Spike woke up a newly minted 9 this morning. At 6:30 AM. He was excited to open his presents. I am ready for a nap. Just like I used to be all the time about nine years ago.
Christmas. Merry. Happy. Joy. Stress. Angst. Guilt. That hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach. Ah, the holidays. Continue reading
It’s been almost a month since my last confession. I left off shortly before Halloween. Then Sandy came. And the election.
My fingers hover over the keyboard wondering what the hell to write. Sandy was devastating. The election, for me anyway, was a relief. Now it’s Veterans Day and the veterans are being thanked. Thank you veterans. Thank you hurricane clean-up volunteers. Thank you linemen and women. Thank you donators. We give thanks every night in my house. Thanks that we have heat, electricity. Hot water. Food. Health. An internet connection. Coffee. Pie. Snuggly fitted fleece jackets with those neato holes in the cuffs for your thumbs. Poo poo as my mother would say.
Good evening Fine Reader. I don’t know where to begin. It’s been seven days since my last confession. Today, this day of atonement. Means little more than a full day with the kids to an atheistic Hebrew school dropout like me. Rabble rouser. Inappropriate joker. TMI connoisseur.
Allow me to present exhibit one: sweet fig and goat cheese frozen custard with crinkle-cut French fries for dippin’. Courtesy of Shake Shack, my new favorite obsession, thanks to my dear friend Danielle.
It’s happened. It’s finally happened! I’ve been dreaming about it for the past 8.5 years.
Ode to summer. A hazy humid dream. A pair of tan legs. Oh carefree days of yore.
I’m not going to lie to you. I am obsessed with these pouty chiseled people. How did this happen? Well my friend Danielle for one thing. Thanks D! For another, Swamp Chicken went camping in California for a week and the kids went to stay with their grandparents. While I had the house to myself I did not organize the basement. I did not de-clutter my closets or cull outgrown stained clothing. I didn’t step foot in Ikea. No instead I cultivated a claustrophobic, productive on many subtle levels and possibly pathetic relationship with Elena Gilbert and the Salvatore brothers. Who of course are teenaged vampires. We had a blast together. Then I found I had something else in common with my fourteen year old niece when she came to visit. We couldn’t decide if we were on team Stefan or team Damon—life-changing decisions—so we compromised, agreeing that it would be splendid to be an Elise or L___ sandwich with Damon and Stefan bread. The thrills! Continue reading
I’m kind of falling in love with my son these days. It’s not just because he’s with his grandparents either—for the week, WOO!
Chicken thighs sprinkled with garlic and rosemary roast in the oven in an effort to prep dinner early-early so we can relax at the pool since it’s hot as balls out there today. AC blasts.