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I am in a Seattle coffee house

I am in a coffee house in Capitol Hill, Seattle. There are four of us here with laptops. All the laptops are 12 inch Mac ibook G4s.

I am drinking what is, quite possibly, the best Chai I've ever had (a bit of a spicy kick, not too sweet), though I usually prefer Americanos.

A girl outside just used her reflection in the coffee house window to accurately apply black lipstick to her already black-lipsticked mouth.

The barista, who is cute, offered another guy a mocha, even though the guy, who was with a girl, already said he didn't want anything. I think there's some history between the guy and the barista.

Capitol Hill is a bit of a shock to my suburbanized soul. But it is a good shock. A shock I need from time to time.

There is a painting hanging above my table called "Diablo toots his horn". It is art, I suppose. But I think it is creepy. It costs $600.

I am, on and off, watching a twenty-something man(?) roast bucketsful of coffee beans.

I desperately needed a break from my kids this morning. Which makes me sad. It is peaceful here. Piano music plays over my head.

The wi-fi is slowish.

I do not like skinny jeans. I have one pair. But I only wear them rolled up with flip flops or with my tall, leather boots.

I am picking up my good friend Stacy from the bus station in a half hour. She lives in Portland, Oregon. She just moved there in May from Michigan. Which is where I'm from.

A woman wearing a long pink shirt under a short, pilled green sweater just stumbled walking out the door. Everyone stumbles.

There are coffee houses everywhere in Seattle. I love Seattle.

Here are some nerdy garden pictures

Because that's the kind of nerd I am.

These are just taken with a Canon Elph. I'm no Dooce.

And here's a shot of the "M" that Fruit Bat wrote in preschool the other day! I'm so proud.

The Good Son

Fruit Bat has switched to one of his more pleasant alter egos.

Clearly the winds are streaming toward us from just the right end of the ocean and transporting agreeable wafts of pine and snow and little boy contentedness. He is like a different person today. He's quite delightful. I would like this Fruit Bat to stay on indefinitely. But, sadly, short of keeping him fed and loved and attempting to get him enough rest, I seem to have no say in the matter.

So, tomorrow the doppelganger could be back.

In the meantime, I'm enjoying him.

You know what else I would really enjoy? For Kitty Cat to actually sleep without requiring my presence in her room (though even that isn't working today) so I could sit by an open window and sip a cup of tea. Or maybe vacuum and make dinner.

A morning of great suckage

This morning was a rough one. Getting Fruit Bat out the door and to preschool when he's not cooperating and not listening and is shrieking so loudly that my eardrums reverberate until they rupture, sucks. It sucks.

Soon he'll be five and it'll all be better. Right? Right?????

Stop snorting. I know.

Because parenting isn't ALL I think about

To recoup my sanity after finishing The Kite Runner (which I found incredibly disturbing, though probably an essential read, though incredibly disturbing) I'm reading The Devil Wears Prada. It's a big, fun, fluffy party of a novel. The writing, I think, is less than inspiring, but the story has a great arc and some tension and I'm really enjoying it.

I'm even wondering if I should apply some techniques from Lauren Weisberger's repertoire to my manuscript, which the blasted agents keep saying is "quiet". Which I take to mean subtle. Which I take to mean, not exciting enough.

I've created an antagonist, who is also a woman, who is supposed to be annoying and controlling to my protagonist, Meredith. Trouble is, I think her brand of evil is too understated. Perhaps I need to ratchet her up a notch, like Miranda in The Devil Wears Prada.

Not that I would ever expect my novel to sell like that one. But I can see why it was such a success. And I would just like mine to sell.

I wonder how much work it would take to tweak my antagonist, Leola, so she was a bit more over the top...

Pacifier be gone!

Here I am again, sitting in Kitty Cat's darkened room. The only illumination is the glow from my laptop's screen.

She's decided, since we've been cutting the tip down, that her pacifier is no longer useful. But she has no idea how to comfort herself.

