Friday, December 17, 2004

Proof That we are Still Alive

Hello friends. I'll be back really, really soon, just as soon as I can set myself up a better workspace. If you could see me now in this obstacle course of an office...surrounded by piles of clutter...well, you'd understand my lack of posting recently.

Cheerio for now -- hope all is well with all of you.

P.S. Eli is working on his glazed-over runway model stare. What do you think?

Sunday, October 31, 2004

This is not my Beautiful House

Still moving stuff around, packing, unpacking, sorting, organizing.

Things are not fun right now.

Closing is final, though. House is sold. This is a good thing.

Also, hey! The Sox won the World Series.

Happy Halloween. My boys are going as soldiers. Should play really well in this Liberal Academia Enclave.

Sunday, October 24, 2004

One Down, Three to Go

I STILL believe.

Didn't turn the TV on until the middle of the 4th -- we were at Brian's and I was undergoing a Moving Stress Episode (MSE). (Yeah, that happy pseudo-Buddhist be-here-now all-is-well feeling that I wrote about here seems to have been washed down the storm drain during the recent torrential rains. I'm hoping it will drag its bedraggled wet ass back to me soon, because I could use some serenity right about now.) When I realized what time it was and how much I had missed, I cried. We drove down to my house with the AM radio coming in and out and in again until finally I got fed up with trying to hear the ESPN announcers through all the static and we shut it off.

Got settled back in front of the TV in time to see both the best of times (Papi! Papi! Papi!) and the worst of times (Papi!!!! What the FUCK????). Gutted it out through the 7th, 8th, and those last three beautiful outs of the top of the 9th.

More moving today, more moving tomorrow, hoping to be all done by Tuesday morning, because that's presumably the day I'm selling the house (we won't get into my Closing-Related Anxiety (CRA) in this post). We may be sleeping at Brian's house tonight if we can clear a big enough space to lie down in. Or maybe we'll sleep out on the lawn. Who knows. It's all in the hands of the universe and I will just breathe in and out and trust in the power of the Red Sox to both win the World Series and get me through this move. They're that good. Ohm.

Thursday, October 21, 2004


This is THE YEAR.

Red Sox/Kerry correlation? Maybe.

Not for the squeamish:

On Monday, Morgan and three assistants, working in a sterile back room at Fenway Park, applied a local anesthetic to Schilling's ankle....


I admit, I've been a bad fan lately. Not really paying attention during the regular season, not fully familiar with all the new players on the roster, but I'm no "fair weather fan." I've stuck with this team through thick and thin. I had to experience 1986 while living IN NEW YORK. I've done my time in the bleachers, at the bars*, on the beach with the radio, on the long car trips, searching the AM dial, trying to pick up the game from wherever I was. I just haven't been able to follow along much lately the past couple of years, what with all the, dare I say, MORE IMPORTANT things going on in my life.

Until now. It's a good thing I have time to pack up my house and move before the Series starts up.

*That's right, I have sacrificied PRECIOUS HOURS of my life sitting in bars nursing beers and yelling at the television set. It's what good fans do.

Wednesday, October 20, 2004

The Power of Prayer

Because the world revolves around me, I'm not watching the game on Fox tonight, due to an irrational superstition that by watching, I make the Sox lose.

But I am watching on line.

And Brian is watching from his house:

Sarah (8:07:51 PM): bases loaded bases loaded. oh please oh please hit a home run
Brian (8:09:04 PM): wow!
Sarah (8:09:15 PM): hah! they yanked him!
Sarah (8:09:18 PM): i can't believe it
Sarah (8:09:29 PM): brown must be BULLSHIT
Sarah (8:09:41 PM): i don't know this javier vazquez guy
Brian (8:09:57 PM): off season acquisition from the expos
Sarah (8:10:14 PM): what's his average?
Sarah (8:10:26 PM): 8.31
Brian (8:10:46 PM): home run!
Sarah (8:10:53 PM): oh my god! really?
Brian (8:10:59 PM): grand slam!
Sarah (8:11:02 PM): really?
Sarah (8:11:06 PM): you're not fucking iwth me?
Brian (8:11:08 PM): to the wall!
Sarah (8:11:11 PM): oh my GOD!!!!!!
Brian (8:11:13 PM): go Damon!
Sarah (8:11:15 PM): oh my GOD

Brian doesn't even really care about baseball (I know, I know). But he's promised to go back and start watching again if they start losing. Meanwhile I'm glued to my computer screen.


Tuesday, October 19, 2004

This Must be the Place

It seems like people are writing just for me lately, as in:

But right now I am just profoundly grateful for the way I feel, that I am returning to rightness, that everything has been laid out before me in this way that makes the utmost sense.


But what if this is it? What is this is my life - not the prologue, not the introduction, but the real thing?

and then again:

Late this afternoon, as we headed back, with the sun pouring in and the trees changing colors and The Band playing on the radio, I thought, “Man, is there any place else in the world I’d rather be right now?” and that answer was no. And then tonight, as we hit the Triborough Bridge with me behind the wheel and my friends laughing and singing and the whole skyline unfurled on our right, I thought it again, and the answer was still the same.

Things are flux-y. I can’t put things in my calendar, can’t figure out what’s happening from one day to the next, don’t know where I’ll be sleeping on, say, Monday night next week. There are hassles involved with selling a home: the homeowner's association fees to be brought up to date, the property taxes to account for. There is all the emotional work of letting this house go -- the first piece of real estate I ever bought, and quite possibly the last I ever will buy. This remnant of my failed marriage. This standing metaphor for loss -- financial and otherwise. My kids will spend their last night here on Friday (I think), in the room with the clouds I painted on the ceiling. And yes, I gripe about the suburbs, but I love my office with the lofted ceilings, and I love my garden tub, and I love that there are 2 ½ bathrooms, and I love all my storage space. There's the physical work of sorting and tossing and packing and hauling and lifting and moving and driving, all while juggling twins and the remnants of my business and the three older boys. I do hate the suburbs, and it will be great to be living with Brian, and I love love love love can't put enough loves down for how much I love that we will be living in TOWN. I’m tired of these people and their little Logans and Graysons, their candle parties, their golf carts.

But just when I was on the brink of having enough money to pay my bills and actually have a little left over (oh the possibilities I was weighing! Netflix? Gym membership? Pants? Health insurance?), I have lost my major client and my income has been slashed by two thirds. Now, even with the mortgage payments being taken off my plate, I'm back to where I started, right back here. This must be the place, because I seem to be here a lot. So I’m trying to take a look around and just BE here. Forget about the gym membership, forget about the dream house we’re going to build, forget about what’s coming up next. Because this right here must be the place. This half-packed-up house, this strange and beautiful love, this life of children and hardships, this scraping the bottom of the money barrel, this October, this night sky, this shame, this joy. This. This must be the place.

Hi yo I got plenty of time
Hi yo you got light in your eyes
And you're standing here beside me
I love the passing of time
Never for money
Always for love
Cover up + say goodnight . . . say goodnight

Sunday, October 17, 2004


Two straight days of being a single parent of five children and I feel, well, pretty much as you'd expect.

Holy crap, I love my kids, but I cannot imagine for the life of me keeping them home all day. No offense to all you homeschoolers out there, but I'd rather stick poison needles in my eyes than spend day in and day out with my children. I love them, and I love to take them to school.

Actually, the older kids are easy, it's having 3 kids under the age of 2 that really wears me down. Javi follows me around from room to room, my little shadow. I can't even check my email without him pulling on my leg or messing with the keyboard. Also he's in that exasperating early verbal stage where he wants VERY much to ask me for something and I have NO idea what he is trying to say. We have conversations like this:

Javi: "oma oma oma nailclippa oma oma"

Me: "nail clippers?"

Javi: "NO! Oma Oma oma."

Me: "Oma oma?"

Javi: "OMA! OMA!!!"

Me: "Javi, I'm sorry, but I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Javi: "Oma oma oma oma nailclippa oma oma"

Me: "Nail clippers? Do you want me to cut your nails?"

Javi: "NO!!!!! Go WAY!!!!!"

Me: "Okay, THAT I uderstand."

And the girls are rarely both content and occupied with something other than me for more than 10 minutes at a stretch. One of them is crying, or nursing, or needing to be held, pretty much all day long it seems. They're cute, though! It's why the're still alive.

We ran errands today, and driving the car was something of a break. There was napping, and mostly quietness. We dropped some stuff off at Goodwill and brought Brian a hamburger and a shake. He's working hard making his house into a functional home for 7 people. No easy feat, that, so we wanted to make sure he was fortified. It seems impossible that we will be closing in five days. I keep waiting for the army of helpful little elves* to show up and do it all for me as I sleep.

Every time I make the commute now, I think, not many more of these stupid trips. Soon we'll be in town, soon I'll be buying less gas, soon a trip to the grocery store will not be an ordeal, soon we can be out of this freak show of a neighborhood, soon Brian and I can load up the stroller on a nice cool evening and head up the street to La Dolce Vita for some creme brulee and espresso. Soon.

*Not necessarily emaciated, sexless, and naked except for the red caps. But definitely with the pointy ears.

Wednesday, October 13, 2004

Sandwiches, Cake, and Coffee

The post in which I don't bother to link anything, in spite of the numerous topical references.

Recently seen on a piece of paper taped to a car's rear window:

"Two Words: S*ck Me"

Sock Me? Sack Me? Sick Me? Ohhhh, SUCK Me. Way to be succinct, moron. Why the asterisk? Trying to be polite? Trying to get past the bumpersticker censors? Wha?? It's a head-shaker.

