So. That went well!

Yes, I lasted exactly 1 day before I achieved Epic Fail on NaBloPoMo. What can I say? I am an highly imperfect person. You should know that about me before this relationship progresses any further. Also, I have been told I hog the covers and occasionally snore. (Thanks for the honesty, Honey! You fart constantly in your sleep, by the way! Love you!)

The only clear solution here is to do what I always usually often do when I fall flat on my face. It's time to get back up, dust myself off, glance around furtively to make sure nobody was looking and keep marching onward.

So! Last night, we went out to our favorite local Sushi place to celebrate the End of an Era. Allow me to explain -- A few weeks back we attended Trip's college graduation, and we celebrated that day with an awesome meal at Mussels in Bethesda, MD. (I highly recommend it, especially the Belgian beer selection. Hello, Triples!) That was a great day.

Sadly for Trip, he still had a few weeks left in his final class before officially completing his BS degree. Yesterday, he pushed "submit" on his final paper/project for his final week of his final class... and officially finished up with being a student. That's right, y'all, my husband is officially edge-a-ma-cated! Which, obviously, requires celebratory sushi and saki. Thank goodness the boys are as much whores for sushi as we are -- the little buggars ate 2 entire California rolls and were STILL picking at our cooked rolls. I managed to be magnanimous and not bite off any of their tiny fingers as they reached for my favorite "Good Time Roll". (What?! Tempura fried sushi roll in cherry brandy sauce! You'd totally threaten to cannibalize your children for it, too. Trust me.)

Wait, what?

Oh! Yeah, we were talking about school. Trip is officially done with school! This, according to the 5-year plan, means that it is my turn to go back to school. At the moment, I'm not exactly sure how I feel about that. I'm still working part-time from home 5 days a week, plus attempting to move forward with that whole Cake thing. Oh! And I've been sewing and crocheting and jewelry-making for a friend's shop over at Tiny Toes Bowtique.

And, you know, doing that whole Raising 3 small humans thing. Yes, I remember I have children. Don't worry, I manage to keep them fed, clothed, and appropriately tickled. In return, they manage to tell me at least once a day that I am a "stinky poopy head! A MEAN one! Who won't let us run around in our underwear or eat Halloween candy for breakfast because you are STINKY!" So that's, you know, completely awesome.

So at the moment I am generally standing on the precipice of the future and clinging desperately to the crumbling vines of my self-identity while I try to figure out what the heck I want to BE when I grow up. Heavy thoughts for a Wednesday, no? I'll try to make Thursday more light-hearted. Honest.

What?

Oh, you thought I'd be less full of angst and ennui after the long break from this chronicle?

You are so cute when you're optimistic!

...

*Cough*

*Tap-Tap-Tap*

*Cough*

Testing... 1-2-3.... Is this thing on?

Hallo stranger!

Let's pretend like we're old friends who haven't seen each other in a long, long time but can just pick up where we left off, shall we? I have a friend like that, and it's lovely. Really. And it's better not to dwell on the "Where have I been the last 8 months" and, in stead, focus on the present.

SO! Welcome to NaBloPoMo and I'm going to give it a go. Likely I will fail -- I don't have a fantastic track record of staying on top of things -- but it's the effort and good intent that count, and I have plenty of both to spare.

For today, allow me to leave you with some examples of what I have been up to of late. This applies to both the making of the following hats and the raising of the small models wearing them.

So. Now, then. How have YOU been?

Greetings, Earthlings.

Oh, 2010. How I do bow down to thee. No, seriously. I throw in the towel. YOU WIN.

Hai! You may be aware that I live in the lesser portion of the greater DC area. That is to say, out in the sticks, but if you throw one of those sticks you will have an equal shot to hit DC or Baltimore.

