…and to all a good night

That title really has nothing at all to do with this post. I was just thinking Christmassy thoughts and that popped into my head.

I recently received this little e-mail forward thingy with questions about your Christmas shtuff. You know—fake or real (trees, not boobs), to nog or not to nog (eeh. I'd rather have a rum and Coke, but will nog on occasion), etc.

One of the questions was something like: "Cards: Snail mail or email?" That was a problem, because "Not at all" was not an option.

I don't do cards. At all really. Not of the Valentine, Christmas, or even thank-you variety. I've committed many a social faux pas because of this, and am sure I have been the topic of more than one conversation about obvious breaches of social etiquette. I didn't even send thank you cards after my wedding. Shit. I was way too busy trying to figure out how to be wedded.

My mom sent out the family newsletter style Christmas card out a few times growing up, but mostly I think it kind of pissed her off. (A lot of things about Christmas seemed to piss my mom off.) We received several of those types as well, filled with glowing accomplishments and sugary sweet sentiments.

So—here's the Christmas card I would send out if I decided to tell the truth (well, mostly) about what really happened this year at the Jorgensen house.

 

Dear Friends, Family, and people who sent me a card last year so I decided I'd better add you name to my list this year so as not to be insulting,

Hi everyone! My, has this year flown by. With it being the holidays, it seems a good time to catch everyone up on the Jorgensen clan. Here goes.

Sophie started kindergarten this year, and has really been enjoying it. She's splitting her time between Montessori and public ed, and man is it ever a pain in my ass taxi-ing her from place to place in the middle of the day. Her favorite things about kindergarten are learning to read, art projects, the many new flavors of glue, and her very sweet and talented new teacher. Soph has also enjoyed the fact that her grandma happens to be the secretary, and has had a great time bragging about that to anyone who will listen. Outside of school, Soph has been making some great strides. She keeps her clothes on most of the time, has learned that for the most part, food isn't the best art medium, and has even quit trying to drink her bath water! We're very proud.

As for Janzen, that kid has grown about two feet. He's really growing into a man, and we're proud to announce that he has about 10 hairs on his chin and has started using deodorant! The 8^th grade is really agreeing with him, particularly since he's smarter than most of his teachers, and he only has to pay attention about half of the time to get good grades. In other news, I believe he's beaten about 50 video games this year, and added about 5,000 movie quotes to his repertoire. All joking aside though, Janzen is nothing but a blessing in our lives. You'd be pretty hard pressed to find a 13 year old boy who is better company than our Buddy-Sugar-Janz.

Erik is also doing well, but prefers not to have his personal life discussed at all with others!

As for me, what can I say. I've watched several TV series on DVD, including Angel and The Office. I've read several new young adult fantasy novels. I'm fatter and older and also crabbier. My car is dirtier, but my house is a little cleaner. My sex drive is slightly up, but then again, so is my chin hair count.

Happy Holidays to All!

Dear Scientists and Inventors of the World,

So, you guys have made a lot of cool stuff. I really appreciate the cars and computers and flush toilets. Thanks. You've even made some pretty impressive strides in the feminine hygiene department. Pads for absorbing menstrual flow have wings, dams, and one I saw on TV last night can even ride a mechanical bull. So, props there too.

BUT

Here's what I need y'all to do. PLEASE invent a tampon with a wrapper and applicator that won't disintegrate in the bottom of my purse. That way, then next time I start my period while teaching 2^nd period to a bunch of adolescent boys, I won't have to scurry to the bathroom, discover it's out of toilet paper, go back to class and grab my purse, fish around in it, find the remnants of a month old tampon that has come unwrapped and slid out of the applicator, pick off the Teddy Graham crumbs and gum wrappers, and then try to shove it up my chotch.

 

Thanks! J

Oooh La La!

Remember International Children's Day?

It's that thing at Montessori where on Halloween the kids don't wear their costumes, but rather, dress like a child from a foreign country? I THOUGHT last year that they were supposed to come dressed as a kid from their heritage, thus freaked out trying to put together a "Danish Girl" costume (and pulled it off quite nicely, if I do say so myself) and then showed up to a bunch of white kids dressed like they were from Hawaii, China, the Arctic, and Africa. So this year, Soph and I decided on France.

Voila!Pretty cute--huh?

Now I just have to figure out what to take for food. Soph wants to take crepes, but I don't know the first thing about crepe making, and think I'd probably fuck it up. Plus, isn't a crepe one of those things that you have to make and then eat pretty much immediately? Another idea was to make some mini quiches, but then again, I'm not sure how quiche would fly with the under 6 set. There's also croissants, which I could just grab at the store, but you know that dumb little voice in your head that urges you to be FABULOUS? It's kind of nagging at me. I hope it will shut up. What do you think?

Soph Said

"Mrs. Wood said that I have to quit tasting what the glue tastes like."

Dear Mandy

Wow. I think I've posted enough lately that I don't even need to start this post with an excuse/apology for not posting.

Now then, I love my sis, but she's not big on the calling. Frankly, neither am I. And since I need something to post today, I'm just going to write her a letter.

Dear Mandy,

Hey sugar! What's going on in the Krause House? I hope the kidletts are well. Is Zack still loving school? How's Madeline doing with the writing and homework? Is Clark-baby on the road again? Also, how is the Yoga class going?

Now then, the Jorgensen's. Well, we finally closed on the house. I can't fucking believe how much it costs to get a mortgage. Does anyone even know what title insurance is for? And mortgage insurance? They might as well call it getting fucked in the ass insurance, because that's exactly what it is. We did arrange for a little cash back, so I think we're going to put in a nice big Jacuzzi tub for me, and do a little work on the patio. In my head, I'm imagining a little Japanese garden space, but in my heart, I know we'll end up with some kind of covering and maybe a new patio set.

We got Sophie's Halloween costume, and I think she's going to be a very cute Princess Leah. E is planning on Han Solo, and Janz is going as Lando Calrisian. I don't think I really fit into the Star Wars mix, but we shall see.

School's going ok. Of course in my film class today, we were trying to write our Chicago reviews, and half the class hadn't been in class to watch the movie. I don't even know what to do with that. Tomorrow is the writing UBSCT, and I THINK most of my kids are ready. We shall see.

What else? Mom's doing better; no major philosophical breakdowns for a while. We all went to Chinese for Dad's birthday, and Jon, Katy and I went in on a digital photo frame for him. Katy is doing good—I think. Apparently she has something in the works with a guy named Giovanni, and she's picking up Soph from school for me a couple times this week.

Soph is so excited for Thanksgiving. She misses you guys like crazy. (Me too) I think the plan has become to have dinner at Mom's, and then adjourn to my place for dessert. I'm excited for you to see my new house. Where are you guys going to stay? That little house you stayed in last time worked out SO well.

 

Love you so!

Boo

Reason I’m a Petty Person, #102

Yesterday was the Montessori family picnic. They have one twice a year and it's always a potluck. I always sign up to take a main-dish, and I always take a big homemade macaroni and cheese casserole. At a function like this, everyone tries to bring something fancy and delicious. You know the drill. It's mostly rich, fabulous moms who grind their own wheat and grow organic gardens, so they bring things like spinach and goat cheese salad with fresh pair (that one was good) or vegan chocolate chip cookies (WTF?). I, on the other hand, cook up a big vat of macaroni noodles with a white sauce made with whatever cheeses happen to be left over in my fridge, and top it with crunched up stuffing mix.

Everyone always bring way too much, and there are always tons of leftovers. Except for mine. My mac 'n' cheese is always gone. Dads are always standing around scraping the sides of the casserole pan, and at least one or two moms ask me for the recipe.

