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?