Mean Girls

One summer, Kath and I took a Basic computer class. This was elective, so we did not take it as seriously as we should have. During the class, we were tested on what we had learned, and even though we didn't receive a grade for this, we didn't want the shame of being the only ones in the class without a certificate of successful completion.

One of the tests involved us turning in a project that we did not know how to do. So we leaned on Max, the resident smarter-than-you-can-possibly-imagine-nerd-type-who-was-not-especially-social-or-popular-and-is-probably-on-some-billionaire-list-somewhere-today guy in the class for help. He wasn't really a friend of ours, but he agreed to help because he loved computers (and probably also because he was just a nice and patient guy).

He saved our butts on this particular test so Kath and I decided that we should reciprocate by taking him out to lunch the following week after class. He seemed pretty happy with the plan.

On the appointed day, Kath and I both noticed that Max had taken extra care with his appearance. He was wearing a collared shirt and had obviously done something different to his hair. Even though we had not discussed this lunch at all in the past week, we came to a silent agreement that we just could not do it.

We still don't know why. It's not like our social status could have gotten any lower (note the elective computer class mentioned above.) We certainly didn't have anything better to do. We actually could have made a friend and learned something from this guy. Who the hell knows, except that our teen insecurities somehow made us decide to simply ignore the fact that we had asked Max to lunch. After class, we both scooted out of there and never again mentioned it. It was always a little awkward around him after that.

Now, twenty-five years later, we both still cringe whenever we think about this and are compelled to somehow make this up to Max. (Who has probably long since forgotten about it and is finding comfort in his bank account.) We have done Google searches to try and locate him and we're trying to figure out how to atone.

For someone who spent most of her life being the target of the mean girls (one in particular that I'm related to), I still cannot believe that I was capable of doing something that I knew would hurt someone's feelings. And to this day I feel like crap about it.

Virginia Beach

Homecoming

My friend, Kira, who has young boys, shared the following story with me. One day, Justin (her oldest, about 8) came to her and said, "Mom? What's a rack?" She was worried that he had heard the term used as slang reference for a woman's chest and was already outlining the whole explanation she was going to have to give about respectful terminology and how that wasn't appropriate and all that. However, she also had eight years of parenting under her belt, which taught her to first clarify. She said, "Where did you hear that?" and he said, "on the news -- they're always talking about a rack (Iraq)". She was relieved momentarily until she realized that she was now going to have to try and explain a war to her 8-year old.

On that note, we recently found out our friend, Jay, is coming home from A Rack! He's been there 9 months (and left behind his wife and now 9-month old son). He'll be home for good in about a week. Best news we've heard in a long time!

The Screening Process

A good problem we've been faced with this summer is how to take advantage of all of the really cool, free activities that are offered everywhere in this area. (If anyone knows of a better area in which to live -- especially when you have children -- I'd be interested to hear it. I cannot imagine that there is one.) In May, I printed out the schedules for the free outdoor concerts, movies, festivals and exhibits that I hoped we might be able to attend. So far, we've been doing a pretty good job of tackling the list.

We're especially excited for this coming weekend's "Drive-in Movie". Fairfax County sponsors this out in Centreville and shows kid-friendly movies with the whole drive-in experience (heavy petting? hickies?). "Bee Movie" is playing this weekend. We already saw this on Memorial Day weekend at the outdoor movie in Glyndon Park in Vienna. But, because the universal anthem of children is "AGAIN!" -- we are seeing the movie again.

Avery has already decided that she is bringing several blankies and babies with her in the car for this. And has been actively recruting her friends and teachers from day care to come along, too. It could get crowded.

Minutiae

Love me some summer weekends. This past Friday, Tim took Avery to the Vienna Town Green concert (where she saw her friend, Ava, again. The girls had a blast). I was beat from my week, so I stayed home and worked on getting the house cleaned up. On Saturday, we swam in our pool and then went to Pete's birthday party in Arlington. That was really fun, but it is just hard to have any good conversations when we have the kiddo in tow. Yesterday, I did my first major exercise since before knee surgery -- a 6-mile walk with Amanda. It felt great and it was fun to get back into the (semi-) swing of things in terms of our weekend running schedule. And, I did my grocery shopping at Whole Foods -- look at me trying to eat better...

They Call Me Sanchez

Meredith wrote me this morning that there is a public access show in NYC called "Dirty Sanchez's Skidmarks." She found it while channel surfing this weekend and immediately thought of me.