This brings me a ridiculous amount of satisfaction. To see my empty ratty Corelware pan sitting next to the beautiful Pottery Barn bowl full of marinated kalamata olives or some such thing absolutely makes my day. I'm still grinning about it.

And that is reason 102 that I am a very, very petty person.

It’s alive!

It = the blog, and in all honesty, just barely.

My dears, I think this blog has jumped the shark.

As I sit here at my desk, munching my apple and pita chips with hummus (don't be impressed. Yesterday it was a teriyaki burger from Carl's Jr.) I really think I may have run out of things to say.

I've thought of blogging about school. I'm sure I could get huge chuckles over painfully bad writing that my kids sometimes turn in. Also, running a "best lie of the day" section would be easy/schmeasy. We could even do the longest/dumbest education acronym, or most asinine euphemism (how's "Student Involvement Activity" for worksheet). But I think I'd probably get fired.

Soph is just big. She's in school all day. Her daily exploits are often unbeknownst to me, her mother. Sure, at times she'll start singing "For He's the Jolly Good Butt Crack" for no apparent reason, but butt-crack songs do not a complete blog make.

So—I'm stuck. I can't blog in honesty about myself—because that would piss people off and make my life more difficult. I can't blog about my kid, because she's kind of running out of material. I can't blog about work, because that would lead to official reprimands.

I don't know what to do. Maybe some letters to inanimate objects.

Dear Work Chair,

You've been my work chair for a while now. On the outside you look reasonably nice. You adjust up and down, and tilt forward and back. You're very rolley, and spinney, and a not-to-vomitous shade of teal green. But chair, I know your game. Benign though you may be on the outside, a torture rack lurks underneath. All I have to do is sit in you for 2 minutes, and the pain begins. First a pang to the left of my lower spine. Then a pang to the right. My ass begins to fall asleep, and I start shifting around on my pelvis, my spine clicking like little mouse castanets. Well know this. Your time is almost up. Some day and soon, you'll find yourself dumpster diving. So there.

Dear Vitamin Water,

I bought you at Smiths for lunch because you were near the check-out and on sale. Apparently you are tropical citrus flavored, and are designed to give me NRG. Sweet. I could use some of that. I am noticing, however, that you contain no juice. Fine, fine, rest on your guarana content, if that's how you want to roll. If you can get me through 4^th period independent study, a play-date at my house with 2 little girls plus my own, help me actually make dinner instead of ordering take out, and keep me out of bed until at least 9:00, I don't care if your secret ingredient is dog shit. Ok. I would care. But not if it was, say iguana scale or even fish pancreas. If fish have a pancreas. I'm not sure about that. Anyway—keep on vapor distilling and reverse osmosising. Peace.

There--A post. Now then, because I am a comment whore and must go whoring around for comments, you have 3 options. 1. Tell me what you had for lunch today. Details please. 2. Tell me how much you missed me and how empty your life was without me. 3. You're on your own. Throw up a random comment like you usually do. You know, like "Wow! A teriyaki burger? I had one of those a couple of years ago and found a rat tail in the pineapple slice."

Blog Vomit

Just stream of thought today. The mind is too shot to organize anything.

First--school starts tomorrow. I'm ready for...tomorrow. That's about it. The beginning of school at my particular location is tricky--because most of my kids won't remember that school starts for another week or so. So finding things that won't waste the time of the kids who are there, but won't need to be repeated next week is kind of a bitch.

I'm also trying to decide what to wear tomorrow. Katy thinks I should go with the "Erudite MILF" look. (Precisely what that entails, I'm not entirely sure. I've lost a little weight, but I still have to deal with the rack that ate Manhattan, and you'd be surprised how short a trip it is for me over to Beth the Bounty Hunter land. I went school shopping and bought some things, but I'm not thrilled with them. Confidence + comfortable + breathable fabric is just a pipe dream, I suppose.

In Soph news, she successfully exploded a soy sauce packet all over her face and the ceiling of the car today. You can imagine how that went, what with the salt content and the eyeballs and all.

What else. Oh--the little bit of weight I've lost. Well, I've been doing this in the morning. Surprisingly, I quite like it. You wouldn't think one would need a DVD to walk in place in one's living room, but apparently, one does. I also like the stretchy band. Then, in the evening, I walk the dog up in the hills behind our house. The only way I know I've lost a little is that I don't nearly slip a disk putting on my bra (you know, with the buckle in the front and twist to the back maneuver), because I've lost enough back fat that it slides around easier. That last sentence, by the way, was brought to you by a bonafide English teacher.

So--in honor of my be-sauced-car, tell me about the interior of your ride. Mine is repulsive. We're talking toys, garbage, fast-food bags (I know. I'm bad.), and other assorted Soph stuff. E calls it the fry wagon. If I were to peek in your car windows right now, what would I see?

Internal Soundtrack

Just so you know, my internal soundtrack is NOT cool at all. It's mostly made up of silly kids songs and other shit that is just plain stupid.

For example:

Every time I pee, my brain plays "Turkey in the Straw;" really fast.

Also, when I check my blog, and no one has commented, my brain plays, "Everybody Hates Me. Nobody Loves Me. Guess I'll Go Eat Worms."

When Sophie is having a huge breakdown, which she is currently doing (She screams this high pitched scream, really, really loudly) it plays "Little Girls" from Annie. Particularly the part, "If I ring little necks, surely I would get an acquittal."


In other mind boggling news, I went back to work today. The kids don't come back until the 16th, but we get to be motivational speakered to death for a week before. Because, you know, I don't actually have any WORK to do (she said sarcastically).

So spill--what ditties does your brain play for you during the day? Or am I the only one. Also, why not tell me one thing one of your old English teachers did that was particularly cool/meaningful/useful in your real life.

More letters to inanimate objects

Dear giant empty economy size bottle of KY warming massage oil that my mom keeps in Soph's bath toys at her house,

OK, so apparently you're great for filling with water and then squirting it around the bathtub, but doood! It's just WAY too disturbing to pull out the box and find you nestled among the rubber duckies and plastic funnels. The implications of your existence are just too, too, icky. So don't take it personally if the next time I see you, I throw you in the trash where you belong. Sorry.


Dear Grout,

Fuck you.


Dear half deflated birthday balloon that was floating around my room last night,

Thanks for scaring the freaking bujesus out of me. Laying in my bed at 3:00 a.m. trying to convince myself that you weren't a ghost or other spectral being was GT. Really.


Dear Coconut Body Butter I got from my birthday,

Even though I don't know if I'd rather eat you or rub you all over my skin, either way you're truly, truly delicious.


Dear grande iced sugar free 2% vanilla latte with no whip,

I think it's time for a break. It's gotten to where I can't imagine my day without you, and I think I need to learn to stand on my own two feet again. I just need to figure out who I am before I can figure out who WE are. What I'm saying is, it's not you, it's me.

Not again!

Damn these birthdays seem to be coming around more and more quickly.

Today I'm 32.

That means that 2 days ago E turned 33, and in 10 days, Soph will be 5. Sheesh.

Because E had his wisdom teeth pulled recently, and has had some unpleasant complications, his birthday was pretty low key. I did, however, pull off a completely home made triple layer German chocolate cake that was something of a thing of beauty.

As for me, I've been having insomnia for the last several nights, and am feeling pretty zombified today. Currently I'm at work, still filing last year's crap (can't you tell) and later have a lunch date with the folks + Katy.

