It has just come ot my attention that this site is syndicated at LiveJournal. I don't mind, except that it's driving me crazy trying to figure out who did it, and when, and who exactly the five readers I have there are.
Anyone want to own up?
Sasha has been having trouble falling asleep, lately. I think she's reaching those twin perils of childhood rest: fear of the dark, and fear of missing Somthing Cool Going On Downstairs.
Tonight, as she dangled herself over the crib rail, she explained to me -- and very earnestly, I might add -- why she wouldn't go to sleep. "Bad dreams," she said.
She gave me a meaningful look. "Tummy," she added, by way of explanation.
Well, sure, that clears the whole thing up, right?
My kitchen is: Beats me. I spent the day in New Jersey, rendering an AIX box unbootable. Surprisingly easy, that.
There is a woman dressed up as Spider-Man who haunts the parking lot of the grocery store. Hilarity ensues.
"Mommy, I want to see Spider-Man!"
"Oh, you like Spider-Man?"
"Yeah!"
"Who do you like better, Spider-Man or Batman?"
"Spider-Man."
"Who do you like better, Spider-Man or Green Lantern?"
"Spider-Man."
"Who do you like better, Spider-Man or Superman?"
"Superman!"
"Who do you like better, Superman or Wonder Woman?"
"Superman!"
"Who do you like better, Superman or the Flash?"
"Superman!"
"Who do you like better, Superman or DADDY?"
"DADDY!"
"Daddy?"
"Yeah, Daddy Superman!"
"Daddy is Superman?"
"Yeah! Daddy Superman!"
My kitchen is: Flowerific.
I've made it past the next round of the Amateur Gourmet's Survivor competition. The challenge: find and prepare an historical food. I chose pemmican. I still have pretty much all of it, should any of you mysteriously want any. However, I am confident that sending it through the mail will land me in a Federal prison, so you have to come get it yourself.
Dallas won immunity that time around. The competitor who was voted off, thankfully, was not me.
The next challenge is all about biology. I'm a little nervous, because I read Frost Street, the judge's food blog, and I think he's going to be a tough cookie.
I have some ideas... but we'll have to see how it all turns out.
My kitchen is: Sticky. I really don't know why, which makes it that much worse.
...it can't be mine, can it? I've entered my thirties and the back-to-school season with a surge of activity. This has been a very busy week, and very pleasantly so.
First, I've been writing a lot more lately. Some of this is blogging in various places, and some of it is my top-secret novel, which stands now at just shy of 200 pages, and may actually be finished someday. I'm trying to recognize that writing anything at all, no matter how bad, is better than writing nothing at all. I can always go back to polish up the writing, rework the pace, whatever... but not if there's no manuscript to begin with. It's an internal battle, more than laziness. It's easier to tell myself "Well, you're just lazy," than to finish up and risk the news that my writing is pretty crappy, after all. Ahhh, the angst of the artiste.
Monday, we had an impromptu barbeque culminating in an absolutely disastrous French Apple Tart. However, hanging out with our friends Keith and Erica reminds us that it's fun and that we should, like, actually do it more often.
On Tuesday, a veritable plague struck my aquarium. 60% of its inhabitants died, in one fell swoop. My six-year-old kuhli loach, Lorenzo, passed away, and took with him my pl*co and one of my last two red cloud tetras. This left me with a tank with one red cloud tetra, and one ten-inch iridescent shark.
I finally took Sharky back to the fish store, to find a new home with a bigger tank. (I'd been meaning to do so for months, poor guy). Then I picked up a pair of really lovely gouramis and half a dozen neon tetras. I know, neons have the lifespan of cherry blossoms, but they're pretty, and Sasha likes them. So far, I'm loving the gouramis. They have a lot of personality. One neon has achieved death-by-filter intake, so I've reduced the suction a little. Another neon is looking iffy today, but we'll see how he fares.
Later that night, I went to a Bikram Yoga class. That's hot yoga, folks. Yoga in 105 degrees. Yoga that makes your blood pump and your vision turn red in the corners. I'm not sure if I liked it or not, but I'm hoping to go back tomorrow. It left me feeling much like I did when I donated blood, except hot instead of cold: wrung-out, light-headed, and absurdly proud of myself.
Last night, I attended a community choral society rehearsal. It reminds me that I really, really miss singing. Listening to music is all very well, but creating music with other people -- especially the kind with four-part harmony -- is an indescribable experience.
It was a lot of fun. I'd like to join up, but I'm looking at all of my other obligations to see if it would fit in very well. I don't want to do it in a way that would annoy my family, so I guess we'll see.
And that's it for the "Andrea Gets a Life" roundup. Tune in next time, when Andrea wonders why it's suddenly so much harder ot keep her house clean, after all!
My kitchen is: Blessedly free of apple tart residue.
Sasha has amassed the ability to recognize a staggering array of letters and numbers. She does have some persistent trouble with differentiating "X" from "K" and "W" from "M," but these are admittedly difficult distinctions.
Now that she has learned to recognize the alphabet, she has begun to spot letters in the wild, as it were. At the grocery store. At the pharmacy. At the restaurant. Just yesterday, as we drove past the Ocean Chemists, she became excited. "Look, mommy.. I see an S!" she shouted, pointing at the sign.
"That's great, sweetie!" I said, donning my disguise as the Encouraging Parent. "Are there any other letters?"
"No," she said.
My kitchen is: Cold and empty. I went to Starbuck's for breakfast this morning, and ordered a vanilla latte. I have only lately discovered that the latte I received had NO COFFEE IN IT. I am bitter.
This afternoon, when she got home from daycare, Sasha marched into the office and said "Mommy, I want to check my email."
Overlooking the possibility that this means she has acquired a Hotmail account without my knowing about it, there's only one way for me to interpret this: She wants a Gmail invitation.
She has a point. By the time her peer group reaches literacy, all the good usernames will definitely be taken. So what could I do? I gave her one.
My kitchen is: Most improved. Shiny of sink. Onward and upward!