Equally appropriate was an occurrence this weekend when Avery inadvertently gave herself a chocolate mustache while eating a chocolate cupcake. While others thought it was cute, Leon immediately went down the "Dirty Sanchez" road.

Really, Leon? She's two. Do you see nothing wrong with going there? Are there no boundaries? (Besides, she strikes me much more as a Cincinnati Bowtie kinda gal.)

It Definitely Takes A Willage

A few days ago, our neighbor, Craig, came over with a locust shell and a locust that had met its demise in his birdbath. He refers to Avery as his "bugologist" and spent a considerable amount of time talking to her about how these locusts come around every 17 years and shed their exoskeletons and all that. She was diggin' it. He left both the no-longer-alive (we don't say "dead" yet) locust and the shell on the table out front so that she could check them out whenever she wanted (which has been every day since).

Also in the past few days while Connolly was visiting, she spent a tremendous amount of time with Avery (even letting Canetto and I go out to dinner alone one night -- big kiss, Connolly - muah!). One day, she bought flyswatters, Dawn liquid and about 300 small plastic cups. Since she has worked for children's musesums and currently works for a charter school, I know she always has something creative up her sleeve. The cups were to build with -- they did that while we were at dinner. And let me tell you -- 300 plastic cups to stack and re-stack and fill up with dried beans and to pass out to all of your dolls -- not just heaven -- but the heaven where Leo DiCaprio is wearing a loincloth while bringing you microbrews.

They did not get to the flyswatters and Dawn while we were out, so Tim and I grabbed those and ran upstairs with them -- yadda, yadda, yadda -- remind me to erase the camera phone.

Just kidding -- that was to make the best bubbles in the world. We did it last night...you dip flyswatters into a Dawn/water combo and they make awesome bubbles. We played last night and of course, invited Craig over to play, too. And then we looked at the locust and the locust shell. Laugh if you will...but it was pretty much a perfect summer night.

Home High-Fructose-Corn-Syrup-Sweetened Home

As always, after a Connolly visit I become more aware of the amount of crap that we eat in our house. (Connolly is appalled by my flavored coffee creamer, the Lucky Charms that Avery eats and the fact that some of the foods in our house are processed/not organic/not local.)

We talk about it and I vow to join a CSA and buy only organic foods and to grow more of our own vegetables and herbs and just generally be more conscious about the things we're eating.

For someone who does not like to cook or grocery shop or plan meals...I need advice on how to eat better for little to no real effort on my part.

She Really Only Hates The Ones Who Deserve It

"I love humanity in an abstract way. I just hate most people one-on-one." (My good friend, Kath, summing up her view of the world.)

Don't Hate On My Glamorous Life, Bitches

We learned quickly that the nanosecond we get smug about anything in terms of our child's behavior or development, we get a big sloppy carl from the Fates.

So we should have been smarter than to discuss how lucky we'd been that Avery has never been a vomiter. Truly...not even much spit up when she was a baby.

This discussion took place two nights before we were leaving for Virginia Beach. (All of my childless friends are right now thinking, "what a relief that the sexy talk does not stop when you have kids.") The night before we left, I gave her a bottle of milk before bedtime that was apparently past its expiration date, information that was not gleaned from reading the date on the carton, mind you. (Oh, well, I've always been a visual learner.)

At about 3:00am, I had a horrible dream and asked Tim if he could sleep the guest room so that I could bring Avery into our bed. She was in our bed for about 45 minutes when she woke up projectile vomiting -- regurgitating her body weight in bad milk, pineapple and corn (you're welcome for that). However, she was only warming up.

I cleaned her up and stripped the bed (she was a champ and did not cry). She asked where daddy was and asked to go sleep with him. So, I took her down there and put her in bed with Tim. Another 45 minutes and Old Faithful was spouting again.

Tim stripped the bed and gave her a bath. And was so sweet with Avery. Truly, the man had vomit on half his body and was focused on making sure she was okay and comforting her. (Vomit-soaked husband...hot!). After the bath...one more vomit.

We still rolled the dice and drove to Va. Beach the next day and there was no more puke. Although, her Grandma and Jack thought it would be fun to take her blueberry picking while I napped. (I was up all night with her and it took FIVE HOURS to get there.) While she was blueberry picking, she ate a ton of blueberries...she was starving since she had nothing in her stomach.

The following day? Four (not a typo) blueberry diarrhea diapers whose stench, color, volume and consistency (you're welcome again -- everything I do, I do for you, gentle reader) brought me to my knees.

Happy Birthday, Krennie!