Frankly--I'm feeling pretty low. School starts any second, and the thought of going back is about as appealing as having a pelvic exam. So, in honor of my birthday and my shitty mood, I present to you:

32 Things I Hate

1. That horrible moment when you first get out of the shower
2. When people put empty containers back in the fridge
3. The unspoken rule that in Cedar City, the guy with the biggest truck gets the right of way at four way stops
4. Yeast infections
5. Sorting laundry
6. Having to fart really bad in public
7. When my coffee gets cold in like 4 seconds
8. Not having a good book to read
9. Filing
10. Trying to buy attractive, work casual, plus size clothing
11. Deciding what's for dinner every night
12. Lower back pain
13. Trying to get out of the car in my garage where I can only open the car door like 5 inches because it is so full of crap
14. Dog hair
15. Putting sheets back on the bed after washing them
16. Ants
17. The movie Rent
18. Chin hairs
19. Going to the post office to buy stamps
20. Angel, Season 4
21. Dusting
22. Squished worms
23. Car maintenance
24. Moldy cheese
25. Running out of things in the middle of a recipe
26. Laying in bed and not being able to sleep
27. When the copy machine prints lines on my copies
28. Pooping in a strange toilet
29. After you eat the the top layer of the movie popcorn and the rest has no salt or "butter"
30. Back fat
31. Armpit fat
32. Getting caught out in public without a tampon and having to do that toilet paper wad thing

So what do you hate? Let's focus on the petty, shall we? Y'all know I'm a comment whore, and it's my birthday, so humor me.

The End of Bacon

Don't worry. Bacon has not come to an end. I'll explain in a minute.

E had his wisdom teeth out a few days ago, and he's having a pretty rough time of it. I, as the nicest wife in the land, have been trying to cook tasty yet chewing-optional meals, and frankly, I'm running out of ideas. I've done mashed potatoes, broccoli cheese soup, chicken and dressing casserole, and tonight, we sup on baked-potato soup.

Baked potato soup is just regular potato soup, unless you garnish it with 80 gagillion calories, disguised as bacon, cheese, and sour cream.

Which leads me to (told you I'd get there) bacon.

MMmmm. Bacon.

Sophie's favorite part of bacon is the "end of bacon." That is to say, the pure fat part on the end of the bacon. When I cook bacon (not often--well ok, more so lately because I've become addicted to the BLT) Soph politely requests everyones "end of bacon" as in, "Daddy. Can I please have your end of bacon?"

Janz, likes his bacon a little on the soft side, unlike his dad who likes it crispy. Me, I really only like the good bacon from the deli--meaty and cooked until just crisp enough to hold itself upright if you hold it out horizontally.

Anyone remember Sizzelean? My mom used to buy the hell out of that stuff. My brother LOVED it. If I recall, the breakfast of his dreams, as a child, was 2 over easy eggs, mashed up, with little pieces of Sizzelean broken up in it. My mom preferred hers on a bagel, with peanut butter. I shit you not.

How about you? What's your bacon preference. What's your perfect strip? Crispy? Floppy? Any good bacon stories?

In further news, I'm going to rename my blog, and give it a huge face-lift. Now that my girl is almost 5 and going to kindergarten, motherhood has actually become a bit more like having a cat than it was back in the day. I just clean out her litter box occasionally and she's good to go. J/K. Thing is, the only way this blog is going to survive is if it moves in a new direction. It's going to be more about yours truly than the Sophinator, though she'll still have a starring roll. Suggestions as to the new title are officially solicited.

Haiku Hodge-Podge

Which one is Sophie?
The begoggled one of course.
Gotta love that grin.

The living room just
wouldn't be ours if Sophie
was wearing pants

"In our new house, we'll
have room for a bunk bed," said
Mom, and stuck to it.

Kitchen from the left
The cabinets and counter tops
had me at "hello."

Kitchen from the right
If I waited for clean-ness
You'd never see it

Sea World Baby--Yea!
This is post lost Sophie, and
pre dolphin-show soaked.

Dad and Soph and Janz
Posing 30 feet or less
from our hotel room

Now mom joins the fun
Soph provides the camouflage
For my muffin top.

Two Jorgensen kids
Breakfast at our regular
Spot at Snug Harbor.

You know when you haven't cleaned under the couch for a LONG ass time, and you think to yourself, "Self, I haven't cleaned under this couch for a LONG ass time; I'd better do that. Then again, it's been a LONG ass time since I cleaned under here, so I don't really want to." So the fact that it's been so long keeps you from doing it, and eventually you move, or buy a new couch, or things begin to evolve and crawl out from under the couch, or whatever, so you finally clean under the motherfucking couch.

What I'm trying to say, very awkwardly, is that it's been so long since I've blogged because it's been so long since I've blogged. So, I'm going to act like I've been blogging all summer, and not try to catch up all in one fail swoop. (Is that right? Is it a fail swoop? How did the swoop fail?)

The new house is lovely. It's actually kind of aggressively tasteful, so mainly I've been tacky-ing it up a bit. There are still boxes in the garage, and the living room contains 3 boxes (one for E and I each to take to work, and a huge one that Soph has cut a door in and decorated and that I am desperate to throw away but know she will freak out and so haven't yet) but for the most part, we've officially moved in. I'll post pictures some day. I don't want to be like, "Hey everyone, check out the pull out drawers in my pantry and the sweet, sweet, built ins in the dining room and living room," but, then again, I kind of do, too.

Soph is having a good summer. I MUST post pictures of her at swimming lessons. She has these lime green goggles that she won't get in the pool without, and no matter what swimming suit I buy her, it's perpetually all the way up her ass. Makes for some highly entertaining moments. We had a tricky start, and she wouldn't even put her face in the water at first, but now jumps off the edge all on her own (with her life jacket on) and lets her swimming teacher take her out and practice all her strokes.

Ok that's it for now. More later.

SAAAN DIAAAGOOO

Well,

Since Missuzj is no longer posting, I'll post some shit from our vacation. Sorry, no clever quips or any shit like that.

Maybe she'll eventually share some stuff with ya'll.

Til then...well, whatever.

Shown above: We have the lighthouse at Cabrillio National Monument, the great MissuzJ hanging onto her favorite tree, the California Cyprus. And last, but certainly not least, SG "striking a pose" at the Cabrillo tide pools.

The VaKay also included a trip to Ocean Beach where we swam with sea otters and witnessed a grown man shitting on the floor of a public bathroom not five feet from the toilet.

There was also a 6-hour excursion to Sea World that involved Sophie being equally terrified and thrilled at all times. Oh yeah, she also got lost. But we found her, so all's good.

Pretty sweet.

As a frequent vacationer to Los Angeles, I was shocked to spend time in a Southern California city that wasn't like being ass-raped with a metal pipe by a pussy-grader.

I mean, I've been to San Diego before, but, never spent any actual time that didn't involve a rowdy concert and heavy drug use.

The best moment from the vacation involved Sophie attempting to comunicate (in Spanish) to the largely Latino hotel staff that they needed to keep the resident ducks "in-check" so she could enjoy her vacation in peace.

Hopefully MJ will return.

E.

So Long

Heading out for a family vay-kay tomorrow. San Diego for 5 days. I am more nervous than excited, but then I've always been a nervous traveler. See y'all next week.

Who Whom it May Concern:

Some letters I've been composing in my head to inanimate objects...

Dear Uterus,
Really, couldn't you have waited to slough your lining for a couple of more days? Vaginal bleeding and moving just don't go well together. Please keep this in mind for next time.

Dear Epstein Barr Virus,
Look bitch, I told you not to show your face around here anymore. You just skulk around and wait until I'm tired and stressed and my guard is down, and then WHAM. Get out. Stay out. Next time I'll be asking with a baseball bat. With nails in it.

