This evening Sassy snuggled up next to me on the couch, shoved her feet by mine under the throw blanket, and began sketching on a chalk board.

“Do you want to see the wedding dress Ella is going to have?”

I smiled.  Oh to be seven and thinking of weddings already.  I was such a tomboy at her age, I don’t remember planning my wedding already, but I knew girls that did.  I will admit that in high school I had names picked out for my children.  I am embarrassed to admit that Scarlett and Rhett topped that list.  Whatever.  I was in high school.  High school kids are morons.

Back to the wedding plans.

Sassy and her friends have drawn up sketches of their dresses, veils and tiaras, and even earrings.  These girls are serious.  The sketches are specific about lace and trimming, how long the veils will be and what stones will be in the earrings.

I know these dresses and the wedding plans will take on many different incarnations over the coming years but, right now, they are heavily into the princess themes.  I can tell already this is going to cost her father and I a pretty penny.

We went for a bike ride today.  I know that those of you who know me well, won’t believe me, but I have a series of photographic proof.  Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

To be honest, I have no idea how I came to be riding a bike (???) at all, much less on a day so cold it snowed the night before.  You’ve probably surmised by all my posts over the years, outside is not my favorite place.  And no one is more shocked than me when I found myself having fun.  I’d forgotten how much fun bike riding could be.  When I was Sassy’s age, I was only off my bike when I was sleeping.  I learned to ride when I was five or six – without the benefit of

In the morning, the snow was all the way down the foothills

 training wheels.  My father didn’t believe in them.

As I said, it was very cold last night.  Ava says there was at least an inch of snow up the hill where she lives.  There was none down in the city where my house is, but the mountains were gorgeous. 

I especially love the hangdog expression when I told him to go change

We finally got the kids dressed and ready to go around 1:00.  This is the outfit The Bandit chose for bike riding on a day when it snowed.

Please note the soccer shorts, his shirt is on backwards though you can’t see in the picture, jean’s jacket with Buzz Lightyear on the back and, the piece de resistance, cowboy boots with spurs.  I have some concerns that the boy is going to end up as a contestant on Project Runway someday, not that I won’t be proud of him no matter who he ends up, but lets just say, his ability to chose appropriate clothing gives me pause.

We got to the park and unloaded the bikes and The Bandit was off and

More appropriately attired and perpetually giggly

 running or pedaling as the case may be.  Sassy on the other hand immediately launched into hysterical crying – tears, hiccuping, gasping breaths of agony over her fear of riding her bike.  A bike, I might add, has training wheels so she can’t fall over.

Her father dealt with her for about a half an hour, coaking and talking and prodding her along.  I rode around with Bandit while he giggled wildly, enjoying the freedom that riding down hills and skidding to stops brings.

Finally, I’d had enough.  I relieved her father and sent him after the boy who was easily pedaling madly more than 100 yards away.  I don’t know why or how I became Drill Sargent Mom, but somehow I did.

“Put your butt on the seat and your feet on the pedals,” I told her. 

“I’m scaaaaaaaared.”  She could hardly speak, the blubbering was so out of control.

I told her to calm down, “No one can ride a bike when they are hysterical.”  I showed her how to push off with one foot and advised her to keep pedaling to avoid tipping.  I told her to ride the bike or we’d go sit in the car and wait for everyone else to have fun.  Eventually, she surprised only herself when she actually rode the stupid bike.  I hate to be so demanding, but I refuse to allow her to be afraid of everything.

There are no pictures of Sassy riding her bike because she spent the entire time crying.  The. Entire. Time.  I didn’t

Me! A bike! Who knew?

bother to take a picture of it.  I’m quite certain I won’t need a photograph to remember what she looks like glaring at me.  After all, she does it all the time. 

I do, however have a pic of me.   This is my hand after the dye in my riding gloves

I look like a bruised Smurf

 colored the palms of my hands.  I can’t get it off with any soap known to man.  It looks like a giant bruise.  Do you suppose it would work as a viable reason to call in sick?

Also, and I can’t believe I forgot to mention this, but it snowed on us off and on while we rode (or cried).  I couldn’t believe it, big fluffy flakes that covered my black jacket.  It was surreal.  Sassy cried about it.  Sigh.

The Sisters are tired.  Or more aptly, as Bill Cosby pointed out the distinction, we are sick and tired.  The day job is soul suckingly horrible.  I’m usually pretty good with descriptions, I am a writer after all, but I can’t even put it more simply than that.  The entire profession is sucking me dry and Ava is coming right along with me. 

In fact, I told my mom today, when she asked if there was something specific I’d rather be doing than work, I’d rather be in jail than at my office.  Ava said she looked decent in orange.  When we met for lunch, Kelli said the idea sounded wonderful.