We saw Donnie Darko for my birthday, only we waited until the night after, because the night OF we were both just way too tired. But anyway, yes, finally saw it. Amazing what Jake Gyllenhall (I hope it's spelled right because I'm not looking any shit up tonight) can do by just lowering his chin and rolling his eyes up a little and smiling. So. Very. Creepy. But yeah, I liked the movie. And you know for two hours I was so absorbed in this thing, having so much fun, that I STOPPED THINKING ABOUT THE SHIT IN MY LIFE. And you know the minute those credits started rolling, that very instant they came on, it all came back into my head, my brain just filled right back up with all the noise, the endless chatter, the shit stream of stuff I worry over.

When did I turn into an anxiety-riddled nervous fucking wreck? Because I didn't used to be like this, I swear.

Reading Delmore Scwhartz's collection of stories, "In Dreams Begin Responsibilities." Birthday present from my dad. This is from "America! America!":

And the Baumanns also knew, although they were too wise to express the belief, that it was very important to have something to eat amid the talk, for people do not continue very long without the desire to eat; and in addition, the conversations, the jokes and the comments are improved, heightened, or excited by food and drink, by sandwiches, cake, and coffee; and the food one gets in another's household seems exceptionally appetizing.


I want to read the new Philip Roth. Has anyone read that yet?

Today Javi gave me such kisses, I'm telling you, they were hot, wet, sexy kisses. From my not-yet 2-year-old. I mean, he tilted his head, he put his hand on the back of my neck, this kid has it DOWN. And he kept wanting more. "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Totally scary.

Tuesday, October 12, 2004

Fringe Benefits

I had this friend from New Zealand named Carmel (pronounced CARmel, rather than carMEL), and one of the things I liked about her was she said "fringe" instead of bangs.

I got myself some fringe on Friday after years of hair stylists talking me out of it. What do they know?

Ten days till closing. I'm packing, cleaning, working, moving, thinking, worrying.

Friday, October 08, 2004

Gimme Gimme Gimme

It's my birthday.

This morning I taught Javi to say "Mama's pushing forty." I told this to my dad, which reminded him of his friends who taught their 2-year-old girl to say "up against the wall, motherfucker." I'm telling you, I come from very classy people.

So for my birthday, I would like some comments, please. Anything birthday-related. Perhaps the memory of a birthday party fiasco from years gone by? Or the best birthday present you ever got? Something along those lines. I hope you all have a great day.

I'm planning to eat lunch here, and then get my hair cut here, then come home and laze around the house eating bon bons, and then go out to dinner with my boyfriend here, and then come home and watch a movie in my house, which is my house for only the next two weeks or so, cross your fingers, before it sells to the lovely family from Colorado, (COME ON DOWN! YOU'RE THE NEXT CONTESTANT ON "TRY TO PAY THE MORTGAGE"!) at which point I sling my belongings over my shoulder and head on down the road a piece.

Please note additions to the blogroll at the right -- now no longer 100% female!

Have a piece of cake for me.

Wednesday, October 06, 2004

Put on a Happy Face

It's been a cosmically BAD DAY.

I lost two thirds of my income today. (silver lining: more time to pack!)

Oh, and my kid may have to be pulled out of his school and placed somewhere else because the bureaucrats are on to us. (silver lining: that school sucked anyway, and I was going to pull him out at the end of the year.)

I need to move in two weeks, and I have nowhere to go. (silver lining: no more mortgage payments.)

See! See how I keep my chin up!

Monday, October 04, 2004

Learning to Fly

Jack is finally learning how to ride a bike (this is the problem with having 5 kids, the basics sometimes get lost in the shuffle. I was swimming and riding bikes by the time I was his age, but he can do neither).

He doesn't quite have it down yet, but it won't be long. Do you remember your first bike? Who taught you to ride?

Saturday, October 02, 2004

Penny For Your Thoughts

Today is Penny’s birthday.

I always think of Penny on her birthday, and wonder if she thinks of me on mine. We were born 359 days apart, but Penny skipped 1st grade or something, because she was a genius, so we ended up in the same freshman class in high school. That is when I met her. We had English together, and we were friends then, although not yet best friends. We had fun ridiculing our teacher, who had this maddening habit of clasping and unclasping the clasps on his briefcase, which he would slide toward him and away from him, back and forth, toward and away, on the table, during the entire length of the class. Clasp, unclasp, slide, slide, clasp, unclasp, slide, slide. You get the picture. Add to that the fact that he was kind of pompous and silly, and having a love affair with an even sillier teacher, a DANCE teacher, in the same school, and we really could not take him seriously.

I had a best friend that year, Ana. She was half Brazilian and absolutely radiant, smart, funny, and wise. I’m not even sure she was human, she seemed more like a sprite. She was irresistible. Ana drifted away from me after she fell in love with an Italian boy and began having sex on a regular basis. She outgrew me. I was only just barely getting my period, which arrived halfway through my freshman year only to slither away for several more months, leaving me with a box of tampons and not much else. I didn’t have a boyfriend, although I wanted one desperately. I still had the body of a 12-year-old. I had one brief, odd kiss at the very end of that year, with a man on a bus on our way back from a march in New York to protest nuclear proliferation. He kinda sorta stuck his tongue in my mouth, and then he lightly stroked my face for the rest of the bus ride (he was sensitive that way), and then the ride was over and he disappeared. It was that kind of year.

It wasn’t until our junior year that Penny and I really began to spend time together, and once we did we quickly became inseparable. Penny was like my long lost twin. We had the same sense of humor, the same love for language, the same taste in music (that year it was lots of Talking Heads). We even looked a little alike – we had similar hair types, similar bodies, similar tastes in clothes. We were both still waiting to fall in love, and even more, to be fallen in love with. While we waited, we had each other, and Penny’s Saab, a major enhancement. There were other friends, too; hers, mine, and ours. Together we studied for placement tests, applied for colleges, got drunk, wrote papers, fretted over boys, listened to music, wrote endless stream-of-consciousness notes to each other, drove around the countryside, and talked, and talked and talked. We were capital B, capital F, Best Friends.

Penny wasn’t my first Best Friend, she was actually my fifth (after Elizabeth, Brenda, Laura, and Ana). But she was the best Best Friend I ever had, and she was the last. We saw each other quite a bit during the summer after graduation, even though she was up in Vermont and I was living down in Massachusetts. In the fall, she started college at Brown and I went to spend a year in Cleveland, working in the theater. Penny wrote me lots of letters and even flew out to visit me which, in my isolation and confusion out there (my year in Cleveland alone deserves its own blog) was a huge gesture. The following year I went to school in New York. I would visit Penny on the weekends, stay with her and her roommates, go out to shows, but it wasn’t the same. We kept in touch, mostly writing letters (this was before email, kiddos). Slowly, painfully, we drifted apart, until our visits felt more cordial than anything else. She moved around (Connecticut, Texas, Alaska), I moved around (Japan, Boston, Madison). We were still in close enough touch that she came to my wedding in Wisconsin. In fact, I think that may have been the last time I saw Penny. There have been a few letters (wedding announcement, birth announcement, from her), and two or three phone calls (initiated by me), but essentially the friendship is over.

I’ve had lots of friends over the years since I graduated from high school, but never a best friend, and I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever have one again. Moving all over the country hasn’t helped much, and having small children helps even less. Working from home is maybe the greatest factor in my isolation. Living in the suburbs just puts the nail in the coffin. That much, at least, will be changing soon. I suppose as the babies get older they will be less tethered to me and I will have more opportunities to meet people. Still, I don’t expect ever again to have a best friend, and that makes me sad. I hear so many people say “my (husband/wife/significant other) is my best friend,” and I think that’s very sweet, but I don’t really buy it. Brian is my heart, I love him madly, he makes my life worth living, he, oh God, insert song lyric here. He’s that. But he’s not my best friend.

What is this post about? I’m not even really sure. Maybe you all could tell me how it’s working for you, the friendship thing. Do you have a “best” friend? Do you have a lot of friends? A few? None? Does your partner fill in the friendship gap for you? Is that a good thing?

We just got back from grocery shopping where I picked up a new, copper-y color for my toenails, courtesy of O.P.I. The name of the color? “Down to my last penny.” Happy Birthday, Penny A., wherever you are.

Thursday, September 30, 2004


I managed to listen for 20 minutes. I hate them both.

Tuesday, September 28, 2004

Reason #237 Why I Love Brian

He just brought me a drink involving ice cream, club soda, crushed ice, and Hennessy.

I am blessed.

Oh, by the way, I got an offer on the house. We may be moving in less than a month.

Free boozy ice cream sodas to anyone who wants to come and pack boxes with me. Anyone?

With a Garden Tub and a Working Fireplace

My house is now on the market for 20% less than what I paid for it, and people are tromping through here on a nearly daily basis poking through my medicine cabinet and laundry basket and porn collection. It's difficult in the best of circumstances letting total strangers into your home, but knowing that they are rubbing their hands together over a major bargain-basement price, which I am forced to offer because of my dire financial situation, the whole thing makes me resent the hell out of them, the mortgage company, the economy, George Bush, Milton Friedman, and God Himself. My house is now the cheapest four bedroom in the neighborhood, and it makes ME feel cheap by association. I'll be able to walk away from debt, which of course is good, but with absolutely no cash in hand, and certainly none of the investment I put into the place, most of which was inherited from my hard-working, frugal, conservative Yankee grandparents who carefully put that money aside from me so I could one day buy a house...and now look what's happened to their dream. Yep, I messed that one up but good.