Dear New Walk in Closet,
Oh my darling, where have you been all my life? Do people really live this way? Somehow it just doesn't feel right to have shelves for all of my shoes--for there to be built in drawers for accessories--for there to be so much space. Now that I've found you, I'll never let you go.

Dear New Shower Massager,
Wow. Was it good for you too?

Dear Phone Company, Electric Company, Dish TV, and All Other Companies:
Look. Four hours is a long time. Can't you get your shit together and get here at a specific time? I don't have time to sit on my ass waiting for you. I have things to do. I've deducted $100.00 dollars from my bill, as that is what I estimate 4 hours of my time is worth. If you don't like it, you can suck it.

Los Libros

Well 12 boxes of books are packed and as of right now, I'm finished packing...books. That's it. Books.

Those boxes don't include the cookbooks, Sophie's books, Janzen's books, or the various books under beds, in the bathroom, and in other nooks and crannies, which will probably add up to at least 5 more boxes. Sheesh.

Today my mom, the world's best and most experienced packer is coming over to lend a hand. I'm grateful, but hesitant for her to see the built up detritus of the last 8 years of my life. I think I'll put her to work packing the kitchen, which should be fairly safe, and I'll start tackling Sophie's room.

I'm not even THINKING about the basement which includes Janzen/E's room and the laundry room. That would just make me mad. That is, both crazy and angry. Or the yard. My goal is to get the stuff we need to live comfortably up to the new place by Monday. That leaves me 4 days to gather miscellanea and clean before the new guy moves in.

Have I mentioned that I hate this? Plus, my period is starting any second, and I can tell from the little sores on my eyelids that the Epstein Barr is creeping up again.

So, send me prayers and love, and hopefully this time next week, I'll be posting on my awesome new kitchen, the beauty of central air, and vastness of my new master bedroom.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
I brought home a big box filled with packing peanuts that I had pilfered from my bro's store. She checked it out and announced, "How remarkable! A box filled with snow!"

Today'w worst thing about being a mom:
Picking up the packing peanuts

Facing Facts

I've been totally ignoring the fact that I'm moving in, like, 3 days. There is a pile of boxes sitting by the front door, but that's about it. Today I need to face reality, and get my ass packing!

Yesterday was Soph's first day of summer pre-school, and boy did those 4 hours go fast. I went to what I thought was going to be a one hour "gentle yoga" class. What I got instead was 2 hours of Kundalini. Kicked my ass. But I'm surprisingly not sore today. In fact, I'm feeling pretty good. The Kundalini is supposed to do tons of stuff with your nadis (sp?), the energy pathways through your body. I don't know if I buy it, but I do feel somewhat energized. I better. Some of that Kundalini stuff is bizarre. My favorite was sitting cross legged, cross-eyed, and puffing out our cheeks for like, 5 minutes. No--wait. The laying on out stomachs, humping the shit out of the floor (I think she called it "hip bouncing").

After the Kundalini was an my eye appointment, then a quick trip to the dollar store for a birthday present for my nephew (I'm cheep, what can I say. I did score a 4 foot water gun though. His mom was thrilled.) and then it was time to pick up the girls. ("The girls," for future reference, are Soph and her friend A. They are going to be a matched pair pretty much all summer.)

Needless to say, I did zero packing. And what I need to do post haste is quit playing around on the computer and START. But I don't wanna.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
This morning she was sitting by me while I was checking out the celebrity gossip. She pointed at this picture and asked, "Is that you mom?"

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Remember those packing boxes I mentioned? I can't convince her that they're for me to pack with, not for her to make dolly cradles, trains, castles, etc. with. She's already ruined half of them.

I TOLD you I would.

And see--here I am, another day, another post.

Today has been busy. Among other things, I took Soph to get the rest of her kindergarten shots. It sucked. But not quite as bad as I thought it would. E was kind enough to meet us at the Dr.'s office, and between the two of us, we kept Soph pretty calm. She needed 3 injections, so two nurses tag teamed it--each giving her a shot in either arm in tandem, and then a quick poke in the leg. There was shrieking and tears, but they were surprisingly short lived. Including the one from her finger poke blood test, she is now sporting 4 Hello-Kitty Band-Aids, and is very proud of all of them.

After the Dr. was the dreaded trip to Wal-Mart. Soph needed a new swimming suit, and I needed a small tent to wear over my suit, as tonight is the first night of our mommy-and-me swimming lessons. This is the first in a series of 3 sets of lessons, and the only one to which I must be present. Of course, I'm going to have to tame the pit-beards and do a little up-keep in the nether region before then. Have I mentioned that I HATE shaving.

Next week is moving week, and I keep trying to get myself to start boxing books and other stuff that we don't really NEED, but the motivation just isn't there. Maybe tomorrow when Soph is at her first day of summer pre-school.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Continuing the JC saga from last time, today I was talking to her about my spiritual beliefs, of which, I really have none. I told her, "Baby, when you get bigger YOU get to decide what YOU want to believe. There are a of ideas about life and death and Jesus and God. Just make sure that you decide for yourself what YOU want to believe." Her reply, "Can I believe that I'm a unicorn?"

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
The shots. You know, several moms who I know and respect have chosen not to have their kids immunized. It's their choice, of course, but I can't say I agree with it. I've read up on the stuff, and feel pretty sure that I know the risks, some of which are very scary, and holding her down to get poked SUCKS, but if I lost her to something I know I could have prevented, I know if I couldn't live with myself.

Wanna see something cute?

In case you hadn't noticed, I'm going to try and post at least a little something on the blog daily this summer. More time on my hands = more computer time, and I'd rather spend the time here than checking out Nicole Richie's current weight (My first cassette tape, by the way, was Lionel Richie's "Can't Slow Down.") or Brittany's current crotch shot.

Now then. I haven't posted any pictures of Soph for a while. These aren't WAY new, but they're only about 5 weeks old. Behold the cuteness:


And now...back by popular demand...

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Apparently, today is fun with straws day. First, we made sculptures using straws and pipe cleaners. Then we played straw hockey, (otherwise known as blowing a packing peanut across the table using a straw) and currently, Soph's doing some straw painting. GT.


Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Soph has this friend--EK--and her mom is a teacher at the Montessori school and they are WAY, WAY Mormon. They are more Mormon than Joseph Smith drinking a diet, caffeine free coke, and turning to his third wife to say "Oh my fetching heck! Brother Ephram needs us to take some green jello down to the ward house for the primary social." She keeps coming home talking about Heavenly Father and telling me that we're really sisters because we all lived in heaven before we were born and Jesus can make us perfect and I AM PISSED! Yesterday was the last straw, when she came home Heavenly Fathering again, and I've decided that I am going to call EKs mom. What I'd like to do is rip her a new asshole. But instead, I'm going to ask her to please preface any religious talk with the phrase "we believe" and not present this stuff to Soph as if it were the bible truth. It's a matter of respect. Ok. I could write another 3 pages of rant on this, but I'm done.

Inferiority Complex

One of my old English professors was in my yoga class today. And every time I bump into her and am forced to make small talk, I feel dumb as hell.

She asks how I am, and my brain begins this argument with itself:
Don't say you're good. Say you're well.
Are you sure?
Yes. 'Am' is a verb, so you don't use the adjective. You use the adverb.
But does it matter that 'am' is a linking verb?
Fuck if I know.

So I end up stuttering out something like, "Oh--things are going good--well. I'm ok. Really. How about you?" Then I give her the brief update about the parts of my life that she may be able to pretend to be interested in, "You know--still teaching. English. It's good. Well. It's going really great--ly. And my daughter is almost 5. And well, we're still here in Cedar--as you can see."

