The New Fun

I realized yesterday that my idea of fun has changed an awful lot since high school. I mean, I've never been a party girl, but it used to be that fun involved going somewhere and doing something dangerous. You know, cliff jumping, kayaking, scuba diving, waterskiing (I'm dead serious, I did all these things, laugh all you want people-who-know-me-now). On a really tame day my friends and I might get together at somebody's house, play pool, swim IN the pool, listen to music, drink far too much soda and insult each other a bit.

Yesterday I realized that I was sitting in the shade on someone's patio, there was coffee, cookies, and knitting involved, the kids were having way too much fun playing, and I...oh no...I was having fun. And I wasn't even DOING anything. Oh no. What on earth is THIS?! KNITTING?! OK, so I wasn't doing the knitting, but everyone ELSE was, so maybe I've just been slow to jump on the entertainment-of-parenty-types train. Yes, it has taken me 6 years to be happy sitting with other moms and doing...for all intents and purposes...nothing. I'm slow that way. Give me 6 more and I might figure out knitting.

You know what? I haven't felt this at-ease with a group of people since high school. And GODDAMN IT if they aren't an hour and a half drive from me! Ooooooh, the torture.

Money, money, money

So in They Won I talked about my phone conference with Washington Women in Need and my humiliation at the hands of my overly, er, boistrous, children.

Today was the in-person interview. To set the scene...the kids are overexcited ("Aunty Susan is babysitting!? YAAAAYYYY!!!!"), I cannot get my tax return to print out, I finally exit the house and...the van doesn't start.

OK, so eventually I *do* get the van to start, and it is making funny noises and weird smells, but it GOES which is enough for me. Off I go. Oh my, if this is prophetic...I'm in trouble.

But no, it turns out...I was just paying my dues. I get $5000 per year for two years, it is all set and the only thing to be decided is how it will be distributed. This covers the gap between my grants and loans and what I can pay towards my tuition with $8 to spare.

What. A. Relief.

Too Early

So this post is in honor of ~L~, who apparently couldn't handle my brother and Andrew Jackson being the top post in my blog.

I couldn't think of anything really MEANINGFUL to talk about, so we'll address instead the very first thing that comes to mind this morning; the fact that I am awake too fucking early.

At one and a half years old, my third child has found ways to dissassemble my sanity that none of my other children have quite managed to touch. Her very best trick is simply not sleeping. So yes, after turning in nice and early last night at 9:30, she woke up sunny-dispositioned and raring to go...at 5am. Yes, that is right, 5am, the fucking crack of fucking dawn when the fucking birds are fucking singing and I have a fucking pounding headache because I only fucking slept for fucking 6 hours and I fucking need 9. Which coincidentally, is the sum total of the hours that my 17 month old freakchild sleeps in 24 hours. Do we really think that *I* get that many? Oh hell no. If I did, I wouldn't be needing to make a half pot of coffee JUST FOR ME every morning, now would I?

Now, my little bebegirlie is happy and healthy and totally, completely satisfied with her measly little 9 hours of sleep a day. My husband, not-so-coincidentally, only needs about 6 hours of sleep per day to be all happy-like, and this, perhaps, is why HE is dropping hints about a fourth child. All of which meet a response rather similar to "go fuck yourself and YOU be pregnant and lactate this time, and I'll just cuddle here and there. I'll do dishes, I promise."

My Brother the Loser

OK so my brother is so not a loser.

But he wrote, and performs, a song about Andrew Jackson. The dork. Go here: http://www.myspace.com/betterthancheddar and revel in the dorkery. The AP US History-taking DORKERY.