Just this once, I disagree

Usually, I am a great fan of Go Fug Yourself's snide commentary on ridiculous fashion. This time, however, I'm a little upset with the gals. You know, Jessica Lange might not have had a plastic surgeon "mess up" that face of hers--she may just be someone who doesn't age as gracefully as, say, Susan Sarandon. Not everyone who is 56 will continue to look young. Instead, I'd like to tell Jessica, "thank you" for NOT botoxing her brow or plumping out those lines around her mouth or hacking away at those bags under her eyes. You're still beautiful, Jessica; you're just a more realistic beauty than so many others.

Latoyia Figueroa, 5m pregnant, is still missing

Here's a blog entry on the missing pregnant woman from Philadelphia (about 1hr from my house): The All Spin Zone / Missing Pregnant 25 YO Mother Alert (Non-White Division). Amazing, isn't it?
Thank goodness CNN.com has now picked up the story.

It's the little things

Trying to fasten a three-hook bra behind your back when you have carpal tunnel syndrome is like playing one of those tiny little puzzle games where you tilt the plastic-covered square tile to get the tiny little silver balls into the tiny little holes, and when you finally get one in, you tilt the square again to guide another ball to another hole, but the first ball comes out of its hole, but then you get another ball in another hole, oh yeah, and the square puzzle tile keeps shocking your hands whenever you move it, and it goes on and on, one in and one out, ouch and ouch and ouch, until you say to hell with it, I'll just leak breast milk all over my shirt.

Then you remember what it's all for...
Peekaboo!

Try not to beat the pants off anyone, K?

You must check out the Underpants Only Video Game Tournament. Good to know that geeks don't wear thongs.

The Freak is Ten

D's brother G took this shot of my dog R, who turned ten in June. He had two premolars pulled last week, so you see quite a gap between those canines and the molars. And yet, chew he must. He almost had a canine pulled, but I talked the doc into doing something called a "root plane," if I remember correctly. He and W, his fellow IG, had their teeth cleaned last week, and to compound the insults had a couple of shots and blood tests, too. I walked out of the vet's office $805 poorer. People, don't buy pets if you are strapped for cash. And if you already have a pet, but no money, don't get another pet!! W's five-foot dive cost us $3600 the year N was born. He broke his front leg in several places and now sports a metal plate and screws (internal, of course).

Catching Up

Such a merry-go-round! The parents had a nice visit with us, I think, and left last Wednesday. The next day D and I went to the Weezer concert in Atlantic City; it was delightful (the Borgata is beautiful). Well, delightful until the final encore song, "Surf Wax America," a song I was really excited to hear. Then, the slamming commenced. Who knew, in the middle of the crowd, where we were standing, the only mosh pit of the entire show would spontaneously break out? A forty year old woman who's just had a baby and who has been standing for three hours does NOT enjoy being rammed into by some sweaty, shirtless teenager. Especially when that woman has been feeling the love and is set to be swept away by the joy of the finale.

D's next older brother arrived at around 1:30am Friday--the ridiculous hour owing to repeated plane delays--and stayed until this morning (Monday). He was able to celebrate N's second birthday with us, and managed to visit Rita's Water Ice not once but twice with his nephew. The birthday party was delightful, and the four kids who ran around our living room (it was raining outside) played together nicely for two hours, against all odds.

So, now the house is ours again, for the time being. D's younger brother (he has three in all) will be here in three weeks for a long weekend. Back to the laundry pile...

Yeah, it's Wednesday, but I liked what I saw at MillenniumHippies' blog, the Ten On Tuesday.

So, here in no particular order are Ten People Who Inspire Me:

1. My husband
2. My friend Christa of the writing/momming life
3. Thich Nhat Hanh
4. Elizabeth George
5. J. K. Rowling
6. My friend Dana of the "I swanee!"
7. My son
8. My daughter
9. My friend Mary of the seven children
10. Benjamin Franklin

Fifteen Minutes to Glory

My parents will be here at the end of a long string of fifteen minuteses, more precisely, about 3:00pm Eastern tomorrow. Because the house be a wreck, I have just this evening started working my way through each room, fifteen minutes at a time, a la my guru, The FlyLady. She tells me, "You can do anything for fifteen minutes," and I trust her. I've trusted her for three years now--she hasn't failed me yet. I wear my silver Sunbeam timer set to 15:00 clipped to my pocket, enter a room, hit the start button, and get working. When the timer goes off, I stop where I am and either take a 15 minute break or move to the next room. If the kids cooperate tomorrow, we should finish up the house by about noon. This means I must wake up early on my only day to sleep in a little, Sunday, but for Mother and Daddy, it's worth it. And, you may have guessed, you Murphy's Lawyers, that our guest room toilet is not working at the moment. And the toilet guy who sleeps with me doesn't have the right flapper-ball-cocks to fix it, and so must hie him to Lowe's tomorrow morning (when do they open on a Sunday?) to get some such replacement gasketto to stop the mass leakage that occurs when we let water into the damn thing.