Some people, really nice, normal people, can turn me into an idiot in about 2 seconds. It's because I know they're smarter than I am, and they know they're smarter than I am, and so really, what's the point of me even talking, because they know more than I do anyway.

For Rob

Today's best things about being a mom:

• Successfully test-driving the homemade sidewalk paint recipe. (It was a bit runny. Next time I think I'll try a 2 to 1 corn starch to water ratio.)
• Taking Soph and A out to the new very delish Chinese restaurant in town. I think they set the record for the most sweet and sour chicken devoured by 4 year olds in one sitting.
• Watching a Wonder Woman episode with them, and making plans to fashion tin foil wrist bands next Wednesday. (We were, of course, out of tinfoil today.)
• Listening to Soph and A plan to blame the skewer in the fish tank on their imaginary friends.

Today's worst things about being a mom:

• Finding Soph, A, and B all the way around the block this morning, and as a result sending B home in tears, and giving Soph and A a 30 minute time out, as we were tending A and she could not be sent home.
• Sending B home in tears, again, when she came back 15 minutes later and I told her she still couldn't play.
• Sending B home in tears, again, 30 minutes ago when she, her brother, and her brother's friend came over and Soph just simply didn't want to play.

You see, B's mom is working graveyards this summer, and is sleeping during the day. And tell you what-- I'll be damned and double damned if I am going to entertain, feed, and otherwise care for her 3 oldest kids during the 2 weeks before I move. Had she asked me to, that would be one thing, but she hasn't. She just tells the kids she needs to sleep, and not to bug her, and they come to me.

So let it be written; so let it be done.

Well--we've decided on our middle house.

Erik's grandparents have a beautiful "luxury townhome" that they've wanted to sell us ever since they learned that we were selling our house. I didn't want to buy it for many reasons--number one being that although it has a very nice sized patio, it has no yard. Also, there is the issue of the one shared wall. But, after much searching--both in my heart and with a realtor, I've come around to it. And like I said, chances are, it will be our middle house. We'll catch our breath from the chaos of the last few years for a bit, then move on to the official long-term Jorgensen abode.

Ultimately, my decision was based on the following:
Price: They're selling it to us at a price significantly under market. We'll have tons of instant equity.
Ease: We can move in whenever we want (aka, in 2 weeks), and live rent free until our financing stuff is sorted out.
Stuff: Speaking of stuff....Did I mention that they're leaving a gorgeous brand new dining room set and bedroom set?
Quality: This place is built so, so well. I've had a builder friend of mine checking out some of the houses to be considered, and he was blown away by this one. It is solid as a rock, and brand new (well, lived in one day a week for the past year by a 70 year old man), and the cabinets, appliances, and finish work are amazing. We're talking granite counter tops, porcelain tubs, etc., etc.

Sound like I'm trying to convince myself of something? I am, a little.

Jimmy dog is a concern. Although he is an inside dog, he is used to a yard. I'm worried that in no time, the patio will smell like dog piss and shit, no matter how vigilant I am with clean up. I'm also worried about him barking and pissing off the (mostly rich and old) neighbors.

Also, even with lots of shared lawn in the development and gorgeous parks in walking distance, part of me feels like I'll be depriving Sophie of her childhood by not providing her with a swing set and grass to run on.

I'm tired of running laps in my brain over it though, and am feeling reasonably ok with my decision.

It's the first official day of summer vacation. I had hoped to pawn Soph off on someone and start getting ready to move, but instead, I have 6 kids on the premesis--5 of whom are not mine. B came by, with BOTH brothers, and then Soph's friend's mom called with some violent stomach bug and asked me to take her 2 girls. I went and bought some of that Crayola sidewalk paint, though, and they're all pretty busy painting the back patio. I've managed to accomplish a bit, and hopefully now have a couple of favors to call in when it gets closer to moving day.

p.s. I'm dispensing with the best and worst thing about being a mom. We've both kind of grown out of it.

p.s.s. Any advice anyone could give on big dogs in small spaces and/or making the most of a patio is officially solicited.

10 Random Facts

1. We have to be out of our house in 22 days.
2. We have yet to find a house we both love.
3. Yesterday was Sophie's last day of pre-school.
4. I have more split-ends than regular ends.
5. Today is the last day of school for me.
6. We looked at a house yesterday that smelled like hot dogs and pee. (I wonder if Wal-Mart can sue them for infringement on their signature smell.)
7. Yesterday we had some friends drop by, and the cupboards were so bare that all I could offer them for food and drink was a piece of cheese and a straight shot of gin. They declined.
8. I love the new purse that Mand and I bought in Flagstaff. It's certainly an upgrade from the five year old one I had been dragging around, and which probably also smelled like hot dogs and pee.
9. I may have to run home and poop later, as I cannot poop anywhere but at home, and I was in too much of a rush to go this morning.
10. Yesterday for graduation I put my hair in hot rollers, and ended up with the kind of big-bodied curls that are usually reserved for rodeo queens and porn stars.

Of Note

1. We sold the house.

2. Sophie colored with red marker between the legs of her Barbies because, "They're having their periods mom!"

Another one with this and that

13 days of school left, but who's counting?

And now I sit, trying to decide what to write.

Well--Mandy and I are meeting for our second Mother's Day retreat in Flagstaff this weekend. We missed last year because she was busy or Clark was busy or something, but this year we are locked and loaded. For some reason I'm a little more worried about the drive than I was last time. There's just an awful lot of nothin' between here and there. I'm sure all will be well, though, and am looking forward to cocktails and fondue and backgammon and catching up.

The house still hasn't sold. Now that we're officially into spring and I've had the chance to pull some back-yard patio time, suddenly I'm not as anxious. I haven't changed my mind yet, but easing back into the lounger with a beverage and a book while Soph does her thing with the sidewalk chalk or whatever definitely isn't a bad thing. There will be a new back-yard, to be sure, but mine is pretty hard to beat. This is the one I have my eye on. I know the outside is kind of butt-ugly, but the size, floor plan, location, and yard are pretty much exactly what I'm looking for. Now I just need to hope that it doesn't sell before I can make an offer on it.

Soph is happy and healthy and sassy and silly. I experimented with letting her take her bike around the block with Bianca, but they ended up across the street at the school playground, so obviously she's not quite ready for that kind of responsibility. They've been talking about nutrition in school and she now refuses to eat chicken-nuggets or uncrustable sandwiches. Because I am the worst mother in the land, this is a kind of a problem because these have been the staple of her diet. (Do PB&Js freeze well? Could I make her a bunch on "bread with whole grains" which is all she'll eat, and freeze them so that in the morning I'm not fucking around with making sandwiches and being late to work?) In fact, several times a day I try to feed her something and she says, "Mom--There's not very much nutrition in this!" Of course, ATS (according to Soph) ice cream is nutritious because it has milk, and Nerds are nutritious because they have fruit.

Me? I'm fat and in desparate need of a hair cut. Apparently, I'm also growing a beard, and for some reason, am having a gnarly bout of backne. But despite all that, I'm reasonably happy. The sun is shining, and that's a good thing. (Want to know a secret? I LOVE riding Soph's razor scooter. Lately, we ride over to the park on it together, and while she playes on the slide, I cruise around the blacktop on it. Fun stuff.) School is wrapping up, and I'm dragging a couple of seniors toward the finish.

I'm still digging the Netflix and have worked my way through Angel season 3. We've seen a couple of gems (The Secret of Rowan Innish, Smoke Signals) and it's been useful for my film class. I don't know WHY, however, the Netflix gods are desparate for me to watch Victor Victoria. Every damn time I click for recommendations or even just to log in, there's old Julie Andrews pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman. WTF?

Pre-Weekend Update

You know--just for a change.

