I’m going to let you in on a secret.  I’m really competitive.  Shhhhh.  Don’t tell anyone. 

Right now, my mother and husband are rolling around on the floor laughing. 

I’m competitive about weird things.  Often times, the other competitors don’t even know they’re in competition.   Sneaky, I know,  but it keep the odds better on my side, you see.

The latest incarnation of this nasty little character trait has shown itself in my daughter’s homework project.  I showed you all the outcome of the Flat Sassy endeavor.  Well, apparently the project turned out so well that the teacher has decided to expand on it.  Sassy came home asking for another address to send Flat Sassy.  I groaned.  It had been such a task trying to decide who to send her to last time, I didn’t know who to ask to participate in this round.  My uncle over at www.Newmexiken.com (only now he’s calling himself www.poorkenneth.com) had done such a fabulous job with his friend Donna, that now I was stymied. 

Let’s face it.  Flat Sassy’s trip to Washington DC had been a major hit at school.  Now who the heck was going to out do that?  And then serendipity smiled on us.  I have another uncle.  This one just sent out an email telling the family that he and his wife are heading off to Thailand for a month. THAILAND!!!  Yea!  When I explained the project he got right into it.  I can’t wait to see Flat Sassy at the temples and beaches of Thailand.

I’m am so gonna rule over those other moms!

I am completely and totally exhausted today. My Honey and I went to see U2 in concert last night and consequently, due to the drive and the ludicrous traffic, my head didn’t hit the pillow until 2:45 in the morning and then up at 6:30 to get us all ready for work and school.  My Honey sent me to work with a vitamin.

“Here, this will help,” he said.

“Why? Is there six hours of sleep in there, cause zinc I can do without.”

It was worth all the frustrations, however.  And let me tell you, the frustrations were monumental.  We were in the car for 11 hours for a 2 1/2 hour concert.  It wasn’t that we had to go that far, it’s just that the traffic was comically absurd – only we weren’t really laughing as much as swearing.

But the show was everything you could want in an arena concert: the band, the lighting, the stage, the crowd – all of it magnificent.  My Honey and I are very long time U2 fans.  I saw them on the Joshua Tree Tour in 1987.  They say, or at least Chris Rock says, that the music of high school becomes like the soundtrack of your life.  It is very true – at least with me and that album.  It’s a real toss up whether I’d want that one or Springsteen’s Born to Run if I was stuck on a desert island with only one album to keep me company.

Bono was a God last night.  The crowd just ate him up.  He is really pulling off 49 years with aplomb.  He has a tendency to pull people (especially pretty young women) up on stage.  I remember seeing a DVD of them in concert, Boston I think it was, where he pulled up a pretty young woman and sang With or Without You to her.  He laid her down on the stage and spooned up next to her and sang that incredible song while cuddling her.  The poor thing just laid there sobbing.  I’m sure she’ll never be the same after that.  She pretty much doomed as no other man will ever compare.  Last night was no exception, although this time is was three pretty blond sisters, all in their early twenties.  He sang a lovely song from their new album and slow danced with each in turn.  Afterwards, he sat them down on the drum riser and laid across all three laps.   And can you believe that not one of those girls even gave him a kiss?  Not a little pat on the tushie.  Nothing. 

I watched through my binoculars and was so frustrated.  After all, at least 1/2 of that crowd was living vicariously through those girls, and they didn’t even take the shot.  Seriously, how often are you going to come up with this opportunity?  It was agony.  Someone said to me when I was relating the story that maybe they were too nervous.  I say PSHAW to that.  Even at 16 I would have gone for the kiss.  You’re talking to the girl that crashed a private dinner Congressman Morris Udall held just for the opportunity to meet Robert Redford – believe me, if given the golden opportunity to waltz with Bono there definitely would have been a kiss and, it’d be a pretty good bet  I’d manage a pat on the tushie as well.

Later, Bono pulled up a little girl on stage.  She was maybe 10 and he held her hand and sang to her while they walked the entire circle of the huge stage.  At the end, he gave her his famous sunglasses and sent her back to her parents.  A hundred bucks says her mother slept with those under her pillow last night.

My Honey, the musician and more specifically, bass player, said on the ride up that he wished Adam Clayton would quit the band so that he could join up and play with them.

“Yeah, not much of a chance of that since they’ve been harmoniously together since 1978.” I hated to crush his hopes, but really, I don’t think he’s got a shot.

“It could happen,” he argued.  “I could join the band and go on tour with them, and then Bono would have to get a restraining order against my wife, and then I’d have to quit, so I guess it’s best that they just stay together.”

It’s nice that he knows me so well, isn’t it?

My arms are full of dirty clothes as I pass my son in the hall on the way to the laundry room.

“Hi,” I say.

“Nothing! I have toys in my pockets.”

Of course, this gives me pause.  I didn’t ask what he was up to or insinuate that I was suspicious of him in any way.  I drop the bundle on the floor and raise my eyebrows but don’t say another word.

After a second under my gaze he asks, “Would you mind awfully if I had a piece of candy?”

“You may have one, but you have to give the others back.”

“OK,” he agrees and starts unloading his pockets.  I regain possession of 1 Almond Joy, 5 Tootsie Rolls, 3 very melted candy kisses, some already opened Smarties and 3 suckers.

Good Grief.  This is why I can’t buy Halloween candy until the night of trick-or-treating.  Between him and My Honey, I’ll have to resort to giving Rice-a-Roni and canned peas to the kids and risk a pack of seriously disgruntled goblins.

The Bandit has joined a soccer team.  My Honey and I finally decided that we’d punished him enough by making him sit through ballet with his sister every Saturday for two years, and he could have some fun of his own.

