick today, but the third is also sick and here with me anyway (he's sleeping now; don't go thinking I'm neglecting him to trash talk on the internet!).

Plans for this weekend include the following:

1. keeping the appointment with our accountant and pretending to be healthy for an hour
2. canceling all other appointments and get-togethers, which makes me v. sad
3. lolling in bed in my sock monkey flannel pajamas with a box of tissues and my sweetie kitties, Reuben and Josephine
4. reading lots of trashy novels
5. drinking copious amounts of Diet Coke (um, I mean water)

Seeing it written out like that makes it sound kinda fun, no?

CryBaby

I promised myself I wouldn't cry at last night's meeting, and I did pretty well right up until our individual talk with the head of the adoption agency. Petunia and I told her where we are in the process (stalled out) and asked her if she had any ideas for us. This lady, bless her heart, said that it's possible to adopt kids from other states' DSS with a private homestudy. It would mean paying private adoption fees and doing lots of checking to be certain they wouldn't discriminate against a lesbian couple, but we wouldn't have to pay birthmother costs, out-of-state agency fees, etc. I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but at least we have another possibility.

Resorting to platitudes

I'm a bundle of nerves today. Petunia and I will be attending a meeting tonight about LGBT adoption, and every time I think about it, my stomach gets all butterfly-y.

This adoption stuff is hard. It's difficult to talk about, really. Some days I feel so alone with it; not misunderstood, exactly, but kind of isolated and sad. Barren, even. We have friends (LGBT and straight) who are already parents, friends who want to be parents someday, and friends who never want to be parents. We're the only ones who want to build a family though adoption.

It's tough to find resources for LGBT adoptive families. The resources that are out there mostly talk about international adoption, something we're prohibited from doing because we're legally married. Resources about domestic adoption generally discuss private adoption, and we're not wealthy enough for that. The few resources about domestic public adoption are almost exclusively het-focused, so that's tough, too. All the lesbians we know who've recently had kids (or who want to) have gone the alternative insemination route, which isn't for us.

All of this builds up to the ball of anxiety bouncing around in my stomach. Tonight we'll clap eyes on other queer prospective adoptive parents; maybe we'll even make some friends. Even if we don't connect with anyone there, at least I'll take away the knowledge that other folks are in similar situations. It's not "misery loves company," it's "strength in numbers."

My very breast friends

So I was browsing the Bust Our Bodies, Our Hells site looking for an article about RapeX when I came across this gem (note: don't open it at work if you have pervy IT folks playing Big Brother). What a strange and wonderful site! It reminds me of that classic book Femalia. I live for this sort of crunchy wimmin's educational crap, don't you? It's so reassuring in a Betty Dodson/Good Vibes kind of way.

He ain't blubber, he's my brother

My brother is a really funny guy, the sort of person who puts other people at ease with his sense of humor. He quotes from stupid movies, burps loudly in my face, and gets our grandma to say things like "Holla!" and "I'm not a playa, I just crush a lot" at Christmas. He combines his metrosexual tendencies (he owns a shoe rack; he once had a conversation with me about Contac-papering his new apartment) with boorish "regular guy" behavior (the crowning glory of that same apartment was the view of the TV from the toilet).

Many moons ago, my brother was a kid who wore t-shirts with dolphins on them, a kid who wrote "Vivisection kills!" on his notebooks. Not surprisingly, he has grown into a man who volunteers at his local marine mammal rescue program. Tonight he got some good news about the future of that organization, so he's been on my mind. In honor of his work at the stranding network (and in mockery of his tattoo), he will henceforth be known to readers of this weblog as Orca. Ahoy, Orca!

Welcome to the dollhouse

When you live in a 650-square foot house, organized cupboards can prevent traumatic brain injury. Maybe this is also true in larger homes, but trust me when I tell you that if so much as a box of toothpicks is out of alignment in our pantry, the next schmuck who opens the cupboard door is going to get hit in the head by a can of coconut milk. (You'd think this sort of booby trap would keep me from searching the cupboard 40 times a day for sweets, but no.)

Our house was built in 1870. It was in the same family from 1875 until we bought it in July 2004, and it boasts several exciting features:

• a shower in the hallway
• no closets whatsoever
• 7-foot ceilings

Despite these shortcomings (ha!), I love it beyond all reason. It's our first house, the foundation for my new job and our new life. It's the first place we've had a garden, known our neighbors, and tested our DIY skills. It's our first house as a legally married lesbian couple and the place where we'll become parents. It's nothing fancy, but it's a great place to live.

Laughter through tears

"My colors are blush and bashful."
"Your colors are pink and pink."
"My colors are blush and bashful, Mama. One pink is much deeper than the other."
--Steel Magnolias

Welcome to the color-enhanced world of Two Keys. Sweet!