The house selling thing is going ok. We've had TONS of "activity" (I am so learning the realty lingo. For instance, "That buyer seems really interested and will possibly make an offer," means "Ya--we'll never hear from those bastards again.") but no real offers. Part of me HATES being a slave to keeping the house clean, but another part has kind of come to enjoy living in a clean house all of the time. Coming home to made beds and no dishes in the sink is actually kind of lovely. Plus, I've taken to buying some cheep flowers at the grocery store and putting in little vases around the place, and it's nice. But--it is sad to have not done either of these things for myself, and to mainly be doing them for strangers.

In other news, Soph and the across the street friend B aren't getting along. So much so that when B wants to come over, Soph says she doesn't want her to. Since she's getting along with the rest of her friends just fine, I don't really think it's one sided on the Soph side. I just barely told them that if they couldn't get along, B would have to go home, and Soph just smiled, and said, "Good. I want her to." B's response was to storm out the door and slam it. Needless to say, I'm not as worried about displacing Soph from B when we move.

Oh--did you know that when the glue on contact paper breaks down, it smells just like crotch? Did you? I didn't think so. For WEEKS now I've been playing "What's that smell?" in Soph's room. Sniffing around--washing bedding. As the smell was decidedly crotchy, I washed all the dress-ups, as they've been worn by a lot of little bodies, but even after cleaning from top to bottom, her room still smelled of eau-de-cooter. Then a couple days ago, I decided to pull the contact paper off of the high window in her room that I had originally put up when she was tiny so that she'd nap during the day. I discovered that in many places the glue had turned brittle. I also discovered that in the places where this had happened, it smelled like low tide on a hot day.

This weekend we're having our first sleep over. That should be exciting. I'll let you know how it goes.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Having a partner at the grocery store

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
For some reason, I am SO fucking tired of packing lunches.

It's ALMOST official.

My realtor's office came by and did a walk-through of the house yesterday. Unless she's blowing sunshine up my ass, they all really liked it. They did have some "feed back" (which I'm gathering is a realty euphamism for "stuff we don't like") about the "curb appeal" but that's nothing I didn't know.

So now, we just need to sign the contract, drop it by the office, and my sweet little casita will be for sale. (yeah and sigh)

Working together, H (my realtor) and I came up with this little snippet for the "remarks" on the listing.

Step inside and fall in love with the warmth, charm, and detail of this open, solidly built home. Large windows, built-ins, and beautifully refinished floors highlight the interior, and the exterior includes a backyard that is ideal for entertaining with its unique covered patio and mature trees and lawn, plus a second patio off of the living room. Add a partially finished basement with family room and potential for a half-bath, wonderfully established neighborhood, and walking proximity to the best local schools and shopping, and this one is a no-brainer. You’ve got to see it to believe it!

What do you think? Too cheezy? Does it make you want to pay me lots of money for my house?

Family Film Festival

April 5th was the two year anniversary of my blog and I totally missed it. I'm going to have to buy the blog some flowers and a fancy dinner to make up for it, I guess. Probably still won't get any nookie, though.

Now then, onto the film festival.

In an awesome turn of events, Soph watched 2 (well, one and a half) big kid/family movies this weekend. Could it be that we are approaching a time when we can sit down as a family and enjoy a movie all together (instead of our norm veg-time, which is E and Janz downstairs watching Big Trouble in Little China, or similar, Soph watching Strawberry Shortcake, or similar, upstairs, and me on the lap-top playing some inane puzzle game like Chuzzles (or similar) pretending to watch with her.)

You are, I know, dying to know what she watched. So--first, it was Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. With all the Scooby and Buffy in the house, HP isn't too freaky for her, although the underwater scene with the merpeople freaked her out, as they were decidedly un-Arial like. She decided they were in fact NOT mermaid, but rather, "evil trout" (name of future band?) and that seemed to reestablish her underwater-creature-equilibrium. We turned off the movie before the maze/graveyard scene, because, well, too creepy for a 4 year old.

THEN she watched The Secret of Rowan Inish. I had ordered it from Netflix as a possible film for the fam to watch together (new member--liking it so far) and E and I watched it one night last week as a kind of preview. I loved it--but strong girl protagonist meets magical force stories are kind of my thing. The story was SO lovingly told, and the green, green Irish isles are such wonderful eye candy, and the magical-realism was crafted to be both magical and real, which I should imagine is tricky. E also liked it and thought the kids would too. The "as a family" thing broke down as on Sunday morning I was in bed with cramps, the laptop, and Angel Season 3--disk 3, but E and the kids watched it and both Soph and Janz were enthralled. Soph would run in my room to give me updates (quasi-spoilers) "Mom! Fiona saw her brother but he sailed away!" "Mom! Jimmy (character in film, not the dog) isn't wearing pants and I saw his wiener!" but she watched the whole thing and had a lot to say about it throughout the rest of the day.

So now I'm on the lookout for family films that suit my particular family. Recommendations are welcome. Nexflix does seem to have a lot to say on the matter, but really I prefer recommendations from real live people.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Have you tried Fruitabu? Delicious organic smooshed fruit. Yummy.

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Growing out bangs

Where there's smoke, there's Jimmy.

I almost set my house on fire. My dog saved the day.

No hyperbole at all intended.

Last night a little before bedtime, and after an early, early dinner, Soph decided she was hungry. Fine. She wanted a hot dog. We didn't have any, but had some bratwurst in the fridge (I know--bad for you, blah, blah, blah), which she decided would do. So I turned on the grill (which had a NEW tank of propane) and came inside. (Catch that foreshadowing?) Now I thought the sausage was fine, but E, who is very sensitive to such things, vetoed the sausage as being past its prime. So I threw a couple chicken nuggets in the microwave (again with the I know, but it did say no trans fats on the bag) and all was well. Soph had her dinner/snack, bath time, story time, and went to bed. E and I caught the new Entourage (entourage? What's with the no caps?) and I went to bed.

Notice the part where I never went out to turn off the grill?

This morning, after I had left for work (after an emergency stop at Walmart to buy a new slip because I couldn't find mine and my skirt is just a little see-through) Jimmy (the dog) apparently started freaking out. Barking and barking at the back door--and would not be calmed by anything.

When E finally went out to see what was up, the grill was smoking, smoking hot, and the ivy growing on the side of OUR HOUSE was ON FIRE.

So--E doused the flames, turned off the grill, praised the hell out of the dog, and called me at work to tell me, very gently I might add, about the calamity--nay the holocaust--that had just barely been averted.

So--am feeling equal parts grateful and dumb as hell. Will be cooking Jim a steak for dinner tonight--in the broiler of the oven. Also, E gets a TOTAL pass for, like, the next 10 dumb things he does. Sheesh. Dumb. Stupid. (Insert other similes as you wish.)

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Who knows? I'm surprised I didn't forget I have one.

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Oh--maybe almost incinerating her?

Territorial Pissings

Selling a house is weird. Yesterday I had 2 people come and look, and it was very, very weird.

First of all, I’ve been cleaning my ASS off. Really. If you look closely, I no longer have an ass. It’s so frustrating how stuff you never noticed begins to pop up everywhere: cobwebs in the corners, fingerprints on the doors, scunge of various kinds in the sinks and in the bathtub.

Secondly, when walking people through the house, I suddenly found myself saying the most ridiculously obvious things, like, “This is the bathroom.” Well dur! Unless we’re trying to disguise the kitchen by tricking it out with a shitter and a tub, I think they probably noticed that already. Then there’s that little salesperson inside who kept pointing out the closet space, new carpet, and whatever other little “awesome” thing that, again, unless these people are blind, they can certainly see.

