the major award

Yesterday we had a picnic in the backyard.  I lovingly made happy little meals for my children. I even whipped up a fruit smoothy.  I laid out a blanket and placed the plate in front of the Bird.

This is what I got in return.

I have a friend named Gladys. Well that's not her real name, but it's what I call her and sometimes I don't even recognize her on my caller ID because to me, she is Gladys, nothing else. I call her Gladys because she's the neighbor. Not my neighbor. Someone else's neighbor. They call her Gladys too.

Where was I going with this? Oh yes. Gladys likes to say that having a spunky girl is the very best thing. Sassy girls are less likely to get pushed around and manipulated by a man. I'm banking on that theory. Really I am, because what I have on my hands is one punkified sassafrass.

No bones about it my friends.

And then there's this one here.

He tries so hard to be kind to his little sister, but man can she push his buttons. This is what it sounds like from the other room:

"Stop it Amelie. Stop it. Stop!  Oh, are you kiddin' me?  That was naughty! Ahhhhhh! Moooooooommm! Amelie wrecked my Legos again."

And I yell back, "Just be patient." which startles the Little Mister whiles he's trying to quiet down and have a bottle. So he starts kicking his legs and finally works himself up into a fuss just in time for Thom to come down the hall, carrying the Bird like a limp cat. She's crying and Thom's huffing and mayhem ensues.

But yesterday, just as this scene was being played out for the billionth time, the doorbell rang.  Everyone fell silent, and I looked at my wretched children and exclaimed, "It's my major award!" And we all dashed for the door.

Indeed my major award arrived, and it's not a leg lamp.

The press is finally here! Oh happy day!

Stay tuned. I'll be posting pics and they won't be of grumpy little girls.

I have since heard of people under extreme duress speaking in strange tongues. I became conscious that a steady torrent of obscenities and swearing of all kinds was pouring out of me as I screamed. 

-Ralphie (The Christmas Story)

Let's just say duress has become my norm. 

the happiest place on earth

When you are eight, the happiest place on earth is a place where one might find a castle smack dab in the middle of a fantasy land with princesses strolling around, waiting to take their photo with you, and pink cotton candy sold on every corner.

And a daddy to pay for it all. Every whim.

When you are thirty-six, and sick to damn death of princesses or anything with a high voice or robotic or sticky or crowded or overpriced, the happiest place on earth is a warehouse in the middle of industrial Los Angeles, with stinky chemicals, old machines and no children.

And a Sugar Daddy to pay for it all.

Tis true.

Sugar Daddy and I went on a date. An all day date which is a luxury we decided to build into our life once a month because well, to be honest, sometimes having three kids makes us want to gouge our eyes out with hot pokers and if we can just have a day a month to regroup and focus on each other we think we can make it. And when I say "make it", I mean raise three kids to be great people without becoming nasty bitter people ourselves.

We took a letter press class at Lala Press. The classes are run by Mable, who doesn't really seem like a Mable at all in person. She is actually young and petit and gorgeous and Korean.  But I do love the name. It was my great-grandmothers.

And I love Mable. She was such an easy going, low key kind of a girl. She seemed so small operating her old printing presses.  Like a elf.

Lala Press offers several different classes. You can make anything from wedding invitations to Christmas cards. If you live in the Southern California area, I think you should book a class. Like right now.

Sugar Daddy and I made business cards.

We started by mixing our own ink and let me just tell you, Pantone books make me light headed. I must procure one pronto schmonto.

I'm not exaggerating when I say it may have been one of the funnest days of my life.

After the class we left with two hundred business cards in hand, soaked in sweat and feverish to buy our own press. We plotted out our plan over Thai food.

I guess now that we had our fun we owe the kids a day at Disney.

Aye yi yi. Bring on the cotton candy.