I’m sitting in my bedroom writing today. I’ve been happy because I’m actually accomplishing something. Normally, when I’m writing, Wren stays downstairs and keeps the kids out of my hair, and will occasionally show up with a hot cup of coffee for me, made just the way I like it with hazelnut and caramel creamers and lots of sugar.
Today, though, he started watching the Amazing Race on his computer and I guess coffee didn’t cross his mind. I sent him text messages….that he never even saw because he was so into the show he didn’t hear his creepy phone talking to him. As far as I know, he STILL hadn’t seen them. But here they are, for all of YOU to see:
4:31pm - Coffee?
4:41pm - So is that a no on the coffee?
5:03pm - I want sex. Come and do me now.
5:11pm - So is that a no on the sex too?
5:26pm - You suck
5:30pm - I offer you sex in exchange for coffee and you ignore it. How rude.
5:39pm - What do I have to do for a cup of coffee around here? Offer you a strip tease?
5:40pm - A foot rub?
5:43pm - A blow job?
5:47pm - A threesome?
5:55pm - Seriously. What does a girl have to do to get a cup of coffee around here?
5:59pm - I’d offer to floss your cat but I don’t think that would do it for you.
6:06pm - Fine. I give up. I didn’t want coffee anyway. Jerkface.
Isn’t it fun to have a text message conversation with yourself? Hey, at least I lasted an hour and a half before I resorted to name calling.
Oh, and in other news, a killer whale killed somebody yesterday. Shocking.
In this house, you don’t leave yourself open. It’s much like being a boxer really. If you let your guard down you’re bound to get hit.
I’m not talking about physical blows, although Boogie does have a mean right hook. No, I’m talking about those little mental slaps we all give each other. In the name of fun, of course. One of the things I love about my kids (trust me, there really are a lot of things) is that they’re all smart-asses and we all give each other shit all the time.
Wren takes the brunt of a lot of it, though. I tried to tell him last night, it’s his own fault. He leaves himself open ALL the time. Like the other day at the park when we were hanging out with all of his friends and two of them started wrestling. Wren said “Why does this remind me of gay porn?” My response? “Because you watch too much of it.”
He left himself open. Set himself up for the blow.
Another example of the conversations in our house? Well, last night I was sitting at the table sewing. Katie and Hunter were watching me, much like they watch the television at the end of the day. Somehow I had become their entertainment. Wren was in the kitchen behind me making us all scrambled eggs and toast for dinner. Mikaela went in there and was being weird. Here’s how the conversation went:
Wren: You’re just like your mother.
Mikaela: You’re just like your mother.
Katie: You’re not like your mother, Wren. Your mom is NICE!
Wren, glaring at Katie: Eat shit!
Me (continuing to pin fabric): She’s about to.
Wren said for that statement, I didn’t get any eggs. We were all too busy laughing to pay him much attention, though. And I told him, if he keeps leaving himself open he’s going to keep getting knocked out.
Oh, and don’t worry. I got eggs. And they didn’t taste like shit either.
2. Cake. Can’t remember the last time I had a cake for my birthday. Well, unless you count the pretend birthday that Boogie gave me a few months ago.
3. A clean house. And let me add, that I’d like to NOT have to be the one to clean it. I probably will be, though.
4. Bacon. Sausage. Hash browns with cheese. Mmmm….I’m hungry.
5. Laughter. It’s always good.
I want to say something like, “to be surrounded by family and friends” because that’s always a great way to spend a birthday. The only reason I’m not adding it as #6 is because, well, I’m ALWAYS surrounded by family. In a house of 8 people, it’s hard not to be elbow to elbow with somebody. But I’m also not adding it because it’s not just something I WANT, it’s something I’m GETTING. I invited a couple of people over for dinner. Just found out a couple more are gonna be showing up. They wanted to surprise me but decided that might put a kink in any plans we had, so I’ve been instructed to act surprised.
Last weekend was rough for me. But this whole week I’ve been reminded how lucky I am to have people in my life who care about me. I’m pretty damn thankful for all of them. Today is just another day for most people. For me, it’s not only my 34th….I mean, 21st birthday. It’s also my Thanksgiving and my New Year’s Day.