Later tonight, when I was telling Kelli about how awful my kids were this evening, how I had to put The Bandit to bed, screaming, kicking, biting, and professing his undying hatred of me, in a bed with no sheets, I was reminded about the idea of jail.  I wondered, not idly, if I could arrange for solitary confinement.

Seriously, lets talk about jail for a few minutes.  Except for the prison rape part, the whole idea has some appeal.  They let you read all you want in prison.  They would let me finish my book.  They would let me sleep, uninterrupted, for hours and hours and hours.

That’s when Kelli and I decided, if we win the lottery, we’re building a prison hotel.  Now follow along:  Small comfortable rooms.  Only a TV if you want one.  You may have as much or as little social interaction with other humans as you want.  There would be a discreet knock on the door and, when you opened it, there would be a tray of food.  If you chose to go to a public area and mingle with humans you may do so, however, you are forbidden from asking people what they’re reading or chat with them in any way unless it is obvious they wish to engage in conversation with you.

In the Prison Hotel, if you choose to check in and not talk to another living soul for a month, that’s your call.  When you feel your psyche has healed enough and you are ready to reenter the human race, you may check out.  There is no need to comb your hair, wear make up or even clean clothes.

Of course, the Prison Hotel will be on Greece because we’re still looking into purchasing the island.  You may want to look into booking a cell now.  The minute this goes live, you won’t be able to get in.

It’s going to be huge.

Sassy is finally home.  I was beginning to wonder if she was ever coming back.  She had a sleepover at a friend’s house that started at 8:15 Tuesday morning and ended today around 3:30.  That’s about thirty-one hours I left my baby in someone else’s hands.

As I left her that morning, I begged her not to embarass me.  The other mother laughed and assured me nothing she could do would offend them.  Nevertheless, I reminded my daughter to use a fork when eating and to make an effort to control her gas.

I received one call around 1:00 that afternoon.  She’d fallen off the monkey bars and scrapped up her chin pretty badly.  I kissed her over the phone and gave her butt a virtual pat and sent her on her way. 

I did expect a good night call, but I got nothing.  Sigh.

Then this morning, the plan was for her to be delivered to me at work and I’d take her to her grandmother’s where her brother had spent the last two days without her.  The boy’s been lonely.  Yesterday, Grandma called at about 4:45 to ask if Daddy was on his way to pick him up.  Apparently, The Bandit was done at Grandma’s and he was ready to go.  For two children who fight as much as they do, he was surprisingly lonely without her. 

Anyway, I received a call asking if Sassy could hang out with her friend the rest of the day so The Bandit spent another day without her.

Sassy had a wonderful time.  From what I understand she was a model guest.  I’m certain that means she’s used up all of her allotment of good behavior for the rest of the month.

The Bandit has his sleepover on Friday night.  I’m almost more excited then he is.  I can’t wait to hear the stories!

This was the offering from Better Book Titles today.  I don’t know if it’s because I’m so tired or what, but I found this especially funny.

The grocery store was really busy.  I’d been sent there to fetch lettuce, cheese, tomatoes and something else I couldn’t remember for dinner.  Kelli had called as soon as I headed out and we were still talking while I did the shopping and got in the long line at the checkout.

I don’t even remember what Kelli and I were talking about when the woman siddled her shopping cart right up next to the old man in front of me.  She appeared to be somewhere in her late forties but she looked rode hard and put away wet.  Her eye makeup was a mess and her coral lipstick didn’t stay in the lines.  I kept my eye on her while she and the old man chatted each other up while I continued my conversation with Kelli.

When it became apparent she was going to try to take cuts, I sharpened my glance and narrowed my eyes a smidgen.  I apologize to Kelli now for admitting that I tuned her out for a second in time to hear the man say, “Go ahead and come on in line with me.”

My squint narrowed a bit more and I could feel the laser beams warming up behind my eyeballs. 

“Go ahead and cut in,” the clearly clueless man told her, “she won’t mind.”

The woman raised her head and looked in my direction, clearly hoping for a smile and a nod.  Apparently my phasers were not set to stun because she took an involuntary step back from me.  I didn’t answer, just upped the wattage a bit more.  I haven’t seen this look of mine from the outside, but from the inside it feels pretty scary.  My jaw is tight, my lips firm, gaze very intense.  My children aren’t afraid of it, but there have been plenty of ex-boyfriends, strangers, and loan officers that have quailed from the wrath that look promises.  My mother calls it the “Pirate look.”

“Come on,” the man with the death wish beckoned with his hand.  “She’s my ex-wife.”  He told me this like it was a constitutional amendment or public service they qualified under.

I passed my arm in front of me in a sweeping gesture of invitation and said, my voice absolutely dripping with irony, “Oh, by all means.”

