Matt's Birthday Party

I really must desist in surprising Matt each year, because by the time he's 40 there will be no more tricks up my sleeve. And I've already told him...we're going somewhere hot for his 40th.

We had a surprise party open house this year. I told Matt that our neighbors previous and past would be joining us, which was fine with him, but people kept coming, kept coming, more people. We realized that we are still friends with almost all of our former neighbors. We're very fortunate with that.

I made a bunch of very yummy soup for the occasion:

bought him the perfect cake with our likenesses :) (and broke the "H"candle):

and his friend re-gifted this hideous thing from Christmas:

Another party snaps to attention. I'm on break until Valentine's Day.

Do What You Like

I shared the best "secret" moment with Sam tonight...and then ran to tell Matt about it.

I have kept a journal since the 7th grade. Thank you, Mrs. Blaylock.

Sure, at many points it has saved my life. But my most extensive, serious journaling has been since the day I found out I was pregnant with Sam.

I journal all the time, and many days--most days--after Sam has said something funny, interesting or mean, I'll say, "Oh, Mommy needs to write that in her journal."

Tonight, Sam said, "I want to journal. I love to write."

I replied, "Well, when you learn all of your letters you'll be able to form words, and then you'll...oh, Sam! You'll be a writer. Mommy always wanted to be a real writer, but Mommy lacks some discipline, but if you want to be a writer...write! You can write a book!"

Sam's face burst with a smile. He couldn't contain himself, and he threw himself forward, hugging me, and simply said, "Mommy..."

Sam loves praise and nurturing. I followed it up (because of the parenting books) with, "You can be anything you want to be. Even a Senator. Mommy will still love you."

Sam said, "I want to be a writer."

I expounded to Matt.  Matt's response: "Well, better than a lawyer..."

Apple Pie and Amoxicillin

Not since I was in Madrid, Spain, searching for a 24-hr RX, have I been so greatly disappointed. In Spain, lovely Spain, there are roughly 3 drug stores per any metropolitan area. They open at 9, close at 5, and none of them are open weekends. This goes for France, too, come to think of it. While walking what seemed the entire country of Spain, back when I was still "fashion over function," I had at least 15 blisters on my feet from walking in clown shoes all day.

I searched for hours, not speaking a word of Spanish (5 years of French has really come in not handy), for a freaking drug store! To no avail.

But I will say this: at least in Europe you understand. They're purists. They don't like neon. They don't like advertising and marketing. They won't allow "box stores." Bless their hearts, I love Europeans.

But when Sam got strep throat over the weekend, and I had to call my always-there-for-me stepmom to find an open MedCheck (at 6 p.m.) I was pissed. We live in Carmel, for God's sake. Strip mall capital of the world, right?

And then to fill a prescription? Forget about it. One open. ONE. Oh-my-high-price-of-gas-God.

I called Matt after I'd already driven at least 12 miles around in a circle, asking, "Please hold dinner for me, I'm at CVS on Rangeline" (my third attempt at an open pharmacy). Matt said, "Better you than me, because someone would already be dead if it were me..."

There were actual tears in my eyes.

So, Sam's better. God bless America and amoxicillin.

We took him to see Beauty and the Beast 3D the next day. Ten minutes into it I spoke over Sam's head to Matt: this is a horrible message, if you really think about it. Matt nodded.

When we left the theater, Matt said, "So, Sam, the message is that if you hold a girl captive for long enough, she might fall in love with you."

Oh, the truth does sting.

People in my hot tub

The "people in your hot tub" idea is a theory that allows you to entertain famous people who you may not--and probably are not--married to.

My neighbors, Kelly and Mike, and my husband all chose sex symbols, television personalities (if you can call it having a personality), and moviestars. OK, OK, I gave Kelly "Dennis Quaid," because I rather like him, too. And, honestly, I'm probably too old to know her other choices. I think both husbands chose Megan Fox, because, you know, they're guys.

Except for Jon Stewart, a highly sexy, funny and intellectual television personality--with tons of personality--I had a difficult time coming up with people who are actually still alive. Kelly thinks I'm nuts. She lets out screams regarding my choices.

I've spent a lot of time with Shakespeare. Old Bill would be in my hot tub, for sure, and now Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald.

I've been on an F. Scott Fitzgerald kick, of late. For those of you who may have only referred to the Cliffs Notes for Fitzgerald or, who, like myself, didn't completely 'get' him at age 16...reread! I just finished This Side of Paradise, and it's as if time stood still since 1920. Highly intellectual and philosophical, mildly political and greatly FED UP with humanity.

I'm walking on a cloud, having just laid the book down after a heavy sigh.

On to revisit the works of George Bernard Shaw. If you have ever seen a photo of him you may already know that he won't be joining my party.

Work, no sleep and a big smile

There's something in the water around our neighborhood because everyone seems to be inexplicably happy these days. I know I am. I love life so much that I feel a little guilty for loving life so much. Shouldn't I be hating the world along with everyone else? Oh wait, that's only "as seen on Fox News."

It's the fact that I'm working. I'm working a lot right now and that makes me extremely happy. Sure, I tell Matt and Sam to "get out of here - give me some peace for the love of God" now and again, but that's my perfectionist calling card, not unhappiness.

Matt's been very supportive, and when he lets down his guard I think I even see a shimmer of pride on his face. : )

Sam, well, Sam is the greatest kid on earth. I sometimes wait for a specific measurement, some conclusive allotment that will be filled and I'll be content to love him on that level without possibly loving him more...and then he smiles, or laughs, or farts on me and I love him even more.

I made up this little song, Sam and Mommy Are Best Friends, when he was wee, and he still sings it to me occasionally. He's just the coolest little guy and I am so grateful and extremely blessed. Matt and I ask him all the time, "Do you even know how much we love you?" and Sam smiles, puts his hands as high as they'll go, and says, "This much, right?"

But, the kid still sleeps with us. He always begins just fine in his you've-got-to-be-kidding-me comfortable bed, but around 2 or 3, sometimes 4, he comes into our room. My eyes fly open like broken spring window shades, and I'm up the rest of the night. Last night, Matt slept in Sam's room because he was sick, so Sam and I watched Batman Forever in my bed until way past his bedtime. He fell asleep in 14 seconds, but then his snoring began. I turned our fan to level two, suffered for at least another hour, and then turned on a humidifier, as well. The bedroom sounded like a vortex into which we were about to be sucked, so I finally surrendered to half of an Ambien.

Snoring that trumps insomnia is never good news. Tired, bags under my eyes, I made him a quiche for breakfast and kissed him multiple (hundreds) of times throughout the day.

Matt dropped me at the Cheese Shop today while he waited in the car with Sleeping Boy. I bought a sliver of goose liver paté (where my PETA membership from college hits a snag), a bigger sliver of Stilton cheese, and of course, our favorite, Fol Epi (mais oui!). Sam and I made our first batch of cake balls today. It's the new thing, or maybe it's the old thing - I wouldn't know. They are not very pretty, but we did it together, like we do most everything. Now he's cooking dinner with his dad in the kitchen.

What can I say, it's love.