Today is my mom's birthday -- she's 64. She had two kids by the time she was 22. I'm sure it was not easy at the time (mainly because of my sister -- I was a joy of a baby -- easy, non-clingy, very even-tempered -- stop laughing, mom), but how nice is it now to be the young, cool grandma?

We're heading to Va. Beach tomorrow to celebrate with her. ("We" either being me and the Pants or the whole fam damily -- yet TBD.) We're going to pick blueberries, go to the beach, go out to dinner and go shopping. It will be a full, fun weekend.

My kiddo is always excited to visit Grandma and Jack. She has already had me paint her toenails a sparkly pink and packed her flip flops in preparation. I'm sure she'll be on me tonight about packing the sunscreen...she's pretty vigilant about that.

I Should Get Workers' Compensation

Downside of working in an office that allows dogs? Fleas have been biting my ankles for two days...

I Been Drivin' All Night My Hand's Wet On The Wheel

Since I've never received a request to talk about the best trip I've ever taken (not THAT kind of trip, Timothy Leary-ites, I have no frame of reference for that), I figured I'd go ahead and write a post about it. I'm nothing if not receptive to my audience (Hi, Amanda!)

My father died unexpectedly on Valentine's Day in 1998. I was in my last semester of grad school and had quit my job two months before to finish this last semester full time, with a full load of classes. After my father died, I made countless trips to Virginia Beach to get my mom out of her house and re-settled in a friend's house and to take care of other things. On April 30th of that year, Tim proposed to me. I graduated a few weeks later. These months were a complete blur for me -- although I remember feeling raw and angry and insane. Talk about extreme highs and extreme lows and extreme stress.

(Wow! What does that depressing paragraph have to do with the best trip you ever took, Debbie Downer? Well, I'll tell you impatient-pants...keep reading...)

I had always wanted to take a cross-country trip and had toyed with the idea numerous times. Wanting nothing more than to get away from everything (like you don't know!) and because I was without a job that I had to report to, Tim and I figured that the summer would be the time that we might actually be able to do this. So, Captain Spreadsheet planned out a two-month trip -- beginning with us flying out to Santa Barbara for our friends' wedding and then us renting a car and driving a loop through the western states. He planned so that we'd be camping a lot, but broke up the trip with stays at hotels every four or five days. (He had accumulated lots of free nights in good hotels thanks to a lot of corporate travel.) He took a leave of absence from his job at the time and we spent two fantastic months together doing a lot of hiking and camping and sight seeing (such wonderful escapism). We took a ton of pictures and I kept a journal during our travels. To this day (10 years later) we still pull out the journal and read entries occasionally and reminisce about this trip.

What an escape. And what a great way to find out if you're compatible with your spouse-to-be. In two months, we put 10,000 miles on the rental car and were never apart for more than an hour or so.

I have dreams of doing this again at some point. Preferably in Europe. And preferably with a little less camping next time.

Thank You For Being A Friend

My best friend from seventh grade, Kath, is coming to visit early next week. We met in the gifted program when we were 12 and did many dork-tastic things together during our tweener and teenage years. (For example, when normal kids were hanging out at the mall or listening to records, Kath and I were holed up in her bedroom giving each other the silliest sounding titles we could think of, then the other person had five minutes to write a poem based on the title. We also spent our summers in supplemental gifted classes instead of going to the beach. Yes, we dated much later than most of our peers -- thanks for asking.)

We took driver's ed together, were officers in the junior high French club together, played community soccer together, were camp counselors together, and hung out at each other's houses almost every single day after school. And still...we had to pass notes to each other in the hallway every day. (How else could I fully express just HOW dreamy Matt Lynn was, if not through the power of the written word?)We also used to go to the Naro theater in Norfolk to see movies. (It was an independent movie theater that showed some pretty cool stuff.) We went to see Jon Waters' "Polyester" there -- the one that was shown in "odorama" (a scratch 'n sniff card that corresponded to the action on the screen). Kath got in trouble after that at the dinner table for saying that #7 on the card was a fart.

Because of districting in Va. Beach, we ended up going to different high schools, and then senior year, her dad got a job as an editor with the New York Times, so she moved to New Jersey. Then, she went on to Brown University and then worked for Brown University and has since held jobs that are totally cool and creative and community-minded. I want to be her when I grow up.

I don't see her enough, but when I do, it's like we're 12 again. (Canetto is always like, "I've figured you two out. You say something and she laughs. Then, she repeats the exact same thing and you laugh." To which I reply, "Well, duh.") She stayed a week right after Avery was born and is one of those people that just knows how to make me laugh while I'm completely sleep-deprived and perpetually attached to a breast pump.