Tax attacks

Tax season is upon us. This scares the bejesus out of me.

As a small business owner, I have to set aside money for taxes, social security, Bush's little war habit, etc. It's a scary and imprecise system. What with the fellowship, this business, and my former part-time Starbucks and orchard jobs, my numbers haven't been regular since 2002. Each year it's a guessing game, and the prize is my sanity: Will I have set aside enough money to cover my tax bill? I owed in 2003, I had a surplus in 2004, and I'm shitting myself once again in 2005.

Fortunately, I'm planning ahead for the 2006 tax season. I bought some accounting software designed specifically for family child care providers, so I have running tallies of my expenses and income. This will be my first year of running my business without a side job, so my tax bill for 2006 should be a little easier to predict.

Still, the appointment with our accountant is next Saturday at 11am. We'll find out what we owe (or, thinking optimistically, what the government owes us) a week or so after that, and then I'll breathe a little more easily. Until then, wish me luck!

Full circle

Betty Friedan died Saturday on her 85th birthday. She was a champion of equal rights for women, and she was a personal hero of mine. Since I started my business a year ago, I've often thought of Friedan as I've struggled to reconcile my identity as a feminist with the reality of my life. I've wondered about my choice to stay home and raise children; I've questioned my own complicity in perpetuating stereotypes about women's work. I always come back to the same question: "What would Betty think?"

Like me, Betty was a Smithie; like Betty, I am a feminist. Her life's work has made my own life possible. She has left me her legacy of a more equal society, and I am determined not to squander my inheritance.

Road Trip 2008

Petunia is home sick today. The swollen glands and achiness finally caught up to her: she's got the flu. Even though she feels miserable, I love having her home. I get to see her every time we come upstairs for a diaper change, so roughly every 13.5 minutes. Right now she's downstairs reheating some pizza and watching War of the Worlds and I'm upstairs praying that the kids sleep a lot. Still, it's nice to know she's nearby.

You'll be happy to know that we made plans for Groundhog Day 2008:

[Last night at Union Station]
A: What are you doing on February 2, 2008?
P: Nothing. Why?
A: Wanna take a road trip to Punxsutawney for Groundhog Day?
P: I've always wanted to go there for Groundhog Day!
A: OOH, LET'S GO!

We're simple folk, but at least we've got each other.

Word of the day: Asshat

Issues of the Day: A Roundup

1. This whole James Frey "lost time" lawsuit thing makes my eye twitch. These asshats are seeking damages for "the lost value of the readers' time?" C'mon, folks.

2. Two words: antibiotic diarrhea. Is there anything nastier than the sharp tang of Zithromax-infused liquid shit? My kid was sick on Tuesday, but he made me sick today.

3. Samuel Alito's confirmation: Even worse than the diarrhea. I'm already in mourning for my civil rights.

Rodent Watch 2006

Every year I completely forget about Groundhog Day, but when I see the photos of Punxsutawney Phil, I kick myself. Secretly, I want to be in Punxsutawney for Groundhog Day. Wouldn't it be so fun? I'd stay in a charming B&B like Bill Murray, then I'd hop over to Gobbler's Knob with a go-cup of nutty irishman for ye olde winter rodent festivities. I always love it when the Grand Marshal of Groundhog Day holds Phil up so the spectators can see him, and the crowd goes wild! If I went to Punxsutawney, do you think they'd let me get my picture made with Phil? Even better, do you think they'd let me hold him?

Happy Groundhog Day, y'all!

Her toaster oven has been repossessed

Halso, I had to mention this: There's a lesbian mystery writer named Ellen Hart who's been out since Christ was a pup, and she just discovered the Indigo Girls. Quoth Hart: "You'd think I'd been hermetically sealed in a box for the past 20 years, but the truth is, before January of 2004, none of this music was even on my radar screen."

Giddyup, cowgirl!

When it rains, it pours. Yesterday I had a food program site visit, 2 sick kids, and another child who didn't nap. Also, Petunia was home sick with this strange lump in her neck and general malaise. Even better, one of the kids discovered the joys of biting human flesh. By the end of the day, I was pulling my hair out. I barely had time to write daily notes to the kids' parents, let alone write in my blog. Yowza! Fortunately, today's been a lot more pleasant: the kids are napping, my sickest child is at home, and Petunia's back at work.

I saw that the Oscar nominees have been announced, and I wonder if anyone's seen Bareback Mountain. Our friends L&Y (those Scrabble sharks!) have seen it, but they wouldn't tell me how it ends. If there's gaybashing, HIV/AIDS, or any other sad and potentially homophobic element, will someone please tell me? You don't have to worry about spoiling the ending for me since my mind's like a sieve. By the time I actually see the movie, I'll have forgotten all about the plot twists. Thanks!