I am more excited than Sassy that her 1st grade school year is coming to an end this week.  Sassy will miss her friends and she adores her teacher, but I will be so happy not to fight with her over her homework every night.  I realize that I am the grown up and, by extension, should be more mature, but doing homework with her is a constant drain on my psyche.

Math and spelling are the two worst things.  Interestingly, they were my worst subjects as well at her age.  Now, I’m a great speller and surprisingly good at math, and I keep assuring her that it will happen for her with practice.  She just looks at me like I’m completely full of malarkey.

The other day I was going through her backpack.  One must do this on a regular basis otherwise the accumulation of junk gets completely out of hand and, before you know it, your 7 year old is walking with a sway back from the 45 pound backpack.  I sorted through countless notes and worksheets and other nonsense until I found her math practice sheet.  Her teacher has the students practice addition by working on a strip of paper dedicated to a specific number.  For example, the one I held in my hand was for the number 5.  All the numbers from 1 through 12 were added to the number 5 in random order.

5 + 3=_      5 + 9=_    5 +12=_   and so on.   

Sassy had completed her worksheet and I didn’t pay much attention to it except the following note was written at the top by the teacher, “What?? Multiplication??”  So I looked further and discovered that every single answer was not addition but the correct answer if she had multiplied each number by 5.  Even 5×12 was correct.  I asked her if she copied the answers from somewhere.  She told me no repeatedly.  I assure you that, while advanced, her 1st grade class is not studying multiplication yet.

I took the worksheet to her teacher the next morning.  I looked at her with a quizzical expression and asked her if Sassy had copied the answers from somewhere and she assured me that she hadn’t.  She was just as aghast as I am.

My daughter is a multiplication savant!  Of course, so far this is only applicable with the multiplier of 5.

Still.  Weird.

I went to see my primary care physician the other day.  She’s my age and a DO and she practices with her father.  I’ve been seeing her or her father for my entire life and now she sees my children.  It’s all very full circle and I love that we all know each other so well.

Anyway, because she’s a genius and a DO she does back manipulations.  My back is ridiculous.  I’ve never hurt it, but I have horrible posture and I sleep on my stomach – so my back hurts.  I’m also pretty sure I have a hamster living under my left shoulder blade – that is the only thing that can explain the huge knot in that muscle that never goes away.

Anyway, I went in for an adjustment.  It sounded like my spine was made of bubble wrap. 

While I was there I asked her about a couple of other things that were pestering me but not enough to make an appointment on their own.  Mostly the diagnosis were what I expected, and they all confirmed that I’m old. 

My favorite diagnosis of all was the three words all writers dread: Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.  DHA DHA DHAAAAAA (that’s the sound of dramatic music by the way)

I’m going to treat it the way I treat all the other ailments I don’t like.  I’m going to ignore it until it goes away.  That’s a sound medical plan don’t you think?

It really happened.  My book is for sale. 

Go to Wicked Ink Press and see for yourself.  You can also click over on the right on my picture and read my ridiculous bio.

I apologize for the profanity, but the situation warrants it.

I just now – right this very minute – got an advance copy of my book, Out of Heaven.

It will be live on the web site – www.wickedinkpress.com- on Saturday the 8th.

HOLY SHIT!

I had to work all weekend.  What that meant to me was long hours and sweating.  What that meant to My Honey was he spent the whole weekend with the kiddies.  I got the better deal no matter how much I complained.

I spoke to My Honey yesterday to see what they were up to and they were planting a garden.  We do this each spring.  We fill up the flower beds and, the last couple of years, that has also meant planting vegetables.

My husband was expressing his frustration over the phone and at one point had to yell out, “DO NOT HIT YOUR SISTER WITH A SHOVEL!”

I’m guessing it went all down hill from there. 

When I got home it was dark out but I could see the flowers on the porch and around the windows.  They were lovely.  I could also see the goose egg on Sassy’s head.

I keep promising them they will be great friends when they grow up.  It worked for my brother and me and I even handcuffed him to the mailbox once.

I have hope.