My parents always thought of her as a third child, and to this day I'm convinced they liked her more than they liked me. Once, when she spent the night, my parents took her and my sister out for breakfast at 1:00am because I had fallen asleep and they thought it would be fun. I had to hear about how great it was when I woke up the next day. Waking me up to join them is apparently an option that never crossed anyone's mind.

Kath has a girlfriend now and they've been together at least a couple of years and she is so happy. I have yet to meet her girlfriend and all Kath has told me about her is that she looks like Bea Arthur. Moments ago, I was replying to an e-mail from Kath and started humming something without thinking. Realized it was the theme song to "The Golden Girls." My subconscious is a card.

Da Da Da Da BUM BUM Da Da Da Da Bum Bum

Hillary has invited me to a premiere party for the new 90210 on September 2nd.

I'm hoping to dig out and bring with me:

a) my autographed headshot of Joe E. Tata

and

b) the photos I took at Jennie Garth's personal appearance at Tyson's Corner back in the 90210 heydey

(note to self: re-name blog www.screamingloser.com)

The Never-Ending SNL Skit

Last night, I took Avery to Fair Oaks Mall so we could go in the "kid pit" there. When we do this, I always park outside of JC Penney, since it's the closest store to the pit.

While we were going through the store last night, Avery spotted some pink flip flops that she had to have for our trip to the beach this weekend. She tried them on and loved them and I went to find somewhere to check out.

Apparently, at JC Penney, you have to line up behind stanchions at centrally located cashier kiosks. I took my place in line and we waited. We waited while the one cashier scanned the tag on the shirt the young woman ahead of me was buying and then talked at length to the young woman about where she was from in Russia, and asked her to provide an ID, which she didn't have, and then needed a social security number, which she also didn't have, so finally her boyfriend produced some sort of ID that was acceptable. (Mind you, there was no transaction taking place during any of the chit-chat...that would have made this a moderately efficient operation.) The conversation took several minutes, during which the cashier asked the young woman if she would like to open a JC Penney charge card to save 30% on her purchase (OF ONE SHIRT!). Guess what? OF COURSE SHE WANTED TO OPEN A CHARGE CARD. So, we waited several more minutes while the cashier typed in the relevant information and then FINALLY rang up the young woman's one item. She presented the total to the woman and the woman said, "I thought that shirt was 60% off." This led to another lengthy discussion about whether or not that particular shirt was on sale. The young woman finally decided that it was not worth it to go back and find the rack, and finally paid and left. I'm not exaggerating when I say that we stood there for ten minutes.

I walked up to the register with our $4 flip-flops and a $5 bill in my hand. The cashier looked at them and told me they were missing a price tag and that I'd have to go back to where I found them to get a pair that were marked. Sure, I could have done that. Instead, I chose to throw a bit of a tantrum, saying something about "no wonder I never shop at this awful store" or something along those lines and leaving the flip flops on the counter and storming out. (I showed her!)

After half an hour in the kid pit, Avery asked about the flip flops. On the way out, we got some (with a price tag) off the rack and went to a different cashier to pay, ironically flip-flopping on my decision to never shop at that store again.

You Said It, Sister!

When I pulled into the parking lot at Avery's school this morning, there were no available parking spots. This is becoming a more common occurrence as is my level of frustration when this is the case.

I groaned and said sarcastically, "oh, that's just great -- no parking again" and then Avery said (with a big smile on her face), "that's exasperating."

When I stopped laughing, I asked her where she learned that word. She said, "school."
Of course. I'm sure if I taught a roomful of two-year-olds every day, "exasperating" would be on my "frequently used words list" as well.

I mentiond this to her teacher, Esmat. She was not surprised at all that Avery repeated this since Avery picks up everything that anyone says. She told me that yesterday Avery said, "I live in Oakton, Virginia and my grandma lives in Virginia Beach. It's her birthday."

I wonder if there is a way to make money with this?

I Watched Airplane Way Too Many Times

This weekend, I was scratching Tim's back per his request.

Wanting to make sure I got the right spot, I said, "how's this?" and he said, "lower". So, I lowered my voice a couple of octaves and said, "how's this?"

QT With My Cutie

Avery and I implemented "Operation Stay Out Of Canetto's Hair" on Saturday afternoon for a few hours. He had a lot of work to do, so she and I headed to Reston Town Center for the Reston Festival.