So, the rents arrive tomorrow and leave for Alabama on Wednesday. Twenty-four hours later, husband's next older brother (he has three) arrives from Florida into Philly airport, probably while we are en route from Atlantic City back to home after the Weezer show. He just told us his arrival time, so, what to do? Anyhoo, he'll be here through the weekend, and will celebrate with us the N-kid's second birthday this Saturday. He will leave Sunday night. THEN, then, my friends, I will probably need a day to recuperate and t-h-e-n, m-a-y-b-e, I will be able to get back to my writing. I started this god-forsaken novel six years ago on a three-week vacation to Spain with my mother. It's gonna take another six years to finish it, I swanee! (My wonderful friend Dana says "I swanee!" I had only heard "I swan!" up to meeting Dana. Who's not from the South? Raise your hands. "I swan!" is a genteel way of saying "I swear!" in such cases as happening upon your Uncle Rondo wearing your perfectly good pink kimono as he swings in the hammock under the magnolia, sipping iced tea. But I digress...) This novel will take me a long time to finish writing, for it just cain't be done in fifteen minute blocks of time. It takes me fifteen minutes just to come up with one word sometimes.

...and please forgive me, Miss Welty.

Dear London,

I love you. I've loved you since I first visited as a wide-eyed sixteen-year-old. You welcomed me with open arms when I lived in your lovely southwestern neighborhoods as a sophomore in college. I have come back several times since to see how you were doing, and always, you were doing wonderfully. So smart, so alive.

Yesterday, in my joy at your latest accomplishment, I emailed my husband the following message, entitled, "Let's Go to the Olympics":

London got the bid! We’ve got seven years to get the kids groomed for an international trip. Oh yeah, and to save about five thousand dollars… I think we can do it!!!

So, today, I'd like to tell you that I am sorry. So sorry that you have been hurt. The thriving center of a country that has for so long sustained me when I needed time away from my own has been injured, and I am hurting with you.

I like to think that I speak for all Americans when I say that we share your grief, England, and we stand with you. You stood with us when we lost so many in 2001; you are standing with us in wartime, sacrificing your young. We understand much of your pain and we send our prayers in your support.

See you soon.
love,
Mary Louisa

Am trying to entertain the wailing baby while the toddler naps and husband plays with the spastic dog in the back yard as the rescue dog tippy toes around his uneaten breakfast in the peepee-soaked-heck-hole that is our family room. Gee, wouldn't this be a good time to update my blog?

We've been trying to watch Requiem for a Dream for the last three days, and every night something different has prevented us. We are borrowing the "Edited Version" from a friend. What this means is unknown to me at the moment. I have actually put off seeing this movie for several years, but feel I'm finally up for the emotional wallop it will surely dole out. Could be we'll watch it tonight.

What else, what else? Well, I continue to let my child watch too much television--DVDs really. I let him watch his Thomas the Tank Engine DVD twice this morning. And it is a given that he will watch it a couple more times this afternoon. If I can just keep telling myself, "It's like reading a book," then I will start to feel better. Some days, he doesn't watch anything, but those days are scarcer and scarcer. His other favorite is "The Letter Factory," a LeapFrog video that teaches basic (and I mean basic) phonics. N already knows his letters, but he has since learned the sounds they make from watching the video. He calls this DVD "Frogs," since the frog family are the main characters. Except he can't say "frogs," so he says "fock." Which raises a few eyebrows.

Husband is back inside, ready to take over AC, so I can get back to my manuscript. :) That is probably the only emoticon you will ever see on my blog which just goes to show you how giddy I am now.

Not yet, Sandra, not yet!!

CNN.com - O'Connor to resign from Supreme Court - Jul 1, 2005

Oh dear, I have cold chills all over my body. The last thing I want for my son and daughter is to have President Bush replace a judge they can respect with someone who may well ruin their lives. Waiting for his choice will be the worst part of it, I'm sure. And then, there's the replacement he'll get to pick for Rhenquist's spot... Another worry, another day.