…since my dad died. I miss him still.
This afternoon I spent a couple of hours doing makeup for a school musical, then thoroughly enjoyed the production. The kids were awesome. They were funny, and quick, and completely happy. The Littlest was almost too much to look at — all that joy and spirit and beauty.
And she looks just like my dad. How fine is that?
… about not posting regularly for the last few months, because blogging helped me get through a rough time a while back, and I feel that I’m being unfaithful. Yes, that’s it. I’m cheating on my blog.
So here goes:
My angel SaucyMomma just gave birth to SaucyAngelFour — and is there anything better than that? For this woman, the answer is ‘no’. She’s a treasure of a baby, who completely won the lotto when she landed in SaucyLand.
Every baby deserves true love and devotion. Plus clean water, good food, and an education. I could go on about this ad infinitum, but luckily the drugs I take for clinical depression (it’s a family thing) also kick the shit out of my obsessive-node. So while I am still passionate about babies and the environment, and the ways both can be helped, I’m no longer compelled to share. Ad infinitum. Ad nauseum.
So babies and blogs — two truly great things in my life. Along with all the end-of-school stuff that’s already happening (lacrosse, lacrosse, lacrosse, prom, lacrosse — WHOA! Did you see the ‘prom’ bit?).
The Boy is currently at The Prom. Accompanied by The Date. They bravely withstood The Parentals wielding cameras, and went off into The Beyond. (deep sigh).
It’s all good.
… my favorite new bumpersticker:
My personal thanks to Karly May, who spent time recently documenting the expired half-full bottles of crap in her mom’s guest bath. Then she blogged about it — and it’s hilarious. So double thanks: first because I laughed, and second because it gave me an idea. And that’s something that’s been lacking around here.
For whatever reason I feel like I’m spinning in a weird anti-gravity room. Lots of spinning, nothing getting done. Remember ‘Raising Arizona’? When I look in the mirror I see my face with Nicholas Cage’s hair.
And the crap in my world is building up. We’re talking major piles. I’m now seeing how old women can die and be found six months later, atrophied in a maze of newspapers and books.
So basically what this means is that I’m way ready to get about half the stuff in this house OUT. Because if you can’t order your world, you can at least make all the bits and pieces play nicely together, right?
Some things can’t be unilaterally punted, though. Like the Littlest’s drum set (great idea for two years, but she’s over it). Although she hasn’t touched it in months, the thought of losing it makes her way sad. The thought of getting cashola makes the loss seem sweeter.
I keep talking about a yard sale. If they all price their own stuff and help me man it, they get the cash. However I am NOT going to single-handedly clean out the house, price, sell, and then hand over the cash. I’d much rather drive to Sal-Val.
So that’s me at the moment. Think a hugely bloated Nick Cage in ‘Raising Arizona’, wild-ass hair sticking out all over, desperately in need of a metaphorical colonic. Or at least a clear spot on my desk.
Periodically I cruise through the junk mailbox, checking to see that Mail didn’t junk something ‘real’ — as it occasionally does with the WordPress e-mails notifying me of a comment. Which does happen. Junking, I mean. On the occasional comment. heh heh.
So anyway, today I’m particularly taken with one message, from ection-Eray*, with the subject line “It can be exciting!”. So on one hand I’m thinking “duh” — and on the other I’m amazed that anyone is stupid enough to use the name ‘ection-Eray’, thinking that will actually make it past ANY spam program.
Then again, this subject line made it past mine: “aculate-Ejay ike-lay a orn-Pay ar-Stay!”. Bleeeech. Each to their own (as long as all participants are illing-way adults — and by the way am I aranoid-pay or AT-WHay?), but personally I’ve always thought any women involved were most likely olested-may as children. Because that’s the case with otic-exay ancers-day. Plus I have trouble imagining a woman wanting to be ilmed-fay having ex-say with angers-stray. Then I remember a former mom at our school — who I’ll call ‘JC’ (with due apologies to Jesus), and I realize that anything is possible.
* I’m doing my ig-pay atin-lay thing. To avoid those pesky orn-pay oogler-gays.