She did a shaving cream picture at the Children's Museum of Northern Virginia tent, got her face painted like a kitty cat, we went on a train ride and then she got an ice cream sandwich and threw some pennies into the fountain. Oh...she also danced to the music of the live band that was performing on stage there. As if we needed further proof that she not only looks like, but behaves like, my mother.

Beautiful

My friend, Amy. Isn't this a great picture?

Relationship Shorthand

I'm totally on a Joan Didion and John Gregory Dunne kick right now. I rarely read non-fiction, but I just checked out collections of their work from the library and am thoroughly enjoying them. (I bought Joan Didion's book "The Year of Magical Thinking" last year and have read it twice -- once again recently -- and figured I should probably read more of her work.)

I also just read "Richistan" which is all about the "new rich" and how vastly different they are from old money in terms of sheer amount of wealth, their philosophy on giving, and also discusses how most new multi-millionaires and billionaires never truly retire or lead lives like the old money idle rich. A very interesting (and also non-fiction -- what the hell?) book that I checked out because of the title. (I also select wine based on the label.)

(The whole purpose of this post is to make me seem like I have more depth than my Denise-Richards-reality-show-watching-habits would indicate. It's also why I buy the New Yorker sometimes when I'm traveling. I'm a moron.)

Which reminds me...Canetto and I have a running script that we've had for years. If one of us ever says anything that sounds like it could be finished with, "much like your ex-girlfriend" or "much like your ex-boyfriend" we never hesitate to say it. And example was one time we were standing next to a creek and Tim said something about it, "being wider than it is deep" -- (then, according to our script, I pause and say) -- "much like your ex-girlfriend." We don't even find this funny anymore...we do it more out of some weird sense of obligation. One of many reasons why we can never divorce.

Brash Arriviste

Considering this as a new name for the blog. Or maybe just Arriviste.
Since I'll be making at least half a mil a year in ad revenues very, very soon, I'm looking for something catchier.

Thoughts?

Da Don't Ron Ron

When I was in elementary school, Shaun Cassidy was all the rage. (He was actually my first concert...followed closely by Yo Yo Ma...and then no other concerts until 9th grade when I went to see The Clash. Quite the musical timeline, huh?)

The era of Shaun Cassidy was also about the time the kiosks appeared in local malls that would take a picture of your face and then laser-jet it onto a t-shirt or coffee mug. One night, my family went to the mall and my dad, who never let a craptacular fad go by without participating (he got a CB radio and a dictionary of CB lingo), let my sister and I do this. My utter lack of any sort of fashion sense (I wore one shirt to school at least one day a week that had a glittery iron-on transfer proclaiming me a "Native New Yorker") led me to choose a mint green short-sleeved t-shirt and had my face laser-jetted onto it. I could not WAIT to go to school the next day so that everyone could see how cool I was. Seriously...I'm pretty sure I wore that t-shirt to bed that night and could barely sleep. This was totally cutting edge.

You never saw a prouder kid strut into school the next morning. I walked down the hall and into my classroom, waiting for the envious comments that were sure to come. Instead, however, Marie E. said to me in front of the whole class, "is that Shaun Cassidy on your shirt?"

I was totally deflated and never wore the shirt again. The only thing more humiliating? Re-telling this story to a younger friend a few years ago and having her say at the end of my story, "who's Shaun Cassidy?"

At Least All The Swear Words Got Beeped Out

Last night, things were a little tense at the Canetto household. No one over 30 pounds is sleeping, huge bills keep popping up for random stuff and work is stressful for both of us. I figured I'd give Tim some time alone to do some work and offered to take the Pants to Target...you know, to buy the nipples and chapstick we so desperately need.

We got her 85 pounds of gear required to leave the house and packed it into the car, then opened the garage door. I put the key into the ignition and then...BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...at an approximate decibel level of SKULL BEING SPLIT OPEN SLOWLY WITH A RUSTY NAIL.

Tim came running out into the garage so we could figure out how to turn the damn thing off. We couldn't. Avery started freaking out, so we untethered her from her car seat and got her into the house, then we closed the garage door so our neighbors would not kill us, and then finally the alarm stopped. So, I did what anyone would do...tried again. And...BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP (times a hundred million).

At this point, our next-door neighbor had come over and was ringing the doorbell to make sure that everything was okay. (For a total paranoid freak like me...I cannot tell you how much I love that our neighbors actually come over when they see or hear anything out of the ordinary. I love that people are looking out for us.)