The kids on his team are all 3 or 4 years old, so practice and games are like very thinly controlled chaos.  Actually, last Saturday, I was pleasantly surprised at how well they did at their first game.  They don’t have goalies, and they allow the coaches on the field with the players so they can try to provide a little direction.  But really what happens is that both teams run down their truncated field – it’s only 20 yards long – in a big clump of flailing arms and legs and kick the ball into any goal.  It doesn’t matter which goal, they’re just delighted to get it in the net. 

The sidelines sound something like this, “Yea, kick it kick it kick it, run baby run, no the other way, honey run the other way, the other way, YEA! good goal, baby.”  As you watch your son kick the ball into his own goal and pump his fists in the air.  Then you mark a point down for the other team. 

After work today, I went to the park to watch practice.  It was a mad house.  I suggested to the other parents that we pitch in and get those “invisible fence” collars they give dogs and then set the perimeter up around the cones of the field.  Every time one of the kids wanders off to kick dirt clods, or go pet a puppy, or check out a bug, or just run away with the ball, they’d get a little zap.  I suspect a lot more would get accomplished. 

I finally figured out why soccer is so appealing.  You can give me all that “good parenting” crap you want about teaching them sportsmanship and team dynamics and such.  I know the real reason.  It’s because after they run around for a solid 30 or 45 minutes, they don’t give you any trouble at bed time.

I’m considering having The Bandit run along side the car when he’s picked up from preschool on non-practice days.

Buying stuff on line is sort of like Christmas or your birthday.  You know something good is coming, but the anticipation is agony.  At least with Christmas and birthdays there is a drop dead date.  With the US Postal Service…who the hell knows. 

I ordered books from Amazon last week.  Five of them to be exact.  I’m still using gift certificates from my birthday.  Isn’t that like the best thing you’ve ever heard?  Alright, maybe not the best thing you’ve ever heard, but I think it’s awesome.   Anyway, I received all the confirmations promptly after I hit the “complete purchase” button.  I even received messages from the specific used book dealers that my orders had been shipped. 

I would race home from work every day and run to the mailbox, only to be sorely disappointed.  I trudge up to the house, hoping that the boxes would be too big for the mailbox.  I was destined to be disappointed.  Day after day.  I would think, “Surely today is the day”, but no. 

For three of the books (of course, the three I was most looking forward to) took two weeks.  TWO WEEKS!!   That is just not fair.  But today they finally arrived.  I got to have double excitement: one book was shoved in the mailbox and when I got to the house, Sassy was delighted to tell me that the other two were awaiting me inside.

Yippee! Now I just have to lock myself in the bathroom so I can get some reading done.  It’s actually not so bad.  After all, there is water available and squishy towels to sit on.  And, if nature calls, it’s not like you have far to go.

I gather that you all understand that I love shoes.  I really do, it’s true.  I don’t love them as much as, say Carrie Bradshaw, but I don’t have her budget either.  However, this week I stumbled upon these shoes from Paris Fashion Week.

They are pretty tall.  About 10 inches or so.  But still, they are recognizable as shoes.  Completely impractical, but also really neat in an artistic way.  Now hold on to your drawers, because I’m going to show you another pair from the same designer.  Ready?  You think you are, but you aren’t.  Nothing in your world has prepared you for these shoes.  Take a deep breath…alright look.

I know what your reaction was.  “Holy Mother of God!”, right?  Your probably wondering, “Are you sure those are shoes?”.  I am.  Horrifying, but still shoes.  Alright, don’t have a heart attack, but here comes another pair.

YOWZA!  These suckers are 12 inches high.  And, might I add, ugly as sin.  And how about those little bird ankles sticking out of the tops of them?  One stiff breeze and that little anorexic chippy is going to snap her leg.

Being a writer and not a model is looking better everyday.  I’ll just wear my Birkenstocks and eat another cupcake.

I was directed to a new blog this week,  www.shoeboxblog.com.  It’s hysterical.  This was the cartoon that ultimately had me clicking the link and checking it out.  I post it here for your perusal because I know my Sisters will agree with me that it’s absolutely priceless. 

Hop on over there and enjoy the silliness.

So the Quills are kind of off these days.  Apparently, there are all kinds of strange and mysterious illnesses floating around.  Ava is taking care of the croup (croup!) and her eleven year old (seriously, croup!).  Who ever heard of an eleven year old with croup?  I’d think she was making that up if her little man wasn’t feeling so poorly.  

Isabella, who has been home for days and days with the sickly Pie, is now dying a slow and agonizing death of her own.  Not so near death, however, that she can’t made crank calls to 911 and have fantasies about how to get firemen to come to her house.  I’ll leave that to her to explain to you. 

I thought my house had been fairly disease free until I recalled the Great Puking of Friday Past.  That is how I refer to it in my mind anyway.  I won’t go into the details here, really no one needs to relive that with me, just the thought of recounting it makes me gag.  But never fear, The Bandit was fine to play his first soccer game on Saturday.

All I know is that I don’t want any of it.  I’ll just cocoon myself in my office with a dozen red velvet cupcakes from a certain cafe I know until the ick goes away. 

About these cupcakes, I think they’re made by the Fairies or Elves or something .  They are single handedly the best red velvet I have ever tasted, and I’m a real red velvet aficionado.  The cake is incredibly moist and the frosting is like something the gods would eat on Mount Olympus.  Ava and I have had them twice now and each time we are blown away.  I fear that we might be asked to leave due to the noises we make when we eat them.  After all it is a public place.  I know that I’ve written love letters to pastries on this site before, but I’m telling you, these are fantastic.  I’m also not telling you where to get them because I am selfish.

Some other time I’ll tell you about the worlds best scones.   Until then, cover your cough and don’t touch my stuff.