And now with the vultures circling around my cheap little 4 BR 2 ½ BA it's only a matter of time before an offer comes in and we're out on the sidewalk. And this is just HOUSING stress I'm talking about here. We haven't gone into work stress, parenting stress, family-of-origin stress, all of which is considerable at the moment. I'm sure it will all work out, one way or another, but the next few months to a year is going to be challenging AS IF MY LIFE HAS NOT BEEN CHALLENGING ENOUGH.

Sunday, September 26, 2004

Be Still My Heart

I have the cutest boyfriend. And the cutest babies. Ever. So there. Looky here.

Saturday, September 25, 2004

We Aim To Please

Searchers today looking for "how big are albatross" (We're #2 on Ask Jeeves!) and "sex unusual places" have stopped by the Big City, so we thought we'd help out a little.

First, the albatross. A female might weigh around 132 pounds, which is bigger than me. Males are even larger. Wingspans can exceed 11 feet. ALBATROSS ARE VERY BIG. Do not mess with them.

And a tip: next time, don't Ask Jeeves anything. Jeeves doesn't know shit. Ask Google, ask Yahoo, ask Dogpile. Let Jeeves stay in the kitchen polishing silver, like he is supposed to do. Later he can bring you a brandy as you sit by the fire in your smoking jacket, your trusty hunting dog at your feet, contemplating the enormous proportions of the Wandering Albatross.

Now, on to sex in unusual places. I'm afraid I haven't got much to share on this topic, as I've had sex in decidedly USUAL places. Honest. The closest I ever got was in my boyfriend's dad's corner office in an office building in Boston after hours. There were cleaning people just outside the door running a vacuum, and my boyfriend chickened out. The view was great, though. I've never done it on an airplane, or on a train, or in a public park, or while driving a car. I've never had sex in a tent. I've never had sex in a pool or on a beach. Not in a theater, not in a backseat. Not in a swing. Not in a public bathroom. Sorry.

We're off to our biweekly pozole extravaganza, and then to meet with an engineer to look over the new house, and then I'll be chaining myself to the computer for the rest of the weekend doing my work which never, ever, ever seems to end.

Fall is in the air. It wasn't a very hot summer, as summers go in Texas, but the cooler air is welcome. Things are changing in a good way. I'm keeping my chin up.

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

Stress Test

Yesterday afternoon was composed of a series of stressful events, all bundled into one neat and tidy package, that almost sent me over the edge. With careful unravelling it all (mostly) worked out in the end, but I'm telling you people, I need ONE FREAKING DAY that goes my way and I need it soon. Please.

Suffice it to say that the car DOES indeed work, my ex husband NO LONGER wants my head on a platter, and I DO still have a job.

Okay, then.

And I wonder that I have panic attacks? Pshaw. Just one attack, actually: I haven't had another one, so perhaps it was just a fluke.

Good things are happening, too. Brian brought home flowers and apples and challah for Rosh Hashana (I like to throw in a little Jewish tradition here and there just to keep the kids as confused as possible). My friend in Houston sent two GIGANTIC boxes of hand-me-downs for the girls, they are set until the age of 4. Javi is now on a full visitation schedule with his dad, and I actually get to have entire weekends with just the girls (funny how entire weekends without the boys used to make me cry, and now it's something to look forward to). Fall is in the air.

If you should hear a whistling sound followed by a thump and a little puff of dust rising up, however, plesae take a moment to pray for my soul.

Sunday, September 19, 2004


This is Roy.

This is Roy's Map.


Battle of the Bulge:

VE Day:

Did I tell you? Is it not the coolest?

Roy has melanoma, and he has decided to forgo the chemo/radiation in favor of letting the cancer take its course. It's in his lymph nodes already, so he doesn't have a whole lot of time left. I'm not sure if we'll see him again, but I sure hope so. He's a sweetheart. He and I talked about death and hospice and morphine as Brian and his mother loaded up the car. Roy is the first person I have ever met who seems completely at ease with the notion that he is going to die, and soon. Kind of remarkable.

Friday, September 17, 2004

Things to do in Austin When You're Dead

Things to do this weekend while not attending the ACL Fest or the Wilco/Calexico concert at Stubbs. Not that I’m upset or anything. Not that I’m missing an awesome line up of bands or anything. Not that I resent having five kids and not being able to just cruise the music scene or anything. Not at all. Oh my GOD, Wilco and Calexico at the same show. I’m fine, really:

1. Drink

It’s Friday night (well, okay, it’s 5:15 p.m.) and therefore it is TIME TO BREAK OUT THE WINE.

I don’t have much more to add to that, really.

2. Be nice to the in-laws

Brian’s mother is here visiting. She’s here to love up her grandbabies something fierce and then head on back to California until next month. It’s like heroin, she’s gotta have her fix. I completely understand; my children are irresistible.

3. Hug a Vet

Tomorrow we’re driving out to Kerrville to visit Brian’s great uncle Roy, who fought in World War II. This man was on the beach in France on D-Day, he was at the Battle of the Bulge, and he can tell you some stories. Amazing guy. Since Jack is a heavy duty World War II fan (seriously, my 6-year-old’s FAVORITE movie is Tora! Tora! Tora! and who doesn’t love a movie with three exclamation points?), I like bringing him over to see Roy. There aren’t many folks left who can tell you what it was like to slam into Gold Beach on June 6, 1944. There aren’t many who can give you a first person account of the Battle of the Bulge. Roy has a map, and I’m telling you people, it is the coolest map I have ever seen. It is both map and timeline, and it shows his progress through the war with his unit, starting at Gold Beach, and ending in…Belgium? I’ll have to get back to you on that. It’s a red line traced on a map of Europe, with dates and events pointed out along the way. It is a COOL MAP. I’m looking forward to seeing it again.

I never got to meet my grandfather, because he died when my mother was still a child. He’s really the only family member I can think of who fought in World War II. My father’s father was too old to fight in the war (my mother’s father was pushing it, really) and his children were all too young. I think that Roy may be the first person I’ve ever met, at least as an adult, who fought in the war.

4. Eat

Tonight: Hamburgers on the grill. Oranges stuffed with orange sherbet for dessert.
Tomorrow morning: Blueberry pancakes and bacon.
Tomorrow afternoon: Mamacita’s. It’s a restaurant. Without a webpage. You can probably imagine the menu, though.
Tomorrow night: Not sure. Taking suggestions.
Sunday morning: Krispy Kreme.

Monday, September 13, 2004


Allison cried herself to sleep in the "contraption" the other day...

Carrie kept playing, oblivious to her sister's teary plight:

But Allison was the perky one when we went out for brunch this weekend:

While Carrie dreamed in blue:

Sunday, September 12, 2004

Panic Button

I had my first ever panic attack last night. I used to describe an event that happened to me in Calcutta as a panic attack. It involved heat, dust, the overpowering smell of rot, crying children, begging lepers, crowded, narrow alley-ways full of vendors, screaming goats being dragged by ropes to their slaughter, the blood of said goats trickling down the pavement, and 21-year-old me having a full-fledged freak-out and high-tailing it back to the idling bus where I cried and hyperventilated and wished I weren’t in India anymore. I say I used to refer to that as a panic attack, but with the benefit of hindsight I now look upon it as a perfectly normal reaction. Last night, on the other hand, was a textbook panic attack.

It was not a great afternoon to begin with. We had driven by the new house. I said some things about being frustrated that nothing was happening, and that I was anxious about our future housing plans. Brian felt hurt, and there was an afternoon of strained silence followed by an evening of weepy talking-it-out. It ended well enough with us settling on building a replica of Wim Wenders’s place in L.A., or at the very least a decision for me to be less worried about the future and more involved in the process. I went to bed feeling better in general but maybe a bit more unmoored than usual. An hour later I woke up feeling hot and shaky. My heart was pounding in my chest, and my first thought was "I must be sick," followed immediately, and for no logical reason I could think of by, “I am going to die.” I This thought took hold of me by the throat and didn’t let go. I managed to get out of bed and go upstairs; I needed Brian. He followed me back down to the bedroom and held me, trying to calm me down. I couldn’t breathe. I felt suddenly cold. My heart was going thump, thump, thump, and then bangbangbangbangbang, and then thump, thump, thump again. All I could think of was my imminent death, and the fact that Brian would have to raise the girls on his own. I think I fell asleep for a little while, woke up feeling the same way all over again, and then fell asleep for good about an hour after the whole thing started. At 5 a.m. I woke to the sound of Allison whimpering in her crib upstairs and I went up to get her, feeling normal.

I’m surprised, more than anything. I’ve always had tendencies toward depression, that’s been an off-and-on struggle for me since I was a kid, really. But I’ve never had any kind of anxiety issue. In fact, I’ve always thought of myself as the opposite of anxious: I pride myself on my ability to remain calm in the midst of chaos. I think of myself as particularly even-keeled. I just hope it was a one-time event. Even more so, I hope to God that never happens to me in public. I can’t imagine what that must be like.

Friday, September 10, 2004

It's the Little Things

Being from Texas, Brian has this way of saying "lawyer" that simply makes my knees go weak. I'm a Yankee, and where I come from we say "loyer" all high and nasally, but he says "lahyer" and what can I say, I want to rip his clothes off every time.

We've been sick around here lately. Brian had something go horribly, terribly wrong in his back a few weeks ago. There were a few wonderful steroid-induced happy days, but then the steroids ran out, and THEN a virus struck us both, seeming to settle in our bones and joints and muscles, and unhappiness descended. I tried to get by on ibuprofen which didn't do diddly squat, so yesterday I broke down and took a V*codin, which was marvelous. Today I broke down and took another one, and spent four utterly miserable hours trying not to vomit while riding around in the car (you know I'm really sick when I'll relinquish the driver's seat -- that happens about twice a year). The nausea has now passed, thank God. I think I'd rather be in pain than on the verge of puking on someone's shoes.