“No,” the woman said as she continued backing up, “I don’t think so.  She’s looking at me like a cop.”

A laugh erupted in a giant “HA!”  I was looking at her like a cop?  I totally consider that a compliment – however, I’m going to pick my cop.  I’d like it to be Dirty Harry Callahan as opposed to say Barney Miller.  I’d like to think I’m more the bad cop than the good cop when I’m wearing that expression.

“I’m not a cop,” I explained, “although I’m flattered.  I’m just practicing my Mom Look on you.”

“Jesus!” she said under her breath.

Ultimately, I did let her in if only because I wasn’t done with my conversation with Kelli.  But things did not continue to go well for this woman.  She wasn’t even finished with her shopping when she cut in line. She sent the bag boy running for a gallon of milk and then started to protest the price of dog bones.

“Are you shitting me?” I said, plenty loud enough for her to hear, incredulity coloring my voice. 

The woman actually flinched.  “Never mind, I’ll pay for them anyway.”  She handed off her money and then scurried away.

The checker mentioned that the crazies were out tonight as he was ringing me up.  I raised my eyebrows in question and he asked if I’d been listening to Old Man and Trashy Woman’s conversation. 

“No,” I told him but I did fill him in on our earlier exchange and he laughed with glee and applauded.  I actually received a bow from the people behind me.

So I’ll add that to my super powers resume:

1. The ability to stay awake forever
2. The subsequent ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat
3. A glare that promises death and dismemberment

I can finally tell you what’s been going on with me for the last several weeks.  Besides, all the Tucson Festival of Books stuff and writing book 2, and writing all the interviews to post on the examiner.com site, I’ve been planning a surprise birthday party for My Honey.  He turns 40 this week and claimed he’d not had a birthday party since he was a kid.  He is a much quieter individual than me.  I’ve had a zillion birthday parties since I was a kid.  I have required them.  I’m noisy about it.  My philosophy is, if you want presents, and who doesn’t, one must demand them.  I constantly put myself if a position to get presents.  Don’t I sound mercenary? 

My fortieth birthday was a huge to-do, and I wanted something great for him as well.  I thought I might be able to pull off a surprise party so I began the undertaking.  Sassy was very adamant about wanting to throw him a party of some sort, and I figured since she was seven now and seemingly able to keep a secret, I let her in on the deal and allowed her to help with the planning.  She was under strict rules not to breathe even a word of it to The Bandit.  That little dude can’t keep a secret from here to the end of this sentence. 

All seemed to go well.  Sassy was full of ideas, some good, some totally insane, but she was having fun planning.  I contacted the singer from My Honey’s band to help me gather the musicians I wouldn’t know to invite and his best friend to call all the old friends I wouldn’t know how to contact.  I went through his cell phone in the dark of the night to get all the phone numbers of his co-workers.  It was creepy, but I vowed to apologize after the party.  Family was all invited.  Ava promised the cake and I was delighted for her to do it.  I found her a Fender bass guitar picture on the Internet to use as a pattern.  We had to look all over town to find the black licorice shoestrings to use as the guitar strings and she found silver gumballs to use as knobs.  It was absolutely fantastic as you can see – and it tasted every bit as good as it looked.

Sassy struggled with the secret.  And I felt for her.  It was hard for me, too. There had been some talk of having a small party this next weekend, but everyone let the idea sort of fall apart.  Everyone except My Honey.  He kept bringing it up and I felt so bad acting like we were all too busy to have a party for him.  He would just sort of sigh and walk away all defeated.  It was horrible. 

He’d been working on our back fence all day and, an hour before the party, he decided he was going to Home Depot.  I kept myself calm as told him the kids and I would just wait for him at home and then we’d run to get something to eat.  Earlier in the day, Sassy had started getting wound up when we snuck away to pick up the decorations.  By the time we were changing clothes for the party her brother still didn’t know about, she was vibrating with tension.  She kept coming up with these elaborate plans to distract her father and I kept urging her to try and clam down and not make everything so complicated. 

In the car on the way to the party, there was a high-pitched noise coming from the back seat that sounded something like, “SKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”  Her father asked her what her problem was and I told him she was crazy.  She blurted out several time, “My head is going to explode!”  I kept hissing for her to calm down and, because she’s such a spaz most of the time, her father honestly didn’t think anything about it was especially unusual. 

In the parking lot, My Honey noticed a friend’s car right away.  “Oh, hey, Deo’s here!” 

I tried to sound nonplussed about it while negotiating him through the parking lot and into the bar and to the special room. 

SURPRISE!

We totally got him.  The Bandit was just as surprised as he was.  Sassy did not explode.  A fabulous time was had by all.

And only one extra person had to sleep on my couch.