Bittersweet

My summer project, other than the move from hell about which I am in total denial, is to gently wean BabyStar. I'm ready for this and I'm not. That little voice in the back of my head keeps whispering he may be the last...

And so last night after he nursed before bed, he let go and looked up and said "yum yum yum yum," which he usually reserves for popsicles and chocolate chip cookies.

I think that's the best compliment I've ever received.

Pie

You know how late in the spring/early summer, you get the urge to bake all sorts of cobblers and pies?

Okay maybe that's just me.

Yeah, next time I'll stick with peaches, or apples, or maybe even cherries, but not blueberries.

The boy wonders and blueberry pie just make a big mess.

A tasty mess, but a very big mess.

Lyrics

Just because.

Wounded
Third Eye Blind

The guy who put his hands on you
Has got nothing to do with me
And the bruises that you feel will heal
And I hope you'll come around
'Cause we're missing you
And you used to speak so easy
Now you're afraid to talk to me
It's like walking with the wounded
Carrying that weight way too far
The concrete pulled you down so hard
Out there with the wounded
Missing you
Well I never claimed to understand what happens after dark
But my fingers catch sparks at the thought of touching you

When you're wounded
Let me break it down 'till I force the issue
We miss your face and you know I wish you
Would come back down the the Dalva Bar
You tell 'em, that's just my battle scar
I want to kiss you
And knock 'em down like we used to
You're the marigold
Till you're walking down shaking that ass again
And then you walk on, baby walk on, you walk on, on and on
You're an angel in the pit with her hands in the air
And we're missing you
Now it's fall, and your shoulders get tighter
Nervous flicks on the lighter, boots
Your pissed off poets, your women's groups
And the friends with you, we should have known this fool
Well I guess we missed the mark
Still my fingers catch the sparks at the thought of them touching you
Now you're wounded
Let me break it down 'till I force the issue
You never come around, and you know we miss you
Well nobody took your pride away
I said, that's something people say
Back down the bully to the back of the bus
'Cause it's time for them to be scared of us
'Till you're yelling, how we living cause you got the ball
Then you rock on baby, rock on, you rock on, on and on
You're a summer time hottie with her socks in the air
You're screaming I don't care baby I don't care
You say you don't know
You say you can't grow
All I know is we're missing you
You say you don't know
You say you can't grow
All I know is we're missing you
Show up, show up wounded
Show up, show up wounded

In the name of love

Lovely picture isn't it? It's here via the lovely Lemony for two reasons. First, I'd do anything for that woman.

Second, I think it sucks hard that any minority group in this country in 2006 needs a pride month. I don't know about everyone else, but my mother managed to teach me, by the time I was oh I don't know maybe nine or ten, that what other people do with themselves is none of my damn business.

I wish more people had had a mom like mine.

Trouble

I'm in trouble.

See here, halfway down that boring business article?

ULTA will open its newest location at the North Hills Village Mall, 4801 McKnight Road, Ross, next Friday. To celebrate, the new ULTA store is offering free makeovers and hair consultations, and giving away gift certificates to the first 100 customers in the store during opening weekend. It combines a selection of name brand cosmetics, fragrances and skin and hair care products with a full-service in-store salon.

And here, from the lovely Sephora site.

"Pittsburgh, PA Sephora is opening in July 2006 in Ross Park Mall."

Yeah. I'm going to need a job.

A word to the Wise

Since it seems I do not qualify for that category...

So, say you're a rapidly-approaching-30-years-old mother of two. And say chasing those two around all day just isn't getting you back in shape. So for a few months you exercise religiously, to the point that you get bored with all the new workout DVDs you've bought for yourself.

Do not, I repeat, DO NOT go digging up your copy of the NYC Ballet workout if it has been almost five years since you dragged your happy ass to a dance class. And if you should happen to do so, for the love of all that is holy, take it easy.

Wanna know what will happen? Your waist will become some bizarre anatomical equator. Your southern half will be just fine when you roll out of bed the next morning. But when you go to pick up your baby, every muscle between your navel and neck will curse at you in several languages.

I tell you this because I love you. Not so that you can laugh at my pain.

More meme time

From the ever-adorable Gringirl. And before I forget, Crazy Cat Lady, Zadi, and OmegaMom go for it.




One body part you’d like to change? Hmm. I've never cared for the bump in my nose. I'd straighten that.

Describe your ideal Saturday. I'd wake up late and everyone would be out of the house. I'd have bagels and lox for breakfast, exercise for a long time, take a bubblebath, waste all morning at the bookstore, come home and write all afternoon, order dinner in, have a glass of Reisling, then chat on the phone with a friend until bedtime.

What have you got for leftovers in your fridge? Not much. It's grocery day and I just cleaned out the fridge. Pasta and veggies from last night.

You get to travel back in time for one day. I go back to high school and kiss the one guy I regret not kissing.

If you had one hour with the President, what would you say to him? The answer to this doesn't even matter, as he doesn't comprehend my vocabulary.

One body part you’d never change? My eyes.

Your most favorite thing about motherhood? The way it lifts you out of yourself.

Ultra-violet rays or tan-in-a-bottle? Neither baby. I'm working the tuberculosis patient look.

You have an unlimited expense account; what three things do you purchase first? A bigger house. The cute sandals I was drooling over the other day. Lipstick.

Your least favorite thing about motherhood? All the things you can't control.

YeIt’s 10:00 p.m., do you know where your children are? They're in bed, asleep. And if they aren't asleep, they better be quiet. ;)

I? Have to get out more

After weeks of craziness with house projects and death of relatives and heathen children, I finally got to go out Sunday morning.

All by myself.


To Kohl's where I had to return the cutest hot pink silk cami that made me look like a stuffed sausage. Wah.

But then there were cute sandals to look at, so that was okay.

And since I love books more than oxygen, and there is no coffee at Kohl's, off to the bookstore.

I have a happy little bookstore routine. First, I have to get the yummy hazelnut latte. The big one. Yum.

Then, I meander through the periodical aisles, up and down, until I get to the final aisle and grab the latest Poets & Writers.

Sounds good, no?

I had to pass behind some man on my way along the magazine rack. I was polite. I stayed out of his space. He stared at my legs, up and down, no less than three times in under a minute.

I wasn't wearing heels. I do not have a tan. I have cellulite and spider veins. If he wasn't so creepily obvious, I would have felt sorry for him.

But no, he killed my bookstore mojo.

Didn't stop me from buying books, of course. ;)

All this to say, I need to get out more.

Rain

Soooo ... I should know by now to watch what I bitch about.

I had forgotten about this.

Yes, the festival itself does rock. And oh the yummy horrible deep-fried festival food. Mmmmm... fried veggies smothered in cheese sauce...


wiping up drool

Anyhow. The tradition is, it rains every weekend of the arts festival. It always has. It always will. Forever and ever, amen.

So, it's safe if anyone wants to come visit. Until July, anyway.