She sings a lot in her crib. Jingle Bells is a favorite. Unfortunately that doesn't go far in calming her.

Wait...is that even breathing I hear? A nose whistle, even? Hooray!

I took Fruit Bat and Kitty Cat to Snoqualmie Falls today. They did really well. It was fun. Here are two pictures.

They're back

I think I feel a little better.

Though Kitty Cat will now not nap because we snipped the tip off her pacifier last night (our method of weaning her gently). I am in her darkened room typing this, listening to the Disney Lullaby CD that's been in her stereo, with no rotation, since she was six months old.

1 is the nicest number

Mood: Happy! Reveling in freedom!
Tastiest thing I've eaten today: I'm eating it right now. A day-old Fred Meyer cream-filled doughnut
Most annoying moment of the day (so far): Hearing, upon waking up this morning, other people's voices. Yes, I'm cranky.

As I peruse my recent posts, I notice a trend. And that trend is my rancor in references about my children, who you've come to know as Fruit Bat and Kitty Cat. Part of it is that I'm trying (trying!), in these posts, to amuse myself and you. The other part is that I'm totally burned out right now.

This morning I was looking at them (my kids), and I knew I loved them, but it was a distant sort of hazy love. Mostly, I was thinking: I need some freaking space! The sounds of their voices nearly drove me to the back of my closet.

Often when I'm with them, love and admiration settles within me like a soft, new snow (not that you'd know it by my blog), but today I need to be my own person for a while. I need to not hear: "Mom! Mama! Mommy! Where's mommy? Hey, mom!" I need to move about the house without little footfalls trailing me. I need to do a few things at my own pace.

Thankfully, "Jay" took them to the zoo. I am alone! I hear nothing but the sounds of leaf blowers outside and the caws of crows (all lovely white noise that requires no action on my part). Hopefully this little respite will refresh me somewhat. Hopefully, when they all come tumbling in the door, chattering and whining and singing, I will be able to gaze upon my children with the appreciation they deserve. Hopefully I will, for half a day, feel somewhat in control and not like a balsa wood paddle onto which is stapled an elastic cord attached to a rubber ball that is my patience level. My patience level that keeps getting away from me and snapping back into place, getting away from me, then snapping back into place.

Sitting pretty

This makes John Edwards look, not just pretty, but silly!

A little negligent

Current Mood: A little mortified
Tastiest thing I've eaten today: A cream-filled doughnut that I scarfed while careening around Fred Meyer with Kitty Cat. Do not give two-year-olds cream-filled doughnuts unless you want to also buy a box of baby wipes.
Most annoying thing that's happened today: Fruit Bat having to be pried from my leg as I left his preschool.

I have a confession to make. This deed that I must confess makes me wince, cringe and shudder (yes, all three) every time I think of it. Here it is: I forgot to buckle Kitty Cat into her car seat after we left Fred Meyer today. She rode three-quarters of the way home lounging around back there with no restraints whatsoever.

I've done this before (once or twice) with Fruit Bat. This time, Kitty Cat, in all her two-year-old wisdom, had to be the one to tell me she was on the loose. "I'm not buckled!" she wailed.

I gulped and pulled over, shamed that I'd been thinking about the pretty comforter I'd just purchased and wondering how it would look on our bed, but not about anything as trivial as safety.

So I feel badly. And I suspect it will happen again someday because, well, I'll probably purchase more pretty things and get so distracted by their appeal and self-congratulatory about my good taste and ability to spot a bargain, that I'll forget about silly things like seat belts.

My mom tells me that when she was a kid, she and her sister wouldn't even deign to sit in the backseat of their old Buick (or whatever car it was). They stood. Probably jumped and wrestled too. I have to say that I'm grateful for seat belts not only because they save lives, but because they prevent my littles from shouting directly into my ear while they slither from back seat to front, punching, at will, buttons on the CD player and digging through the glove compartment for treats.

I'll leave you with this retro gem of a seatbelt PSA.