About 8 years ago, my house got hit by a car.Yes, you heard me. My house got hit by a car. It wasn’t just your normal vehicular assault either. It was a hit and run. Some drunk slid on a patch of ice, slammed into the back of our house, then took off before we could recover from the shock and realize what had happened. If it had happened a half hour later, my boys would have been covered in glass. As it was, their bunk bed was broken and it took quite a bit to repair the damage.
Honestly, it turned out to be a not so bad thing. Our insurance company cut us a check for the estimated repairs and, since we had built the house ourselves, we fixed it ourselves and got the supplies at wholesale. I think we came out about $1000 ahead.
Plus, we get the privilege of telling people that our house got hit by a car, which is pretty fun to say.
I wonder sometimes about the idiot who hit it. Does he (I assume it was a man, and I’d rather not explain why) walk around telling people “I hit a house with my car once. I thought it would be a fair fight. Turns out, the house was much tougher than it looked.”
On another note, I’ve decided it’s time for me to resort to throwing fits. My four year old does it. Why can’t I?
So next time Wren won’t go in and make me mashed potatoes with cheese, or tells me that I HAVE to wake up because I’m sleeping all day, I’m just going to throw myself down on the floor, kick my feet, and start screaming and crying. I really think it will work. I think he’ll be so shocked and confused, that he’ll give me what I want. Hell, with how loud I can scream, he’ll probably promise to erect a statue in my honor out on the front lawn just to stop the madness.
Yep. It’s the Terrible Thirty-Threes for me.
Oh, and no, I won’t be doing videos of me throwing fits. I’d hate to tarnish my image.
I was all set to post a blog today. Did a quick video blog at the laundromat and I was planning to come home and blog a bit. But that was hours ago, before I drove all over town and back, and now I’m just tired and mildly cranky. Oh, I really WANT to post a blog. I’m just not in the mood. So I decided I’d just start typing and let my mood catch up with my desire. Sounds good, right?
At the laundromat, they have a play area for kids. Of course, I wasn’t insane enough to bring kids to the laundromat with me. That’s why I have teenagers. Built-in babysitters. But the play area is nice looking and I found myself thinking that Boogie would probably love to spend a Saturday afternoon there playing on the toys. It’s like an indoor playground. I couldn’t help but notice the sign posted there, though.
Play in play area at your own risk
What? Do they have snakes roaming around under the slide? Is there a giant Puma lurking behind the toys just waiting to grab little kids, drag them back home and have them for supper? Or perhaps it isn’t anything as menacing as that. Maybe they’ve just buttered up the slide so the attendant can get her laughs in as she watches little kids slide down and bash their heads on the linoleum floor.
There was another sign above a sink that I noticed as Wren was tying his shoes.
Girls: Please clean this sink when you’re finished
I informed Wren that apparently he can make a big mess in the sink and leave it, but if I use it, I have to clean it. I mean, I’m sure that the majority of people who go to the laundromat are female. We all know most men don’t do laundry. They just wear their clothes until they become too stiff to conform to their bodies anymore, then throw them out and buy new ones. That, or they have their wives or mothers do their laundry for them. But come on. As jaded as I am, even I know that there ARE men out there who do their own laundry, and even take time out of their day to sit at the laundromat to get it done.
On another note, I realized something today. Ok, maybe saying I realized this today makes me sound like an idiot, so perhaps instead I’ll say “I was thinking about something today that I realized a long ass time ago.” Yeah, that sounds better.
One bathroom for 8 people just doesn’t cut it. We have another bathroom downstairs but it’s currently out of order. And until I get Wren to turn off WoW and go down and put another coat of sealant inside of the toilet tank, it’s going to stay out of order. So, for now, we’re making do with one bathroom.
It seems like every time me or Wren says “I gotta pee” the kids suddenly turn on their super-hearing power and rush in there ahead of us. We’ve discovered this a long time ago so we’ve taken to whispering it to each other. Doesn’t work, they still hear it. Wren found out the other night that in this house all you have to do is THINK “bathroom” and somebody rushes in there before you ever make it. It’s almost like you have to tell yourself that you’re heading to the kitchen, then make a beeline for the bathroom.