Deciding not to push our luck further, when the alarm stopped...I migrated everything into Tim's car and we took that to Target. All the way to the store, in her little worried voice, Avery kept saying, "what's wrong with the car, mommy?"

Poor little thing. Either she truly was traumatized or she was banking on the fact that I'm a soft touch...all I know is that she ended up with some Hello Kitty underpants.

Maybe We Should Move To Ashburn

Items on the shopping list next to our phone in the kitchen:

1) Nipples
2) Chapstick

And Don't Let The Cot Bugs Bite

Something I've repressed for a long time came to the surface this weekend. Everyone has their issues and I don't believe in bringing people down by delving into some of the darker parts of my past. However, I've known the dilettantes for so many years now that I trusted I could share this particular baggage, and that maybe by sharing, I could begin to heal.

Feeling very vulnerable, I told them all how for three years when I was a teenager, I was forced to sleep on a cot. That's right. A cot.

My parents bought a beautiful home in Virginia Beach when I was in ninth grade. It was a ranch house with four bedrooms -- three on the main level and one on the opposite end of the house over the garage -- it was the only room on the second floor. This room was huge and had its own full bath en suite. Had I been my parents, I would have made this room the master bedroom -- it was much larger than the master and set apart from everything else. However, they decided that my (one year older) sister should have this. And bought her a new king-sized bed to go in it. (They also cried when she went off to kindergarten AND college; AND finished her baby book. Not that anyone's keeping track.)

I was relegated to a small room on the main level -- right across from my parents and right next to the same-sized guest room. A guest room that had two twin beds in it. Even though we had company about once a year, we had a fully outfitted guest room with two beds in it.

It was at that point that my parents ran out of either energy or resources, because they stuck a cot that used to be in my grandmother's attic in my room. It was supposedly temporary, but somehow I ended up sleeping on that cot for THREE years until my sister went to college and I finally moved up to her old room.

Sure, I tried to mask the pain by saying things like, "it's past my cot time" and joking about how my mother required me to "make my cot" before I went to school in the morning. But keeping up the charade got harder and harder. I'd start to dread Christmas every year, with the inevitable telling of "A Night Before Christmas" and pretending that I knew how it felt to be "nestled all snug in my bed" like all the other kids.

It was very therapeutic, talking about this and not having to live with my awful secret anymore. The dilettantes were extremely supportive. And by that, I mean they laughed in my face.

A Glorious Fourth

Friday we went to a cookout with new people. A former co-worker of mine invited us and we knew only her and one more person there. However, everyone was so cool and so friendly...it rocked. We felt totally comfortable there and Tim and I kinda split up and mingled -- taking turns watching Avery, who was also mingling pretty well. The food was excellent -- just ask Avery who had Doritos for the first time -- roughly 600 tons of them. The house where this was held was really nice, and had a huge deck. I tested the waters with a, "women love guys with big decks" and an "I love deck jokes" -- and people laughed. The litmus test for knowing whether or not people have evolved senses of humor? They laugh at my jokes.

Saturday morning, Avery and I headed to Dulles airport to see our friend, Meredith, during her two-hour layover there. We got there at 6:00am (yawn) and had a great visit. I miss her. We see each other so rarely even though we live only three hours away. Then I headed to Amy's house for our monthly dilettante club activity. We've been doing this for 2 1/2 years now, and I still get excited about it every month. As per usual, we were laughing the entire time we "crafted" (ACK!) -- http://dilettanteclub.blogspot.com. Then, the dilettante spouses (and kiddo) joined us for a cookout and judging of the crafts. It would be interesting to see if I could ever make it through more than half an hour with this group without laughing so hard that I'm crying. I honestly don't think it's possible.

This morning, we had some friends and their two kids over. They just moved back into the area after being away for a few years. The kids hit it off -- got along swimmingly, especially when we were in the pool. (har har). I was telling our guest about the dilettante club yesterday and she said, "which one is the really funny one?" (referring, of course, to Amanda), but to which Tim immediately replied, "Kathleen." I love that guy -- chipped tooth and all.

Right now? Kid just went down for a nap, Canetto is doing some work, the house is spotless, the laundry is done, and I'm blogging and watching Gary Gulman and Brian Regan doing stand up on Comedy Central. Life is beautiful.

The Early Bird Gets To Squirm

As I see it, the only differences between getting to work at 7:30 (like I did today -- thanks slackers on my team who are giving me ulcers) and 9:00 (like I normally do) are:

1) Much better parking space
2) Many more contractors at the 7-11 who let me know that I have pretty feet