Here's to a healthy weekend, everybody! And to getting caught up on work!

Monday, September 06, 2004

Pahk Yah Cah in Hahvahd Yahd

So I finally saw Mystic River tonight, and I have a few notes:

1. It sucked.

2. Word to Clint: It is bad enough that you made your actors sound like total fucking morons (Brian: "Is she supposed to be from Georgia or Boston?"), but you need to know, for future reference, that black people in Boston DO NOT DROP THEIR R'S. Laurence Fishburne just made me laugh out loud every fucking time he said "cah." Oy gevalt. Brian had to actually turn on the English subtitles so he could understand what everyone was saying.

3. "The neighborhood"? Was their some reason you people couldn't say "Chelsea"?

4. Loved the product placement. Especially the rations of Jello in the back room during the wake scene. Holy shit, they had enough Jello in that pantry to feed an army.

5. I have to say it again. It sucked.

Clumsy exposition. Weird shifts of character for the Dave guy. Creepy "you are the king, you can rule this town" sex scene at the end. Seriously bizarre telephone calls between Kevin Bacon and his estranged wife with the perfect lipstick whose entire face we ARE NOT ALLOWED TO SEE...what was up with that? And where was she calling from? A rainy phone booth? The garden of Eden?

I'm shaking my head here. I just spent two hours on that movie and I can't for the life of me figure out why it got so much good press. Have I gotten too picky?

Anyway it all still managed to make me really fucking homesick and maudlin.

Friday, September 03, 2004

Inappropriate Thoughts Du Jour

Clinton hospitalized.

Maybe the dems can spin this in a good way? Heroic recovery? Sort of like when Reagan got shot?

Those Big Macs are really coming back to haunt him.

Musicians Unite for Sudan.

"We Are Sudan, We Rape and Pillage..." Pillage rhymes with village. I think I could come up with a song here!

Cary Tennis's advice colum today.

Incest is totally hot.

Monday, August 30, 2004

Huh? Do you???

Brian is at HIS HOUSE* not feeling well, something about a kidney stone and a ruptured disc, cry me a river. I'm at MY HOUSE with two screaming babies and a pile, a veritable pile

of work to do. The babies are upstairs screaming in their cribs and do I feel bad about this? Why yes, yes I do. And am I drinking a glass of Merlot? Why yes, yes I am. And will I probably finish the freaking bottle? Yes, indeedy. DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT? HUH???

OH, hey, my mother finally decided to contact me after WEEKS of silence. WEEKS. She sent me a dvd of video she shot when she was here in June. Looks like it was shot from some sort of hidden camera necklace, or something. It's really, really bad and dark and grainy. And bone-crushingly boring. Mostly it's my kids, wandering around, doing nothing very interesting. Occasionally, there is a shot of my knees. Or me in my bathrobe wandering through the room with a pile of towels. And the thing ends in the MIDDLE of someone's sentence. Photography and videography were just never my mother's thing. But hey, at least she's speaking to me again. Or something. Actually, after a week or two of fretting over her feelings, it's been incredibly nice, this silence. I like it when she doesn't speak to me. God, how sad is that?

I'm planning my grand trip to NYC in April or May of next year, when the twins are weaned. And I'm looking for suggestions. I feel the need to plan this thing out so that I don't miss anything. I would hate to come back to Austin after 5 days in New York and realize that all I did was sort of wander aimlessly around the Village (not unlike every weekend of my entire 4 years of college), occasionally stopping off for a cup of coffee or browsing in some overpriced boutique full of shit I didn't want. That would be TRAGIC, people. So, on my list of things to do I have:

lunch with Jodi

go to the MOMA

see a movie at one of the revival houses downtown

ABC home


maybe visit ground zero (I know, tacky touristy thing to do but I feel a need)

and now I'm coming up blank.

Ideas, people! And not of the Empire State/Lady Liberty variety, I'm a New Yorker, I've been there done that. Where should I eat? Where should I drink? What do I want to see? Because I don't have a clue.

God I miss New York, I miss Boston, I miss the East Coast and the Atlantic ocean. I miss conifers, for god's sake. I miss wearing sweaters.

Shit, getting maudlin, must be the Merlot talking. Time to cut me off.

*Jesus God I'll be happy, so fucking happy, when I don't have to say HIS house and MY house any more. I mean Christ, we're together, we have 5 kids, could we not inhabit a single house together? All at once? On a daily basis? Seriously?

Sunday, August 29, 2004


I know it looks like he's hitting the hard stuff, but I swear that's just ice in that cup.

Wednesday, August 25, 2004

Saucy Bitch

I always hated Blair.

Sunday, August 22, 2004

Bloggy Slumber Party

It's my blogiversary today...if I could, I'd have a great big cake and some ice cream, and invite Jody (the very first blog I ever read), Jodi (humorous and personal without being TOO personal, if you know what I mean. I like Jodi because she works hard on every post, makes you laugh, and gives you just enough about herself while still remaining private, not an easy balance), rosebaby (is there a cuter dog? Or a cuter couple? rosebaby is an artist, and I love the sketches and photographs she shares. It's also fun to read about people in love, as she is with the next person, Brian (who posted a little poem in my comments section one day, and earned my instant affection. I then quickly figured out that his long-distance romance was with the lovely rosebaby. This was just before he took a giant leap of faith and went to join her in Seattle. Love), Meg (Meg is smart, knows a lot about design, she's friendly and helpful and visits my blog. I like Meg), Sarah B (Sarah B is too famous to notice me, but I notice her. She's a good writer, and I count her among the bloggers who inspire me to think carefully about a post, to write creatively. Plus, she has great taste in music), Peggy (I love Peggy's pictures of the horses, her passion for politics, her never-ending crush on the Beatles), Yvonne (Yvonne really scared the shit out of me the first time I read her blog. It was so...raw. But then she kind of grew on me. I like reading Yvonne's blog because she holds nothing back. It's the other end of the spectrum), Melly (Melly's a single mother living in Texas with one of the cutest kids ever), c (this was one of the first blogs I ever read that was devoted entirely to humorous content. I think c monks is hysterical), Heather (she's the dooce, what else is there to say), Mimi (she's funny and she gives good link), and my hero, Mrs. Kennedy (Mrs. Kennedy is my ego ideal. She rocks my blogworld). We'd play pin the tail on the donkey, whack the shit out of a pinata, and stay up all night in our pj's watching scary movies on TV. In the morning, Brian would make us pancakes and then all the moms would come and take the bloggers back home.

Seriously, though, all of the above blogs have helped or inspired me in some way over the last couple of years. It's the only creative outlet I have these days, and I don't give it nearly the time and attention I would like, but it's something. So thanks to all of the above. I hope you stop by and have a bite of cake! It's on me. Or, it's on the table, but I'm paying for it. Well, then again, if you'd like me to put it on me, that could be fun...

Friday, August 20, 2004

Baby Love

Just delightful.

sunset and sliver moon

sunset and sliver moon

flickr is great fun.

I should be working but it's been one of those days/nights/weeks. Now it's after midnight and I guess I'm heading for bed. My back is killing me, my head is throbbing...might as well call it a night.

Thursday, August 19, 2004

Carrie and Allison

Carrie and Allison
Originally uploaded by orchid8.
testing flickr

Wednesday, August 18, 2004

Commenting on Commenting

I liked the fact that Blogger offered built-in commenting software with their newly designed interface, but I hated the software itself. The whole notion that you had be registered to have a name, otherwise you were "anonymous" really bugged the shit out of me. That and the fact that it was slow. I thought I'd stick with it for a while to see if it got better, but it never got better, so now I'm back using enetation. Please leave a comment and help me test it out! And by "leave a comment" I mean "tell me your all time favorite meal."


I am SO TOTALLY Gandhi.

Tuesday, August 17, 2004

First Grade

Jack starts First Grade today, but I'm not there to take him to school and see him through the doors. I wasn't there last year, either. Don't worry, this isn't going to be some maudlin post about how many of the precious moments I am missing in my childrens' lives because of the divorce. I was the one who initiated the divorce, after all. And although divorce is difficult and complicated and sad, and I worry every day on some level if I did the right thing and if my boys will somehow be damaged, I would do it all over again in a heart beat. That was not the life I wanted to be living. Maybe it was stupid to stay in it so long, have so many children, then bail. Or maybe it was selfish of me to get out, maybe I should have stayed in it "for the sake of the children" as so many are fond of saying. There is an endless amount of second-guessing a person can do post-divorce (and pre-divorce, and mid-divorce), and trust me, I do my share. But I'm not so much into regretting. I'm much more into learning and moving on.

I'm glad that my ex insisted on 50/50 custody. I think it's important that our boys know that they are no more or less important to either of us. When my parents were divorced, I spent weekdays with my mother (homework, bag lunches, dentist appointments) and weekends with my father (movies, eating out, trips to the beach, sleeping late). What was the message there? It was the 70s, and that was just how it was done, but clearly what I learned from that was that moms were there to make sure all the important stuff got done and you combed your hair, and dads were there to have fun with you and take you to the circus. Not a message I want passed on to my own children.


Jack started school today, without me. He'll be fine, and I'll try to be fine. Last year was definitely harder -- Kindergarten is such a milestone, and I cried about it. I'm not crying today. But I wish I could have been there, helped him get dressed, made sure he was clean and presentable, and watched him as he walked, all brown legs and giant red backpack, through the big heavy doors and into school.