If you paid any attention to the news this weekend, you will understand when I say that I had a nice vantage point of the Snowpocalypse from my perch over the crapper. Where I was vomiting. Repeatedly and in a projectile fashion. My kids love me, so they joined in the festivities. My husband somehow avoided this plague, and now is officially suspect in an attempted family-wide poisoning. (Okay, so actually we picked up a bug at a playgroup on Friday, where several other families were also infected. But still! He could totally have been trying to off us. Just sayin'.)

Now there are 4 feet of snow in my yard and people keep muttering something about another 8-10 inches this week, but I can't hear them very well... mostly because I am sticking my fingers in my ears and screaming "LALALALALALA- I CAN'T HEAR YOUUUUUU!" but it's not really working. And the thought of more snow makes my already tender tummy do a little slow-roll that is highly unpleasant and makes me think that maybe I'm not quite as over this virus as I thought I was.

Which is to say... HI! I am still here, though the posting is sad and sporadic at best. I am vaguely working on the notion that perhaps it is time for a relaunch of the site with a new focus and new energy and MORE COWBELL, but you'll have to bear with me until I get through the Frozen Tundra that is February.

February is never a good month for me. Historically, I find myself in the bottom of a cavernous depression about this time of the year; the icy grasp of winter wraps frosty fingers around my heart and squeeeeezes for all it is worth, making my chest painfully tight until it's nearly impossible to get a good, deep breath of the fresh air that is so abundant in winter. My vision tends to go all dark and blurry, like before a good old-fashioned swoon, but without the security of a ready fainting couch and cushiony bustle.

Which is to say that I'm treading the icy water for now, dear friends. There is an abundance of gratitude in my heart, don't misunderstand me. It just happens to be frozen under a layer of crystalline ice at the moment, or sleeping soundly in the muddy bottom like fish eggs in winter. Give me a short time in which to thaw, and I'll be back to my old self again. For the small but dedicated few who continue to haunt these empty rooms, I promise to fill them again soon with the sounds of cocktail-party chatter over a background of jazz music and gently clinking glassware.

And wine. Lots and lots of wine.
(See! You knew it was still me in here!)

Birds Flyin' High... you know how I feel....

Welcome to a new year! ...

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, and all that jazz.  Or so they tell me.  The beginning of a new year always makes me feel so... somber.  Almost funereal.  It never feels quite real, as though the months from January to March happen in a fog-soaked dream on some other plane.  It's not an entirely unpleasant sensation, but certainly not a good place to be for overlong.  It's a good time for writing, at least for me.  It's the time I can release, at least a little, my kung-fu grip on the illusion of control.  Perfection. Control. My ever-present, invisible frenemies.  They live in my head and run taped loops all day long, critiquing every move. Critiquing every imagined move, as well.

The big boys are both at school, and there are a million things to do this morning.  Which probably explains why I got back from dropping Toby at school and then spent 15 minutes in the car, in the driveway, listening to NPR while perusing November's Vogue and daydreaming about auditioning for a play at the local theater.  

I auditioned for a real play exactly once - when I was in high school.  I was terrible.  Self-conscious and crippled with insecurities, over-conscious of my Rubenesque figure in a room full of anorexically thin California blondes, I knew I was doomed to fail before I started.  Naturally, I was correct.

Such a different woman am I from that emotionally crippled girl.  Some of the scars, however, remain.  So I look at the open audition notices (for a playhouse in our ridiculously small Mayberry town) and daydream about just going in with gusto and having a ball.  My husband encourages these flights of fantasy.  I shrug and say "maybe someday" and go back to my lovely daydreams and try to decide if the blouse on the clothes-hangar of a model in Vogue would hold up over my 38D's.  Then I jot down notes, ideas for a short story.  I head back into the house to finish my cold coffee from this morning.  I sit down to type up a few notes on this long-neglected corner of my digital brain.

Outside, the sky is gray and the frosty air burns in my throat like whiskey fire.

Inside, the house is quiet but for the crawling sounds of one tiny explorer and the low hum of the fridge.  Time to begin the day. Time to begin the year.

Hello, my friends.