While My Boyfriend Was Sleeping

What I write after Joe and Henry go to bed

Rock me mama: Growth and change in 2014

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I started this post a couple weeks ago and my intentions were to discuss the ways in which I think I’ve grown as a person, a mother and a journalist. I also intended to discuss the ways in which I think Joe has grown as a person, a father and a journalist. I thought this would be semi-interesting to at least four people.

I intended to share some of my brilliant and ghastly time management strategies, as well as some of my brilliant and ghastly potty training strategies.

I thought I’d tell you that Henry regularly uses the toilet, but since he also regularly bites other humans, throws close-fisted punches and flings chewed food on myself and the dog I wouldn’t say he’s 100 percent housebroken yet.

I thought I’d tell you we got a new dog.

Folding him into our life has helped fill a void and mend an ache. After months of huffing Cubbie’s favorite blanket in an attempt to bring him back, I washed it today for the first time with a load of sheets.

I thought I’d tell you that after a year of hustling as a freelancer, work is starting to happen with as much surprising regularity as Henry’s good potty days. This month I filled my calendar with so many projects and assignments I had to turn down work.

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Life is like a jar of pickles

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Tomorrow is 2011. The date sounds so futuristic to me.

Tonight Joe and I have dinner reservations at a trendy new restaurant in downtown St. Pete.

I plan on wearing a dress, red lipstick and high heels.

I’ve looked forward to this date all week.

And yes, I plan on having a sip (or two) of champagne. The baby and I could use a little fizz to ring in the New Year.

But that’s tonight.

Right now it’s 4:11 in the afternoon and I’m still digesting the sandwiches I made today for myself and my friend Wendy Joan, who pedaled her bicycle over to my place today for lunch.

Tomato, mozzarella and basil on pita with balsamic vinegar and olive oil, followed by strawberry salad, followed by chocolate truffles. Deeeeeelicious.

So, yeah, I keep thinking 2011 sounds futuristic, but right now the coming year feels comfortably quaint.

Why is that?

First: because Wendy brought me the cutest jar of homemade pickles. (That’s the jar above. Adorable, right?)

Second: because she rode her bicycle here.

Third: because she used to live in Sarasota, but recently moved to St. Pete and now we live a mere two miles apart.

Fourth: because Wendy is originally from Buffalo, which means we immediately have 500 Buffalo things to talk about, like the fact that she also worked at the McKinley Mall and that there’s a pretty good chance that during my four years at Waldenbooks our paths unknowingly crossed a dozen times.

Fifth: because Wendy is also a journalist.

When I woke up this morning I thought about how I want to feel in 2011. I thought about how nice it would be to stretch out the simple pleasures a little more. Of course I have my big goals and my big plans, but it’s the little stuff in between that keeps the big goals on track.

Little pleasures keep us well oiled. They make us better equipped for plowing through big stuff, heavy stuff.

The way I see it, if I can start off 2011 with a jar of homemade pickles, I’m doing alright.

Happy New Year, beloved Lance-a-lots. It’s gonna be a good one.

Ringing in the new year with ABC gum

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https://www.niawigs.com/collections/glueless-full-lace-wigsHappy New Year!

Resolutions are for the birds. To quit doing some thing, or to start doing another thing, there has to be a motivating factor.

For example, I stopped chewing gum in 8th grade because it disgusted me. Cows chew on cud. People should know better. Plus, it’s too conveniently stuck to the bottom of things – chairs, shoes, desks, bathroom stalls, a pair of Levi’s Silver Tabs in 7th grade homeroom.
I had a friend who liked to shove her chewed gum into whatever bottle of beer she was drinking. As a child, this same friend also placed chewed gum on her cafeteria lunch tray while she ate, and then after lunch, would pop the gum back into her mouth for more chewing.
I brush my teeth twice a day, floss occasionally, and avoid garlic. If my breath reeks, I pop a peppermint. Aint nothing so rank inside my mouth that a hard candy can’t lick, which is why I have not chewed gum in 13 years.
Canadian artist Jason Kronenwald created this portrait of 1960s pixie, Twiggy, using people’s chewed bubble gum. Check out his series of Gum Blondes here. To create his paintings he hires a team of chewers to chomp on wads of gum, (he prefers the texture of Trident) and using a bevy of colorful flavors, which Kronenwald asks his chewers to mix inside their mouths, he stretches the gum across planks of plywood and begins molding the visages of famous blondes.

As a blonde, I’m mildly insulted by the connotation of this art. Hey, Kronenwald: ask your grandma to start chewing on those Bit-O-Honeys she keeps in her candy jar, then have her fork over her dentures. The sticky aftermath will make for a nice series of brunettes.

My father is disgusted with his beer gut, so to whittle it he started walking today from his house on Langford Road to the town highway department on Eden Road. (It’s about three miles.) I called my mother this morning to talk about overpriced wedding photographers, and my father, gung ho and out of breath, answered the cell phone.

“What’s up with you?”

“Ah yes,” he rasped. “I’m walking.”

“Walking?”

“I’m almost to the highway department.”

“You sound out of breath.”

“I’m OK. It’s beautiful out.”

“Is it?””It’s 19 degrees out, but no wind and bright sunshine.”

“And you’re walking to the highway department?”

“Yes. I’m almost there.”

“Did you bring the cell phone in case you needed to call Mom to pick you up?”

“I brought the cell phone in case I fell dead from a heart attack I could call 911 before I hit the ground.”

“What did you and Mom do for New Years Eve?”

“Fell asleep.”

“So did we.”

“That’s OK. At least we all woke up.”

“Right. Alright Dad, good luck walking. Tell Mom I called about wedding photographers.”

“Will do. Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year.”