I’ve always been a bathroom dresser. I get dressed in there, brush my hair in there, do my makeup in there. It feels like there’s always somebody needing to use is, though, so lately I’ve started doing it ALL in my bedroom. But today I decided, since I had to pee anyway, I’d bring my makeup and brush into the bathroom and get ready for the day after I peed. I made it in there, put my stuff down and had just sat down on the toilet when Hunter pounded on the door and yelled “Are you almost done?” My response was a very loud, rather rude “No!” I managed to get halfway through my makeup before I had Katie, who spends longer in the bathroom than all of us combined, knocking on the door.
I’m thinking, since I’ve figured out how to do everything else from my bedroom, maybe I just need to buy a portable toilet and put it next to the bed and start using the hose in the backyard to bathe.
Or maybe I should just convince Wren that we need the downstairs toilet fixed.
Last summer, while I was checking out agents and deciding who to send my queries to, I came across a new author named Eileen Cook. I read an excerpt from her book, Unpredictable, and loved it. I knew I needed to buy it.
But then, as usual, I got obsessed with something new (probably drawing, or cow tipping or something) and forgot all about it. In early February, I suddenly remembered there were a few books I’d been wanting to buy. I remembered the excerpt really well, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t remember the name of the book, or the author.
In my own stupidity, I just figured I’d drive on down to Hastings and find the book. I knew I’d recognize the cover if I saw it, since I rarely forget the covers of books. But when I got to Hastings, I realized how naive I was. With so many books to look through (would it be in romance or novels?), there was no way I’d find it if I didn’t know the name or the author.
I came home and spent the next hour or two (it could have been longer really since I tend to lose track of time while I’m on the internet) searching for the excerpt from this book. Perhaps if I hadn’t replaced my laptop not once, but twice, since finding this book my search would have been easier. I tend to randomly bookmark sites when I think they might come in handy in the future. But seeing as I was on a new computer, with no bookmarks to speak of, I resorted to yahoo searching.
I typed in keywords that I remembered from the excerpt. I spent so long going through pages and pages of sites, until FINALLY I found it! It was Unpredictable by Eileen Cook. I was so excited. I called Hastings to make sure they had it, and was very disappointed to find out they didn’t. So off to Barnes and Noble I went. After searching there for awhile, I braved the line at customer service (Ok, I didn’t really. I sent Wren to brave it for me while I looked at other books. Isn’t that what boyfriends are for?) and found out they didn’t have it in stock either. Of course they offered to order it for me but I was so upset I told them no and walked away, shoulders down. It was very depressing for me to find that this fairly new book, by a new unknown author was already off of their shelves while they had 8 copies of books like How To Make Anyone Fall in Love With You. As an aspiring author myself, it was quite a blow. I mean, I read that excerpt. It was soooo funny and showed such promise. It was clear to me that Eileen Cook is a better writer than I am. What chance does that give me to become a well-known author?
Despite this, I was determined to read this book. Since I don’t have any credit cards, I had to get money over to my friend Dawn and have her order it for me from Amazon. It finally came in the mail this week and me, being the speed reader that I am, read it in one day.
So was it worth it all? Well, of course it was. As I said, Eileen Cook has this flair for comedy in her writing that had me giggling. At first, I was constantly making Wren pause his movie so I could read him sentences like “February is the worst month in Vancouver, nothing but nonstop rain, the kind of rain that makes you start thinking about taking up ark-building as a hobby just in case.” Or at one point, I made him pause his movie while I read him this whole paragraph:
“Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asks. I can’t think of what to say because I’m too busy focusing on how impossibly thin she is. If I held my book behind her back there’s a good chance I could read the text right through her. My wrists are larger than her thighs. No adult person can be this small. She must be violating some kind of child-labor laws or else she’s some kind of fashion pygmy. I’m surprised she could get a job at a restaurant; she’s a walking ad for famine relief. It looks to me like she hasn’t even been in the same room as food for a considerable period of time. I suppress the urge to offer to sponsor her.
How can you not love a book that makes you laugh? It got to the point where Wren would hear me giggle and he’d say “What are you giggling about now?” and wait in anticipation.
Ok, I’m not here to completely rave about the book. I do have to admit that Unpredictable was a bit…..well…..predictable. Sometimes I think romance books are getting that way, though. Despite the fact that I knew early on how it would end, I still enjoyed the journey to get there. I know Eileen Cook is writing YA novels now but I hope she ventures back into the adult arena soon. I’d love to see what she comes up with next.