Monday, August 09, 2004

Not in any Particular Order

Fay Wray was totally hot.

I took a nap and had a dream about clenching my teeth. I woke up feeling tense.

I need about $2000 more a month to pay all of my bills and actually have money left over for things like medical insurance and, oh, I don't know, electric bills.

The electric company called. Apparently I owe them money.

I have more work than I can handle.

I have more children than I can handle.

Frito pie is awesome.

Having sex in unusual places is fun, but can leave you with bruised vertebrae.

Bruised vertebrae can be a nice reminder of having sex in unusual places.

6-year-olds NEVER FUCKING SHUT UP. I can't wait for school to start up again.

Friday, August 06, 2004


So it turns out that taking pictures of food can be sort of tricky business...but here it is:

Brian brought home Liz Phair's Juvenilia, and God but doesn't it bring me right back. I'm feeling old tonight.

Drinking iced scotch and soda
I proclaim the ocean like a Coppertone baby
Wait and see
You don't know who I am
Fig or tree
Lex or Superman


I have no idea what we're having for dinner, no way of going shopping as Brian has the car, but I don't care because there is a blueberry crisp in the oven RIGHT NOW. It will be ready at 4:48. I think it's blueberry* crisp** for dinner, forget the vegetables, the starch, the protein. Forget all that.

Additionally, it's FRIDAY. Which means that although I am still behind on my work, I will not be any MORE behind on my work for the next 2 days, and I may even get just a little bit more caught up. I told myself no alcohol until I was completely caught up but I think I might have lied to myself because I sense a gin and tonic in my future. I'm psychic that way.

*This used to be mixed berry crisp until Brian came on the scene and informed me that he does not like his berries mixed. Weirdo.

**Truly the most unappealing picture of a mixed berry crisp POSSIBLE. Mine looks better. I'll show you later.

Monday, August 02, 2004

Or not...

Sigh. Why can't they ever just SLEEP?


It's time to get the other port-a-crib from the ranch and set it up in the bedroom, they're really too big to be sleeping together, one inevitably wakes the other one up at 4 in the morning. But still, how cute is this?

That's Allison on the left.

Okay, girls are sleeping, that means it's time for me to work.

Sunday, August 01, 2004

Brain Tumors Suck

It's Polly's birthday today. She was born on the first of August, my dad on the first of December, so she chose the first of March as a wedding day to keep everything consistent. I was a little bit surprised that she didn't hold out until the first of June to die, since she was so close, but it was May 30, 2001.

I'm not going to write a Happy Birthday letter to a dead person, because I don't really think she's reading my blog from on high. I miss her. It sucks that she's gone. I wish she could have stuck around longer, met the rest of her grandkids, seen me (finally) in a good relationship, seen A. (finally) in a good relationship. I miss her mostly at birthdays and holidays -- no one did those better than she did, she was perfect in a Martha Stewart kind of way, which sounds frightening but was actually really great. It's comforting to have someone so reliable in your family making such good food, giving such good gifts, keeping such a beautiful house. I miss her sneaky little smile, the way her skin looked like gold, the way she filed her nails out to a rounded point. I miss the peach fuzz on her cheek, the way she moved around the kitchen. I miss her letters, always full of information about what was going on outside her studio window -- the animals, the snow, the trees. I always felt perfectly safe and happy in her house, cocooned in her warm embrace, and now it and she are gone from me forever.

My dad gets back from the Vineyard today, and he and his girlfriend are making preparations for her to move in with him. People, it is true, get on with their lives. And my dad has never been fond of being alone. I'm happy for him, and she seems nice, and that's all fine with me.

But brain tumors suck.

Friday, July 30, 2004

One, Two, Three

1. Bloggity Goodness

Every once in a while I’ll stumble across a blog that is so funny, so real, so well-written, so…much better than mine that I hide my bloggy head in shame. I also post a link to it, because, well, you should be reading it too. Please note the addition of Chez Miscarriage to the blogroll on the right.

2. The Nanny

So, we have this nanny. And it’s weird because, in my book, only upper-middle-class white women in the suburbs have nannys, which brings me to the disturbing realization that I am an upper-middle-class white woman in the suburbs. Well, sort of. But you know, I never thought I was the nanny TYPE. And by that I guess I mean I didn’t realize I was a grownup already, but apparently I am, and apparently I have a lot of kids, and apparently it is too much for me to handle on my own, the kids and the job and the house, because LO AND BEHOLD! The laundry is suddenly getting done and the kitchen counters are clean and the beds are made on a regular basis! Praise Jesus! And furthermore she is very attractive with a nice, luscious figure which allows a certain person I know (well okay, maybe both of us) to engage in all sorts of happy little threesome fantasies to which I say…


But a boy can dream. And yeah, fine, he’s not the only one. Of course when I dream about sex, as I did last night, it was sex with Brian. And only Brian. Apparently I can’t even cheat in my sleep.

3. D

The Big D is back. Seven or so years ago the depression from which I suffered for 10 years magically, mysteriously evaporated in a cloud of pregnancy hormones, never to be heard from again. There were a few little hiccups of sadness and grief, and even the occasional Very Black Day, but none of the soul-sucking, pit-of-darkness, lie-on-the-couch-all-day, wish-you-were-dead depression that used to overcome me. Until recently. I don’t know if it’s having kids that for me kept it mainly at bay, or if it’s the hormones involved in pregnancy and nursing, or what. All I know is, it was gone, and I was glad it was gone, and now it’s back, but not all the time. I can be moving along just fine with my day and then suddenly everything takes a turn for the worse, the gaping black hole of doom opens up before me, and I want only to cease to exist. I’m not even sure what’s happening here, if it’s creeping back, or just making a little cameo, if I’m going to need drugs or just to take more walks in the sunshine. So far it’s manageable, and I’m hoping it will crawl back into its fucking cave and leave me alone so I can get on with this business of living. We’ll see.

Thursday, July 29, 2004

Fresh Air

I don't get political here too often, but the rhetoric of the speechifiers at the DNC including the mother at the kitchen table, the kid who just wants to go to college, the skinny boy with the big American Dream, and, yes, the captain of the boat who risks all to save his fellow soldier (in the middle of a corrupt and wrong-headed war! but we won't really mention that part), all of that crap seriously makes me want to yank my eardrums out with tweezers. I know y'all got all excited about Barack Osama, and maybe I had to be there, but to me it was just another small-town-boy-with-big-dreams America-is-a-land-of-promise speech, bore me to fucking tears, which is why I say...

Hello, Al Sharpton!

If I told you tonight, "Let's leave the FleetCenter, we're in danger," and when you get outside, you ask me, Reverend Al, "What is the danger?" and I say, "It don't matter. We just needed some fresh air," I have misled you and we were misled.

Sure, there was that very cringe-worthy Tawana Brawley period. And yes, there's the Jewish Problem. But THANK GOD we have a speaker with a backbone at this thing who's willing to go on the attack against this corrupt and immoral administration that must be STOPPED, and not just spew a bunch of crap about Promise and Hope and Dreams.

Thanks, Al.

Wednesday, July 28, 2004


New camera alert! Here is Carrie's subtle hint that our dining experience to come might be less than tranquil:

She can't talk yet, but she can still flip us the bird.

We went to the Shady Grove last night for our usual fix of chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes (extra gravy), and a couple of Shady Thangs (vodka, pisco, lime, margarita mix, frozen, yummmm) which last night left me feeling very flushed...I seem to be developing an allergy to alcohol of all things. The girls were even more high strung than usual and insisted on being held and walked around through the entire meal so it was not the relaxing night out we had hoped for. But still, a shady time was had by all.

The boys have gone down to The Valley (Rio Grande, that is) for the entire week. This is the first time they've taken any sort of trip without me and I'm trying my best not to miss them. It's mostly working.

And yes, I've promised pictures of the new house -- which may end up being torn down for a new new house, or may be remodeled, we don't know yet. I'll probably take some pictures this weekend. Meanwhile, I've got this house for sale, so if you know anyone who wants to buy a 4 bedroom in suburban Austin well, let me know already. They can have it for a steal.

Friday, July 23, 2004


Meg over at Mandarin Design Daily posted a link to typogenerator. Fun! You give it letters, symbols, numbers, whatever, and it spits back an image for you:

Sometime, hopefully in the not too distant future, I will actually learn more about building web pages and start having some fun with this one in terms of design and other ideas...I have so MANY ideas, but no time to really learn. For now I'll stick with the template blogger gives me. It's enough of a job to try to come up with words every few days...making it pretty to look at will just have to wait.

In the meantime, though, I'm picking up ideas by reading Mandarin, and I know when I finally get around to designing, Meg's tips will come in very handy...thanks Meg!

In other news, Javi is now putting sentences together, his favorites being, "I want it!" and "I'm MAD." Say a word, and he'll spit it right back at you, whether or not he knows what you're saying. Say, "preamble" and he'll look right at you and give you his best "preamble" on the spot. That's my boy. I think maybe he's cuter right now than he has ever been in his life. This could be his peak.

In other OTHER news...Brian bought a house! There will be pictures soon.

Thursday, July 22, 2004


I'm in a strange house (and how many of my dreams have this as a central theme? It's either strange house, or strange trip). It is some kind of gathering, seemingly of just women and children. Brittney Spears and Jessica Simpson are there, and they are best of buds. I'm walking around and around this house, not really getting anywhere, not really talking to anyone. At one point I have the twins, and then sometime later I don't. I think to myself, off-handedly, "I wonder where the twins are?" But I'm not too concerned. Someone has them. They're probably fine. I keep wandering. I have to go to the bathroom so I find the door, swing it open...