I read until 3:15 last night before I forced myself to go to bed.  The book was really good.  Another by the author I liked so much in the last catagory.  Her name is Anna Campbell and I really recommend her.

So that’s 2,175 pages down and 7 of the 11 books done.  I’m up to 1 book every 11 days.  I have no idea why this project freaked me out so bad.  I should have known that I’d meet the deadline with no problem.

Anyway, on to the next one.

It’s been raining for five days in California.  People are seeking shelter under enlarged breasts.

Shoebox

Ava is always saying that I make coffee come out of her nose with my texts.  This did the same to me only with Diet Pepsi.  The carbonation isn’t as much fun coming back out.

This is brilliant and completely hysterical.  Those Welsh clearly have a sense of humor.

My Honey does most of the cooking at the Bright Compound.  Thank God (the God that created Chicken Fried Steak and Shrimp Mediterranean), otherwise we’d likely starve.  We have a pretty good deal set up: He cooks the dinner and I clean it up.  I’m totally on board with this plan.

I can cook, I’m just not good at it.  I am in charge of all large feasts, and I do have a few signature dishes:  Chicken Parmesan (Paul Newman’s recipe), Lasagna (my mom’s), Chicken Enchiladas (my grandmother-in-law), and Sukiyaki (mmmmm Japanese!).  However, all of the above menu items take a great deal of planning.  I’m also in charge of all the baking.  I’m generally very happy with this since baking has such a lovely outcome.

Every once in a while, My Honey puts his foot down and declares that he’s not cooking dinner, “What’s for dinner?” he’ll say oh so subtly.  At those times, I am happy to cook my go-to dinner.  Spaghetti.  Sometimes with meat sauce.  Every so often meatballs.  I can almost guarantee that I’ll forget the bread – either it will never make it to the oven or I’ll forget to take it out.  If there is some sort of a miracle, like if  the spirit of Julia Child possess me, there might be a salad. 

Once in a while I consider divorce because he’ll specifically make spaghetti on say a Tuesday and then on Wednesday he’ll say the line. 

“What’s for dinner?” he says all innocent and sweet, knowing that he’s set me up.  I’ll never be able to get away with spaghetti two nights in a row.

I simply lack the skill to walk into the kitchen and come up a meal on the fly.   I will stand in front of the open refrigerator, then I’ll open the freezer and stand there a bit.  Then I’ll go to the laundry room and open the big chest freezer and stare down into it’s freezing, cavernous depths.  After a few minutes I’ll wander over to the pantry and stare helplessly in there.  I will quickly come to the pathetic conclusion that I’ve got nothing.  I’ll make a couple of laps doing this.  I’ll open the doors and sometimes even touch some food item or other, but I soon realize that I’ll never be able to come up with a side dish to go with it – or even how to cook it.  I can’t even broil chicken without a recipe. 

I’m truly pathetic.  It’s a damn good thing I don’t determine my worth by the ideals of 1950’s womanhood.

I’ve narrowed down the problem.  It’s my attention span.  When it involves something I don’t really like, it can be alarming short.  I love to eat, just not so crazy about cooking it.  I get no sense of accomplishment from it.  I’m generally just happy that it’s edible.

Tonight, My Honey got dinner started and then gave me the simple task of watching it while he helped Sassy with her homework.  You know how I knew it was close to being done?  The smoke alarm tipped me off.  It’s very handy that way.  I was busy screwing around on line.  I’ve burned meals due to reading, writing, finishing crossword puzzles.  You name it. 

I keep trying to convince people that the extra bit of carbon is very tasty.  So far no takers.

I had vowed that I would never use this site for obnoxious promotion of my children in any way other than their antics.  But, I can’t not post this picture.  My Bandit has been playing soccer this fall.  It’s his first foray into organized sports and he’s having a great time.  I was unable to attend his game this weekend, and I’m so disappointed.  He scored 5 goals!  Five, just like the number on his jersey.  His dad snapped this picture after one of them.  The boy was so excited.

It’s clear to see why he gets away with so much, isn’t it? 

That right there is my Sweet Babbaloo.