Finally, I started to feel very irrationally annoyed at questions like, “Are you going to fix the…,” or “Did you know the water heater isn’t….” I felt strangely, and unflatteringly territorial, like a dog must when another dog pees on its lawn. I was like—hey, this is my house, and you can just get the fuck out if you don’t like it. See? It’s mine. I just peed on it, so there. I didn’t really pee on it. But I could have. Because it’s mine.

I don’t know. We don’t even have a sign up yet—have just spread a little word of mouth love around. I’ve seen a few houses that I like with the realtor, (and yes, I did ask if they were going to fix the whatever,) and so I know I could be happy in another space. I’m just not a fan of the process. Some people—like my mom—like to build and sell houses for a hobby. This is not me. The sooner this is over, the better.

Today’s best thing about being a mom:

Soph has coined the word, “cuggle.” It’s a hybrid of “cuddle” and “snuggle” and it means drop everything, sit down, and give me some loves right this very now! When she’s particularly blue, she says, “Mom. Will you cuggle me?”

Today’s worst thing about being a mom:

Explaining the nail polish on the bathroom wall to strangers

A real post?

You want a real post you say? Not a crappy crybaby one that stays up for 2 seconds or a 2 liner about pachyderms as prophylactics or some nonsense about selling a house?

K. I'll try.

First, an update on all members of the household:

Sophie: She's just big. So freaking big. I can't believe it, but kindergarten registration is like, next week! My baby is so definitely not a baby. She's reading tons of sight words and simple short vowel words. Her hair is finally growing out from the cut from hell, and she's being mistaken for a little boy less and less. She continues to beg me for a baby brother/sister, which just ain't gonna happen. Period.

Also, I'm just a bit worried that she may be a sociopath. Really. Isn't a sociopath someone who has no connection at all to the rules of society--thinks they don't apply--but is smart and manipulative and charming? Maybe I'm talking about another "path." Don't believe me?

Examples:

E found her taking a dollar out of his wallet. He asked her what she was doing. She replied, "Oh, just getting some money from the tooth fairy." His answer, "What?" Hers, "Well, she forgot to put it under my pillow so I'm just taking it from your wallet. Want to share it?"

Last night for no apparent reason, she SLAPPED her dad right in the face. After I sent her friend (B, of course) home, gave her a time out, and yelled at her for a while, I asked her why she did it. She said, "Well, I drank a naughty shake."

Other mishaps and misbehavior have been blamed on her army of imaginary friends, the dog, and the cat. (We don't have a cat.) No matter how much I yammer on about what responsibility is, that girl can come up with a "reason" (excuse) for any and everything.

E: You'll have to ask him.

Janz: Again--huge. He's taller than me and his voice is more Barry White than little boy. E had him shoveling rocks this weekend--a perfect task for a 12 year old kid. He still continues to spout random movie quotes, both at home and at school, but this doesn't seem to scare off the many girls who have crushes on him. So far--he's not interested, at all, (Well, there is the one) but it's just a matter of time. Oh--he won a prize at the history fair for his essay on Nirvana.

Jimmy: I swear to god, my dog is so freaking gross sometimes. Lately, he's having a love affair with my panties, which he roots out of the laundry basket and then chews to bits all day while I'm at work. Just, eww.

Is that all of us? Oh, me.

I'm ok. I went to a PiYo (Pilates/yoga) class on accident (thought it was regular yoga) last Thursday and my stomach is STILL killing me. Also, there's this reoccurring theme in all of my yoga classes lately on the "root lock" (see also mula banda/kegel) and something pronounced ash-venie which as far as I can tell is major ass squeezage. I'm going to have the strongest "pelvic floor" in the land. But dude, really, how much of a work out do my nethers really need? I don't see myself lifting weights with my cooter any time in the future. (Possible new Olympic event? "Now--attempting a 400 lb. cooter lift for the bronze medal...")

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Reading I am not Going to Get up Today

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
She's back to the 5:30 wake up call. I hate it. Really. Hate. It.

House Hunting

We've decided (well, nearly--maybe 90% sure now) to sell our house.

This makes me sad.

I love my little house. It was built in the early 50s, and is just bursting with character. I love the swooping Jetson like lines. I love the big windows. I love the mature yard and huge trees. I love that it's less than a block from the best elementary school in town and that Sophie was a baby in it.

What I DON'T love is that it has one bathroom. I don't love its tiny, tiny bedrooms--so tiny that a queen bed pretty much fills the space. I don't love the huge amount of yardwork attached to those huge trees--or the guilt I feel that it doesn't get done. I don't love that Janzen's bedroom sometimes doubles for a family room, or that the laundry is housed in a very dungeon-like pit.

The market in S. Utah has gone a bit mad since we bought some 7 years ago, so in some ways, we can't afford not to sell. The return we could feasibly get from our initial investment in it is kind of silly. But on the flip side, getting into something bigger/newer/better is going to be tricky as well.

I've already had a panic attack (ok, not real ones, but they did both require a large glass of wine and/or chocolate therapy) over getting the house in order to be shown. Just off the top of my head, I could list 20 things I've put off or let pile up for 7 years--and that's just the inside. Sophie said to me yesterday, "Mommy, my queen-powers are NOT for cleaning; they are for killing dragons," and I wish I could say the same. I think I'd much rather slay a dragon than get my house to the point where I'd be willing to let strangers look at it--let alone love it enough to pay me lots of money for it.

Day before yesterday I went out with a realtor (she's kind of hot) and started looking. I found a house I could truly, truly love, but the catch is, it's only a block away from the freeway. I sat on the back porch, looking at the unbelieveable playhouse, redwood swing-set, dog-run, and hamock, listening to semis going by, thinking, "Would the noise drive me mad?" And I'm afraid the answer was yes. There's a lovely condo that's "in the family" that we might be able to get into very reasonably, but there's no yard (of course) and I really have my heart set on a family room. Other options have slowly been presenting themselves, including building (which scares the shit out of me. E and I can't agree on dinner, let alone a whole entire house) and mainly I want to run screaming.

Question of the day

Asked by M in 3rd period...

"Mrs. J--Isn't a pachyderm a kind of birth control?"

Imaginary Friends

Soph is way into the imaginary friend thing. I mean, she has one, but we don't stop there, not by a long shot. (I'm not making any of the following up. It's all straight out of the mouth of Soph.)

Meet Soph's imaginary friend's brother. He's a cross dresser. I'm serious. Soph tells me all the time about how he's always putting on her princess dress-ups. It really pisses her off. His favorite is the Cinderella costume. He puts it on and "dances around all silly." He also likes to wear my make-up.

Also, a week or two ago, she was having a huge fight in the front yard. By herself, I thought. Upon further investigation, though, I found out that she was having a fight with Addison's (a school friend) imaginary friend. Yes. Her real friend's imaginary friend had stopped by--without her real counterpart-- and royally pissed of Soph in some way or another.

Her imaginary friend also has a grandfather who has a hot air balloon and a cat who is black and white and pink and her name is Mrs. Pink-scootles Jorgensen.

This is just the tip of the imaginary ice berg. We've heard of imaginary cousins, teachers, and even once an imaginary hamster.

Sometimes I worry a bit. It seems to me that there's a fine line between imaginary friends and, um psychosis. Hopefully, she's ok and just really imaginative--not having visions of ghosts or other scary-ish things.

I've been feeling pretty run-down the last few weeks. Obviously the blog has been sliding, as have other unimportant things like personal hygiene, correcting papers, and grocery shopping. However, the sun did come out today, so maybe after charging my solar batteries a bit I'll bounce back.