And there is Allison, hanging suspended from the ceiling, the rope is around her neck. another rope is somehow extending from the wall to her wrist. She looks shiny and plastic, like a doll. I glance at the bathtub and see Carrie,underwater and motionless, and a strange yellow color. I am panicking, trying to get Allison free from the rope, wanting also to grab Carrie from the water, I can't do it all, can't save them both, they might both be dead already, and I'm calling for Brian, calling for help, but it's a party out there and no one hears me. And then I wake up.

Monday, July 19, 2004

that blur you see out the window is my life going by

I set the alarm for 4 or 4:30 or 5, thinking I can get up early and maybe catch up on some work, but of course the alarm wakes up the girls and then I'm nursing, and then it's 5:30 and I'm heading for the study and blinking at my computer. I work for a bit but it's not enough to catch up, and then my boys wake up one by one, and the babies too, and it's diapers and breakfast and changes of clothes and get your shoes on and get out the door and strap into your seats and haul ass to day care by 9:30. God fucking forbid we should be later than 9:30 because that's the cut off time and they can actually refuse to take my kids for the day if I'm late. An option I can't afford. So rush to day care, then take Jack to camp, then drive all over town to this doctor's office and the next, picking up tapes, dropping off documents, hoping none of them asks me why I'm one, two, three days behind. Maybe the girls are screaming in the car, or maybe they're at home, screaming (like they are right now as I write this post, carving out my 10 minutes today of writing, letting them scream). Maybe I hear them in the background when Brian calls me up to ask if I'm going to the store, we need diapers, we need half and half. Get back home and it's 10:30, 11:00 and I'm nursing and drinking coffee and worried already (still) about how late it is and how much there is to do. There are bills to be paid and the mortgage company to deal with and a house that's not selling and kids who need checkups and the poor wormy cats who have been forced to stay outside while the await their trip to the vet which is constantly being pushed back, pushed back, not today, I don't have time. And the thank you cards and the laundry and the vacuuming and my God the grocery shopping, the email to be answered. Sometimes there's an afternoon when the girls are both asleep for more than 30 minutes at once, and I work and work while they sleep and sleep, desperately trying to catch up, desperately trying to do a full-time job in the stolen moments of my blurry day and then it's late afternoon and I'm out the door again, picking up the boys, trying to figure out dinner in my head, driving home, refereeing fights in the back seat, my eyelids heavy, shoulders tight. Home at 6:30, feed everyone, nurse the babies, play with the kids, put them to bed, more nursing until before I know it it's after 10 p.m. and I'm looking at one, two, three, four days behind on my work. Maybe, if I'm lucky, the girls are both asleep and I try to carve some working time out of the night, I say to myself "tonight I'll stay up until 1:30 working," but then it's 11:45 and I'm crashing, and then someone wakes up to nurse and I'm taking off my clothes and falling into bed, setting the alarm, thinking...maybe I can do just 5 hours...maybe even 4...and then it's 2 in the morning and I'm nursing someone or other and all I can think is hurry up, hurry up, let me put you back down, let me go back to sleep, more sleep, precious sleep...and then at 4:30 the alarm goes off.

Sunday, July 18, 2004


It's bad enough that I have to worry about my kids snorting heroin or having unprotected sex or voting Republican without having to consider the possibility that some day they may want to DANGLE FROM MEAT HOOKS
A young woman, her feet brushing the surface of the shallow water, dangled from the frame, hooks embedded firmly in her shoulders.

According to a Coast Guard video, she did not seem to mind the hooks.

Lt. Tom Brazil of the Coast Guard told the Key West Citizen newspaper that a young man, who also had hooks embedded in his heavily pierced and tattooed skin, assured him the group was "just enjoying the afternoon."

Those wacky alternative body modification kids.  Jesus.  What ever happened to the good old days of clitoris piercings and tongue splitting?
Oh the hits I'll get from Google now! 

Saturday, July 17, 2004

The Post In Which I Don't Mention My Mother

I'm just recovering from two days in bed with something which can best be described as "right-sided disease."  I had a headache behind my right eye, horrible right hip pain, right-sided sciatica, right foot pain, plus a sore throat and fever, nausea, and an overall feeling of crappiness.  I did manage on Friday morning to take all the boys to school, visit my doctors' offices, go to the post office, and deposit money at the bank, but i had to stop by the side of the road to vomit in the middle of all of that.  I think I slept more in the last 2 days than i've slept in weeks, and the sort of sad thing about it is that I don't even really feel rested.  I've still got the headache behind the eye, especially if I turn my head a certain way.
Oh well.
My brain is currently playing a loop of Any King's Shilling, the Elvis Costello song, I think in some sort of response to watching Cold Mountain the other night, a movie which royally pissed me off.  Maybe I'm too demanding of movies these days, or maybe most movies just really suck ass.  I don't know.  Jude Law is certainly nice to look at, as is Nicole Kidman, but that there just ain't enough.  And that's about all this movie had going for it.  Well that and some good music.  And you know I'm really tired of these fucking Brits/Aussies/Kiwis/South Africans coming over here and playing Americans.  Don't we have enough talent in Hollywood for Christ's sake?  With actual AMERICAN ACCENTS?  But anyway, for a good old Odysseus-style epic tale retold in the modern world of the American South I would more heartily recommend O Brother, Where Art Thou? Which also has some pretty fine music not to mention a whole lot more to offer in terms of visuals and dialogue.   The Coen brothers would just crush Anthony Minghella* in a Celebrity Death Match any day of the week with all four hands tied behind their backs. 
(deleted paragraph about my mother)
So anyway, where was I?  Oh yes, sick, watching movies, not thinking about my mother.  In the middle of posting this it was discovered the Allison has a temperature of 100.5 (and a piercing pain behind her right eyeball, no doubt), so she's been given a hefty dose of Tylenol. 
(not) Speaking of my mother, she just sent us (or rather, the boys, but I rather think it will be better appreciated by the adults) this book, which is incredible.   Just look at these  for a taste.  I'm bringing the book to pozole for show-and-tell.  Which is where we're headed now, so it's off to the shower for me.  I hope your weekends are free of illness and full of good food.
*although I admit to having really liked The Talented Mr. Ripley and to never having seen The English Patient because I read the book and thought the book was amazing and didn't want it ruined by the movie.  And I think that was probably a good call.  And, okay, I saw Truly Madly Deeply and thought it was charming.  But I still say the Coen brothers would kick his ass.  And I guess they would have to resort to ass kicking what with their hands all tied up.

Tuesday, July 13, 2004


Javi's new word is albatross.

We lost our nanny, who was perfect, to her dream job at an ad agency (I know, blech, but she's young). There's another potential nanny lined up, though, so I haven't completely panicked. But I'm close.

The girls are crying, and if they're not crying they're nursing, and occasionally they are napping, but not at the same time. I'm not getting anything resembling sleep, let alone work done. It was supposed to be getting easier but instead it feels like things are slipping into the harder and harder zone. Last night I walked my fingers one step up, two steps back, one step up, two steps back, on the surface of my leg to show Brian pretty much how I'm feeling these days. It all just makes me want to hide under a mound of blankets.

And he says, think of all the good things you have going in your life, and of course he's right, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to punch him. Well, not really punch him. But you know.

I had to write a letter telling my mother, AGAIN, that she is not welcome to move herself to Texas and be a full-time part of my life, and it sucked writing that letter. Again.

I don't just feel like shit, I feel like the shit on the bottom of your shoe, and I'm tired of feeling this way, tired of my own skin and bones and the sight of myself in the mirror, tired, tired, tired.

Thursday, July 08, 2004


I realize that this amazing thing happened to me over four months ago and I now have twin babies, and with that comes a lot of interesting material to write about, but for some reason the whole experience of having twins has not really made it onto this blog, and I can't exactly explain it. Partly I just don't think I can do it justice, and partly of course I am really fucking tired. But surely I can manage to plunk down a few words about Life With Twins before it’s all lost to my notoriously poor memory storage banks.

There are a few things worth mentioning:

1) Instant Celebrity Status. If you have two babies with you at the same time, you are so much more noticed than if you have merely one. You are the rock star of your local Costco. People will cross the street to come see your babies, they will stop serving food to the other customers, they will ooh and aah and coo and caw at your babies, and they will point them out to all the other people around them. “Look! Twins!” My girls are like J. Lo and Ben Affleck right now. Highly, highly desirable.

2) The Questions. What fascinates me most about the whole public twin spectacle is that everyone, EVERYONE, asks the same initial question. Everyone. And that question is…

Are they twins?

Now, bear in mind that these are identical 4-month-old baby twin girls, who are frequently dressed alike, and frequently seen with just me, or with me and Brian. And I ask you, is that not the stupidest question on the planet? And yet it is asked over and over again. There was the one woman who realized it was a stupid question and so tried to come up with another way of putting it, but the best she could manage was…

Are they attached?

There were so many potential smart-ass responses to this totally inane question (my favorite: "Yes, sadly, they are attached at the head. The surgery is scheduled for next year.") that I must admit I was completely struck dumb. The second-most common question would be…

Boy and girl?

Um, no. You see how they’re wearing identical pink dresses? That would be your cultural cue to realize that they are BOTH GIRLS you nimrod. Now get out of my face.

