Burning the Candle at Both Ends

You should write a book, they say.

Oh my God, that’s hilarious. When are you going to write about it?

If you don’t write all this stuff down, you’ll lose it.

At the same time: work, sickness, two small kids. November started with the flu and ended with some gastrointestinal horrors, sandwiched around but not related to or caused by Thanksgiving. A small girl who is lonely and whose tummy hurts and who wants her mama. An even smaller girl who wants to be in the middle of where everyone is, who repeats over and over in the sweetest voice imaginable, “Uh-oh!” about everything.

And the holidays! They are upon us. Good grief.

Where will I find the time?

I lost a week of work this month to illness. I am so terribly behind. I worked at home during the Thanksgiving weekend. I worked this evening after putting the kids to bed. Speaking of which, the baby (soon-to-be-toddler) is waking up three times a night. It is like she has regressed back to the early days. And, exhausted, my sweet husband has passed out next to the baby. He is snoring softly. And just in thinking of him I think, his birthday is coming up. Yet another twinge of guilt and despair! How will I get it all done?

I need time for myself – time to exercise, time to write things that aren’t for work, time to get my hair cut. I am feeling a bit raggedy. I breathe. I am thankful, don’t get it twisted. My little family is such a swirling tide of love. I just feel like I am constantly pulling together a shawl that is unraveling and getting smaller all the time. It just won’t cover me.

And in taking the time to write it down, at least I can look back and remember what on earth was going on. And find the humor in it. Ha. Ha. Yes, and ha.

Thankfully, Los Angeles does not disappoint. Last week, I was driving south on Crenshaw Blvd. and just as I reached the red light at Jefferson, I saw a bright orange ice-cream-type truck turn left onto Crenshaw. That truck, my friends, was the Grilled Cheese Truck. Now, THAT is fabulousness made real. The Grilled Cheese Truck just made its debut in October of this year, so I feel I am almost somewhat on the cutting edge in reporting this to you. They tweet and publish a schedule of when the truck will be in various locations so you can go get a fresh grilled cheese sandwich when the mood strikes. Among other things, they do a Gruyere melt, which sounds divine.

Yup, Grilled Cheese Truck. You heard it here first (maybe). Now I must arise from the laptop and collapse into bed, at which point no doubt the Babe will awake and I will suppress the urge to scream. One love, all. One love.

On the Mend

The Blah Blahs are recovering from whatever horrible ailment that was. And thus and so we have all returned to “normal” life, off to work and school and day care. Cily did not seem so sure about day care this morning. She had a rough night and her cheeks are kind of swollen, indicating to me that teeth are about to break through. Cily would not eat breakfast, and neither would Viva, and I fretted a bit about it in the car as we tootled off to begin our days, but then Viva could not stop telling me the entire plot of the Captain Underpants book she read last night, and Cily chimed in loudly here and there cheerfully, at times talking over her sister (she is not quite clear on conversational concepts yet, but would feel right at home with some of my closest friends who, and they know who they are, can’t quite ever let one get a full sentence out without bursting out with an exclamation) and so I managed to get over it, letting Viva out of the car at school with a Tupperware of dry cereal to munch on and handing a bottle to Cily’s day care provider as I handed her over. And then somehow I drank two cups of coffee at work and got to lunchtime and realized I hadn’t eaten breakfast either.

Soup is the answer. I think it cures all kinds of ills.

But Not the Flu

Today I am sick.

Darling Sweet Dub is sick.

Precious Cily is sick.

Viva: healthy as all get-out and raring to go. What adventure awaits her today?

I am at work, having come in just to make edits and print and mail out a project so I can cross it off my “to do” list. It is quiet here today – about half the staff in our department are out at a conference. I am enjoying the calm.

Soon I will make phone calls, and I will sketch out my next assignment, and I will leave here and pick up Cily from the lovely and loving women who care for her all day. Cily, sweet Cily gives kisses to all of us without pursing her lips. Sometimes they are open-mouthed kisses, and she chews a little bit on your face, kind of thoughtful-like, before moving on to smear her spit on your cheek. I am guessing this is how both Sweet Dub and I got sick, since who can resist her?

I will try and work from home for the rest of the day. Cily, I know, may not cooperate. But I will first make my phone calls and see what avenue to take next, and then maybe once we get home she will nap. And I may sneak some pictures of her because she is so scrumptious.

And that other girl, Viva, will come home victorious from whatever she has done today and declare that I am the best mom ever because when I make myself a cup of tea I automatically make her a cup of hot cocoa. And I will try not to give her my germs, but it will be hard, because who can resist her?

And maybe for Sweet Dub, I will make some chicken soup to share. He too is at work. (What a crazy life – we all have “too much to do.”) So he will come home and all of us will collapse in bed together and he will be so sweet with the children as we all loll about that I might have to kiss him and share his germs too, because how can I resist him?

So that is the plan for the day. Be well, my friends.

Terribly Out of Fashion

Transcript of recent conversation with my 6-year-old.

Viva: Why are you wearing (pause for effect) THOSE earrings?

Mama: These? (feels ears because can’t remember which ones) Oh, these. Um, I don’t know, I never wear them and Daddy gave them to me and so I thought today I would wear them. Why? Don’t you like them?

Viva: Well, Mah-OM (like she doesn’t know exactly how to tell me this): they look like boys’ earrings.

Mama: (busts out laughing) OH! MY. GOD! HONEY!

Sweet Dub (from another part of the house): WHUH?

Mama: Come and hear what your child is saying.

Viva: What? They DO.

Sweet Dub: What?

Mama: Listen to what has become of this generation. Your child thinks these look like boys’ earrings.

Sweet Dub (bursts out laughing) Oh, no. Really? Is that what we’ve come to?

Mama: Bling bling.

Note: The earrings in question are diamond studs. I have a tendency to wear dangly earrings mostly, so I hardly ever wear them. It appears that all the young men who like the hippity-hop music wear earrings like this and thus have ruined them forever for everyone else. Evidently I can’t yet wear them as a subversive, arch act of turning fashion on its head because people will just think I’m out of touch rather than cutting edge. Woe is me.