I've said it before, but I am a solar powered person with no battery back-ups. I actually get pretty annoying in my longing for summer. It's a repetitive tune, I know, but I can't help but sing it. I need the sun. It's a yearning that I feel very, very deeply.

So ends the "guess I better post" post. Hopefully next time I'll have something like, oh, a central threat of meaning, and maybe even a point.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Today I was the proud recipient of my first tinker-toy flower. Sweet.

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
She busted into the girl scout cookies and spilled a WHOLE BOX of Thin Mints on the floor. But fuck it--we're eating them anyway.

Nothing to see here

I guess I should blog. I mean, I've spent the last hour binging on internet gossip trash, and one can only look at the best and worst dressed of the Academy Awards red carpet so many times. (Loved Nicole Kidman's red, hated that bluish think Kirsten Dunst had on, would like Penelope Cruiz to come spin around my living room a few times so I won't have to dust, and really didn't mind Jennifer Hudson's jacket all that much.)

I internet binge when I'm depressed. Am I depressed? Let's see...

Work? Sucks. I am SO tired of being lied to by teenagers.
House? Dirty. In fact, I am literally laying on a pile of laundry.
Weight? Off the charts
Weather? Snowing...again
Complexion? Zits and wrinkles. Sweet

Yep. Kind of depressed.

I've watched the first two seasons of Angel now, and am pretty sure it has jumped the shark. That medieval alternate-dimension nonsense was just, well, nonsense. Don't get me wrong...I'd still volunteer to teach David Boreanaz a lesson any day of the week (that Lindsey guy isn't half bad either), and chances are in a few days I'll break down and order a used season three somewhere, but the detective agency thing + arc of Angel's angst/demon/whateva crap was going so well. I see a soap opera coming up, and it makes me sad.

Anything else? Work is beginning to get to me in a way it never has before, but this isn't the forum. Hopefully I'll get through fourth quarter, gain some perspective over the summer, and come back next year with a little more hope.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Luckily, Soph has been a dream the last couple of days. She's on a major cleaning kick, so I have a spray bottle filled with just water and a couple of rags where she can reach them. Also, she's decided that when she grows up, she wants to be either an Eskimo or an alien. Frankly, those don't sound like bad career options to me.

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
We were playing baby this afternoon, and she totally PEED HER PANTS--on PURPOSE. Sigh. I guess we can chalk it up to method acting.

A matter of life and death

Me (to self, while driving family back from Zion National Park): Hmmm. I bet it's getting kind of windy in the back seat. I think I'll roll up Soph's window.

Soph: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!! Ow! OW!! OW!! EEEEEEEEEE!!

E: You just totally rolled up Soph's arm in the window.

Me: (reaching around to back seat with one arm--rubbing Soph's right wrist and forearm with one hand and steering with the other): Oh shit. Oh sweetie. Mommy's so sorry. That was an accident. I didn't know you had your arm out the window. Didn't I tell you not to put your arm out the window? I'm so sorry baby.

E: Jesus Boo!

Me: Don't you give me shit. I'm having a really hard day. I started my period. My Granny died. I'm doing the best I can.

E (patting me on the leg): I'm sorry baby. Are you doing ok?

Soph: A period is a kind of letter that's just a dot. Did you write a letter mommy?

Me: No honey. Ladies say they're having their period when they're menstruating.

E: Or they say they're getting a visit from Aunt Flow.

Me (glaring at E out of the corner of my eye): Or they say, "I'm bleeding out of my vagina." In yoga they say "moon time."

E: What--is there a note on the bulletin board that says, "Don't wear white sweats during your moon time"?

Me: No dummy. You're not supposed to do inversions when your having your period, so they say, "Don't do this pose if it's your moon time."

E: Why do they say that?

Me: Because your period happens at the same time of the moon cycle every month.

E: Kind of like a werewolf.

Me: No. Nothing at all like a werewolf.

E (not picking up on the reckoning that is coming post haste. I mean, really, really clueless): Yes it is! Awesome. It's like, the same time of the moon--just like a werewolf! Plus first you're normal, then you're really mean and... (Voice fades out as he looks over and sees his death in my eyes.)

Me (gritting my teeth): It's just a natural cycle. More like the tides than like a werewolf.

E: Yes. Yes. You're right.

It's been a rough day. This morning after waking up to bloody panties I decided that a change of scenery would do us all good so I rounded up the troops (E, Soph, and Janz), packed a picnic, and headed south for Zion National Park. About 20 minutes down the road, my mom called on my cell and told me that Granny had died. The first thing I felt was guilt. I had told my dad I'd go with him to Logan this weekend, then backed out. Truth? I backed out because going would have been a huge pain in my ass. So--guilt first. Then sadness. I thought about heading back to Cedar, but decided not to, but to try and keep Granny in my heart as much as possible during our day trip.

We had a nice little walk, a nice lunch, and a great visit with our friend who LIVES in the park (she and her husband are rangers). It was one of those days when you feel sad, then laugh and feel bad because you're not supposed to be laughing, then feel sad some more, and then do something else that seems inappropriate in the face of death.

That's about it.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Holding hands while walking down in sunny trail in one of the most beautiful places on earth

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
It SUCKS when you accidentally hurt your kid. Totally sucks. Oh. Also, we were about 20 miles out of Springdale and the last bathroom for about an hour when Soph announced that she had to poop. So I turned the car around, drove all the way back, and the first thing she said when we got out of the car at the gas station was, "Why are we here Mom? Oh look! Can we go pet the horsies?" Damn phantom poops.

I'm not your mommy.

I have to say this to myself over and over and over every day.

There are so many kids that I "mother" but to whom I (thank Jesus) did not give birth. There are the kids at school. The girl across the street. Janzen--who I love as though I HAD given birth to him, but he has a mother who is doing a fine job.

What am I trying to say here?

I guess that I'm having some boundary issues. Mainly with B--Soph's across the street play friend.

If you've ever come over to my house, chances are you've met B. She's cute as a bug; red THICK curly hair, button nose, grin to melt your heart. The thing is, I'm beginning to think I should be able to add her as a dependent to my taxes this year.

When I buy snacks at the store--I get enough for Soph and B. When we pick up a new coloring book or similar, I automatically grab an extra so that Soph and B won't fight over it.

Do I mind?

Sometimes. See, Bianca's poor mom has 4 other kids. Twin baby boys, a 1st grader and a 3rd grader. Plus, her newish husband has a major life threatening liver disease. Oh. And a pit bull named Princess. All of the above, particularly Princess, have led me to encourage the girls to play at MY house. And I'm glad. It's not that I think B's parents are incapable of watching Soph, but they have quite a crowd over there. And that dog. Lord. I KNOW she's nice and that she knows Soph, but the horror stories you hear about the nice neighborhood pit bull who suddenly chewed off some poor kid's face are just too many.

Also, I feel for the girl. She is surrounded by brothers, her mom works full time, and her new step-dad is pretty much up to his ears. She loves it at my house. And I don't blame her. We have mini pizzas and princess movies up the yang.

I guess what I'm feeling now is a sense of responsibility for this little child, and it sometimes makes me grumpy. When Soph has another friend over, and B knocks on the door, I'd LIKE to say, "Sorry B--Soph has a friend over. Maybe you could come back later." But when I DO say that, her little face crumples and she cries and walks back across the street broken-hearted. So I end up saying, "Come on in. You three better get along or everyone is going home."

It's nice for Soph to have a friend so close by. And in the summer when I can send them outside to play, it won't be such a big deal. Sometimes it just feels like I've sprouted a second child.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
Overhearing her brag about me to her friends-- "MY mom is a teacher and she makes COOKIES!"

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Finding balance with your kid's friends