3) They’re Everywhere. Everyone is a twin. Of course, when you think about it, you realize that adult twins aren’t likely to be spending all day every day with their sibling, no matter how close a relationship they’ve got going on. Just like the rest of us, they have lives of their own, their own families, shopping to do (like at Costco for example). Maybe they see their twin sibling more often than some of us see our sisters and brothers, but they’re not walking around in matched sets with little “Twin” signs hanging around their necks, so you’re not aware of it. Until you have twins. Then, you can be sure, they let you know. “I’m a twin.” “My mother’s a twin.” “My sister just had twins.” “My third cousin once removed is a twin and so is her great aunt!” Twins are all around us. Twins are watching us. It's ALL TWINS ALL THE TIME!

That's all I have for now. There is BIG NEWS on the horizon but I'm not wanting to jinx it. Cross your fingers and toes, and I'll let you know next week.

Wednesday, July 07, 2004


Chickendog is gone, spooked by the fireworks, and I am beside myself with anxiety. Please think a good thought for poor chickendog today and hopefully she'll find her way back home.

It's my fault, which makes it even more excruciating.


Back. All in one piece. I received many dog kisses and delivered many belly rubs. She's a little gimpy and seems very tired.

Thursday, July 01, 2004

Where Was I?

Um, sorry.

It's the same old stuff, you know, work piling up and all that. Plus my mom came to visit and it takes all of my energy and creative resources to simply tolerate her presence in my house for 8 days -- there was none left over for writing. 8 days, actually, is a rather short trip by my mother's standards, and for that I was grateful.

Sometimes I look up from whatever it is that I'm doing and realize "I have 5 kids" and I wonder how that happened, but most days are just a blur of nursing and working and food preparation and driving. Everybody's still alive, though, and that's what really matters.

Have a great long weekend, for all of you who get one.

Sunday, June 20, 2004


I can't imagine a better father for my children. Thank you for everything you do, we are all so lucky to have you in our lives.

Saturday, June 19, 2004

Lessons in Sleep Deprivation

B: It smells like sex in here.

S: Maybe that's because this is the place we usually have sex.

B: Ages ago.

S: We had sex last night.

B: We did?

S: Oh my God, not again.

B: Really? Was I asleep?

S: Apparently.

B: Was it good?

Sunday, June 13, 2004

Words, Words, Words

Javi said "Brian" for the first time today. Or at least it was the first time I ever heard it.

He also says:


And really, what else matters?

Saturday, June 12, 2004

Whip it, Whip it Good

Stress level is at an all-time high, behind on my work, house a mess, children a constant demand, money tight, body falling apart...

But it's all going to be okay because I have this to put in my coffee:

It's the whipped cream in a can of the snobby foodie set. Mmmmm.

French required.

Friday, June 11, 2004

How Sweet It Is

Brian, inspired by C. Monks' Ronald Reagan Memorial Toaster, has created a tribute of his own. You can see it at utter wonder.

Happy Ronald Reagan Memorial Day, everyone!

The Horror!

If there's anything worse than hearing the endless blather about Ronald Reagan saving the world from the evil empire and his endless optimism and his fantastic one liners and his belief in the free market, it's hearing THE VOICE OF MARGARET THATCHER ON MY RADIO. Sweet Jesus, I thought these people had gone away, already. If we'd played "Dead or Not?" and her name had come up I might have said "dead." Sadly, I would have been wrong.

Quick! Get out the Ray Charles CD's. Now THAT is someone worth mourning.

Thursday, June 10, 2004

Two Heads are Better Than One

photo by Brian, as usual.

Wednesday, June 09, 2004

Wednesday Morning 3 A.M.

Isn't that a Simon and Garfunkel album?


Bedroom. Dark. A woman sleeping in the bed. A man enters the room.

B: There goes the 3:30 train.

S: ...

B: Did you hear me?

S: You said "there goes the 3:30 train."

B: You didn't move a muscle.

S: ...

B: The girls are sleeping upstairs. They tag teamed me all night.

S: You should have woken me up at midnight. I told you to wake me up if you couldn't get them to go down.

B: You were in here sleeping like a log. Your mouth was open, you were stiff as a board.

S: That's what I look like when I'm sleeping.

B: You were dead to the world.

S: Well I'm sorry you were up all night with them.

B: Be careful of the carpet at the bottom of the stairs, it's wet. Hamish shit in the house.

S: Did you scream and curse?

B: You heard me!

S: No, I can just imagine it. "Godamnit motherfucking asshole!"

B: You DID wake up!

S: I just know you really well.

B: Oh you do, do you? What am I thinking right now?

S: (Projecting) You're thinking shut up and go to sleep.

B: No, I'm thinking about sex.

S: Mmmf. (pause) That should be my standard answer. You're thinking about sex.

B: I watched this movie with Darryl Hannah and that actress we like.

S: ...

B: Holly Hunter?

S: We like Holly Hunter.

B: All movies should have Holly Hunter in them. Naked.

S: Mmmmf.

B: And that guy who has horses and runs that film festival.

S: Robert Redford. (pause). "Legal Eagles." Debra Winger.

B: Right! Debra Winger! I thought her accent sounded funny.

S: It's like...Deception Trivia.

B: (Laughs)

S: Try to guess the answer in spite of the fucked up question. I should win a prize.

Monday, June 07, 2004

Kill Me Now

I'm on hold with the mortgage company and it's the same 3 minute loop of upbeat saxy poppy jazz crap over and over and fucking over again. This is ME waiting to pay THEM money. They should pay me for having to listen to this shit. Why don't companies give you a Silence option? I would so totally opt for silence over this.

In other news, Javier's head is so big it is literally off the charts. The rest of him is 95-97th percentile. We are NOT moving as planned just yet due to...well...I'll spare you. But we're not. The girls are cooing and smiling and almost laughing -- Carrie makes this sort of gasping laughy sound if you nuzzle her on the neck or tickle her ribs.

Oh! They picked up after 15 minutes. Gotta go.

Friday, June 04, 2004

Reason #327 Why I Love Texas

Seriously. If I felt compelled to send my children to Vacation Bible School, I think it would have to be Lava Lava Island(TM), because I want to witness Jesus' love flowing like hot lava all over the little children...


Sunday, May 30, 2004

In Memoriam

We take it for granted, this life we live and all the people in it. We say we don't, or we won't, but it's human nature. At night when we go to bed we fully expect our worlds to be the same when we wake up, for all the people we hold dear to still inhabit it, for the person sleeping next to us to be there still, for the day to go on as planned, for life to go on. People die, though, and sometimes much too young. Three years ago at just about this time of day I sat in a hospital room with my hands on my stepmother -- I had staked out a piece of her left leg. My two stepsisters, stepbrother, father, and her sister all were there, each with his or her own piece of body, each holding on and letting go simultaneously. She had been just a few days in a coma, and this day her breathing was starting to rattle, her lungs filling with fluid. She died at precisely the instant that the sun set behind the tall buildings on Mission Hill. It was a beautiful sunset, and I give her full credit for it still.

Today we had the girls baptised, so now it's a day for remembering birth and death, coming out and going in, water and fire. I'm guilty much of the time of taking my life, my family, my incredible gifts for granted.

Kiss your people tonight before you go to bed and thank God or the universe or whomever you choose, but give thanks for them. Life is short, and precious.

Thursday, May 27, 2004

Brain Dead

Most people stumble on my site by accident after doing a search on "life in a big city" or "big city life," and are undoubtedly sorely disappointed. Nine times out of ten it is someone from Thailand or Singapore who doesn't really get the witty and sardonic* nature of my blog title. I always feel a little bad for those people. Which is why I was so pleased to welcome the "frizzy jewish hair" search last year, and today I welcome "lobotomy complaints and worries" -- you, my friend, have far more to worry about than I do.

Of course, those of you looking for a naked Sarah Kozer need to GET A FUCKING LIFE. She's not even that hot.



Lyrics are a cop-out, but I'm tired and overworked, and it WAS Bob's birthday and the war has me down. So. This generation needs a Bob Dylan but we don't have one.

I want to tell you stories, good stories, but it takes time to tell a story and I'm feeling awfully short on time. We're all just muddling through. Jack graduated kindergarden (cap and gown, the whole nine yards). Very cute. The girls are geting baptised (s or z?) on Sunday. His mom, my dad, his grandmothers will be in attendance, plus a motley crew of godparents. It's getting hot in Texas. We're moving soon. My sister has come and gone in a flurry of cigarettes, coffee and moving frenzy. She packed up the house for me and touched up the paint in places, showered the girls with love, talked non-stop. My sister the incessant talker. We are hoping, hoping, hoping, hoping against all hope that this place will sell. Anyone want a nice 3 bedroom in central Texas??? Call me. I'll make you a seriously sweet deal. We'll be living on the ranch full time in less than 2 weeks, with all the good and bad that that entails. I'm drowning in work and babies. And tired. Did I mention that? Is this a whiny blog? My apologies.

Monday, May 24, 2004

You Never Ask Questions When God's On Your Side

Bob is 63 today. He wrote With God On Our Side 41 years ago. Scary.

Oh my name it is nothin'
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I's taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side.

Oh the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalries charged
The Indians fell
The cavalries charged
The Indians died
Oh the country was young
With God on its side.

Oh the Spanish-American
War had its day
And the Civil War too
Was soon laid away
And the names of the heroes
I's made to memorize
With guns in their hands
And God on their side.

Oh the First World War, boys
It closed out its fate
The reason for fighting
I never got straight
But I learned to accept it
Accept it with pride
For you don't count the dead
When God's on your side.

When the Second World War
Came to an end
We forgave the Germans
And we were friends
Though they murdered six million
In the ovens they fried
The Germans now too
Have God on their side.

I've learned to hate Russians
All through my whole life
If another war starts
It's them we must fight
To hate them and fear them
To run and to hide
And accept it all bravely
With God on my side.

But now we got weapons
Of the chemical dust
If fire them we're forced to
Then fire them we must
One push of the button
And a shot the world wide
And you never ask questions
When God's on your side.

In a many dark hour
I've been thinkin' about this
That Jesus Christ
Was betrayed by a kiss
But I can't think for you
You'll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side.

So now as I'm leavin'
I'm weary as Hell
The confusion I'm feelin'
Ain't no tongue can tell
The words fill my head
And fall to the floor
If God's on our side
He'll stop the next war.

Happy Birthday, Bob.

Tuesday, May 18, 2004


10 lb 11 oz each. Lots of shots, poor things. They took it pretty well but now they're very cranky...

Happy Happy Joy Joy

I'm tired and stressed and don't feel much like writing.

Photo by Brian

It's not always this bad but I couldn't resist sharing.

Poor girls have their shots today.

Wednesday, May 12, 2004

At a Loss

It's like the elephant in the middle of the room, this horror show in Iraq. On the one hand, I don't want to write about it at all, because so many others do it so much better, and this has never been a highly political blog. I don't have enough time to devote to news and research and even careful thought about it all, and without that it seems pointless to write about it publicly. On the other hand, it seems impossible to dance around it, especially now with the horrific images of torture at Abu Graib and the gruesome death of Nick Berg, all of it playing out over the internet. I feel sick, and ashamed, and horrified, and most of all helpless.

Monday, May 10, 2004


Okay, so it's a Blogger template. So sue me. One of these days I'll learn how to do it myself and make my own design, but for now I'll be lazy and take what's given to me. I wanted a cleaner look anyway. We'll see about the commenting, though. So far I'm not impressed -- it's about time that Blogger added commenting as an option, but I'm not wild about the format.

Took down most of my sidebar. It was a good place to keep a record of the movies we watch, but I'm having trouble remembering to update it as it is. We did just watch House of Sand and Fog last night, and Lost in Translation a couple of weeks ago, and something else...what was it? Brian? We saw something else that was pretty good. House of Sand and Fog had some fantastic acting but was rather routinely made. It was too perfect a rendition of the book -- the filmmaker seemed to be saying "see? see how true I am to the original?" which is all very respectful but made for a less interesting movie. It artist's stamp. Or perhaps he just didn't have anything original to add. If the shot of Jennifer Connelly at the end of the pier while the camera whirls around and around and around her head is any indication, this guy really doesn't have much to offer the world of filmmaking. We have seen that shot before, buddy. And the speeded up film of fog rolling in and fog rolling out. And the silhouette of Jennifer Connelly in the doorway. And...and...

Lost in Translation on the other hand was brilliant and delightful. Although don't let anyone tell you that Sofia Coppolla "discovered" Bill Murray's talents as a non-comedic actor. Anyone who saw Rushmore (as she must have) already knew about it.

Sunday, May 09, 2004

But I Don't Look a Day over 19

This was my card from Eli. I think it entirely speaks for itself.

Mother's Day

As mothers (and grandmothers) go, she was pretty amazing. Three years ago on Mother’s Day, Polly collapsed in her kitchen. Less than three weeks after that she was dead from a brain tumor. I’m sad that she never had a chance to meet Javier and the girls, sad that she isn’t here to talk to today. I miss her. Here she is with Jack when he was just 10 days old or so; just look at how she loved him.

I’m thinking also of my grandmothers – Grandma Lil who let me live with her for a year when I was 18 and working in Cleveland on an internship. She suffered through my late nights and drunken escapades so gracefully. She had a beautiful, enormous house in Shaker Heights full of wonderful art and lots of books (she ran a publishing company which she inherited from her parents). I’m thinking also of my mother’s mother, Bampy, who I never really felt close to. She moved to Florida when I was young and I would visit once a year. She and my grandfather would always take us to Disney World. Bampy loved watching detective shows on TV and reading sweeping historical novels. She baked fabulous cookies at Christmastime and was always working on needlepoint until her hands gave out because of the arthritis. They had a cute little house with a lanai just outside of St. Petersburg. My grandfather had an orange grove in the back. Bampy made things like Chicken A La King using the Campbell’s Soup recipe.

Thinking of my own mother, too, and wishing there was some way to let her in closer without her stepping all over me. I feel sad keeping her at arm’s length, but it’s the only way I can make it all work. I called her today and wished her a happy Mother’s Day. You should call your mom, too.

Thursday, May 06, 2004


Okay, people, since I apparently have to spell it out for you, that post below, the one with the picture of my incredibly fucking cute twin baby girls, was YOUR CUE to comment with "what incredibly fucking cute twin baby girls you have!"

So get to it!

Wednesday, May 05, 2004

Miles of Smiles

This, incidentally, is what makes it all worth it.

Saturday, May 01, 2004

Too Much Partying

This morning we were out of half and half, and since I'd rather die than drink coffee without half and half I headed out in the chilly nasty rain (in jeans and a Blogger sweatshirt! Thanks Blogger for the free clothing! I'm so glad you suckered me into spending too much money on your now free services!) to buy some. Sac and Pac was OUT of the stuff so I had to drive to the local grocery store. It's a real grocery store, not a supermarket, on a Main Street, not in a strip mall. The floors are made of wood. You can see over the tops of the shelves. And they make breakfast tacos to order. I should shop there more often because just the floor alone made me feel good and human.

But I digress.

So the guy at the counter says "you look tired, darlin'" and I say "I am tired" and he says "too much partying?" and I wanted to leap over the counter and kiss him for thinking I looked like someone with a hangover instead of some old, haggard mother of five. After a few more sweethearts and darlin's I was out of there with my $3.00 worth of half and half (I guess that's why we shop at supermarkets, huh?) and a bounce in my step. Looking hungover is SO much better than looking haggard.

Tuesday, April 27, 2004

Slippery Slope

I've got major post-partum depression, work overload and creeping carpal tunnel syndrome, the latter of which means the more time I spend away from the keyboard the better. Had a long talk with my friend Maida about basically how much is too much -- in other words, what will it take for Sarah to snap? Hard to say, but I must be close to that line right about now. I'm not going to slit my wrists or drown my children in the bathtub, though. I'm tired of being tired. My brain isn't functioning properly. My thoughts are completely disordered. I feel totally unsure of the surest of things, like the ground beneath my feet might just give way at any moment. I feel like I'm inhabiting this body and using her mouth and arms and hands but I'm not really here, or I'm not really her, or some combination of that.

So, a poll, what's your least favorite word?

Tuesday, April 13, 2004

The Gas They Pass

When you hear your baby girl fart from the next room, well, that's cute. When you hear your twin baby girls FART IN UNISON, now, that is even cuter.

Back to work now.

Monday, April 12, 2004

Bunny Bondage

There are strange things happening in my house today involving stuffed bunnies and black electrical tape, not to mention my boyfriend's ass, but I think that's about all the detail I can go into here.

In other news, I spent Easter Sunday in the emergency department getting antibiotics (in the ass. it's all ass, all the time here in the Big City) for my raging sinus infection. My darling friend Maida sat with me while Brian drove around town with the screaming children in the car so as not to expose them to the horrific germs in the hospital. Afterwards we picked up some pot stickers and sesame beef and headed home, where I raided the boys' easter baskets that my cousin sent them. I figure I'm doing them a favor and saving their teeth. Besides, they spent the day with their Abuelita who no doubt loaded them up with sugar.

I am now officially without health insurance, so yesterday is going to turn out to be quite an expensive Easter. The antibiotics alone were $100, and the ER visit will be around $300. But still, it's good to be functioning again. Yesterday morning I was a complete and utter wreck.

Photo courtesy of Brian.

Saturday, April 10, 2004


And the New Plan is working.

Both girls have been sleeping well at night, Carrie Anne has TWICE slept for 8+ hours, Allison usually averages around 5 1/2 - 6 and then goes right back down after her 4-a.m.-or-so feeding.

Of course this would all be fabulous for me if I weren't incredibly sick (yes, AGAIN with the head cold/sinus infection thing from hell) and behind on my work (horribly, horribly, they're-going-to-fire-me behind).

The crashing disappointment of the past two weeks has been the realization that these girls do not travel well. At all. They HATE the car. Which is a problem for me, since I spend long portions of my day in the car (dropping kids at school, picking kids up, making work-related deliveries and pick-ups). My choices are to take them with me and listen to them scream, or leave them home and let Brian listen to them scream. Yesterday Brian and I both went out on an expedition, and there was no leaving them behind to let the dogs listen to them scream, so we took them with us. And scream they did. They screamed in traffic. They screamed at the fancy-schmancy wine store. They screamed at our little picnic. They screamed in the car on the way to Costco. They screamed in Costco (where at least 5 different people came up to us and said "twins?" Um, no, we are two single parents with incredibly similar babies. Yes, TWINS you idiot). They screamed in the car on the way to Home Depot. They screamed in the parking lot of Home Depot. They screamed all the way home. Mind you, I was nursing them every chance I got in an attempt to quiet them down, and we were both doing our best to get them to nap, but the horrible truth is they WILL NOT NAP unless the circumstances are JUST SO. When we got home all four of us were a frayed and miserable bunch. Allison fell asleep as soon as I had her snuggled up to me on the couch, and Carrie, after a little bit of nursing, fell asleep as well. Today, I think we'll just stay home. I've got work to do anyway. And we have 400 cans of chicken noodle soup, 2 tons of diapers and an enormous carton of wipes, so there's really no need to leave the house for the next 6 months.