Long Enough

We traveled to Boston Took planes and trains and automobiles

Dragging Disney princesses

on rolling suitcases

behind us.

Ariel got her chance to

stroll along down a --

what's that word again?

Airport concourse.

We could only stay in Boston

for four minutes.

Four minutes was long enough to

see our two friends become one

Long enough to get our glasses readjusted

(dorks)

Long enough to swallow the

unmistakable

New England October air

and to look up at the mirror ceiling

of the hotel where

a young man asked my father

on the same weekend

seven years ago

if he could put up with

my motion sickness and

broken eyeglasses for a lifetime.

Seven years later,

my husband twirled me on the dancefloor

to Michael Buble

our flower girl daughter pouting

our angel son sleeping in the lap of Uncle Greg.

Later we would consider

passing by

our Boston real estate

where we brought home two

babies brand-new,

real estate now occupied by

some unsavories.

But then I thought how

I didn't want to spend

these four minutes in Boston

looking back

casting our life there

as some man that I had loved

but knew I could never marry.

I've had my fun/ But baby I'm done I wanna go home

*** Our host, sweet Maggie

...and her baby sister Louise (not pictured: Louise's twin bro Calvin)

FamiLee

Flower Gal waiting

Tater waiting

Jeff waiting

Lo! The flower gals arriveth

Lo! Eunis arriveth

 

Hard out here for a flower girl

Mercy. I miss Newbury St.

Kicking off her shoes for dancemania

Eunis + Jeff = 4 eva

Rocktober!

There is a smoking hot man in my bed just waiting for me. And he is waiting for me to finish posting all of my show n' tell from our superuberphun time last night.  And by our fun time, I mean the field trip I had with the kids, natch.

Once I do that, I will hop in that sack and do what I do every night.

Which is to ask my lover, Who is that on the cover of that magazine for lawyers this month? Franco who? Wait, that's his last name!?

And then Loverpants will do what he does every night which is to keep the light on for way too long reading articles in that magazine for lawyers--wait, what? Esquire is not just for lawyers?

(I was wondering why my psychotherapist lover was so interested in the litigious details of Franco person guy famous coverboy man.)

Anyway. Without further adieu.  I had SO MUCH FUN with my kids last night!! I woke up with a fierce hangover from the sheer fun of it all.  Loverpants had an all-night softball tournament (I know! He's so hard-core athletic, he's nocturnal!).

It was such a lovely and crisp Rocktober night.

My daughter then took a picture of me from a highly flattering angle in my Rocktober garb.

The kizzle and I mounted an outing to Good Dog where you can get any menu item in veggie form <3.

And afterward we hung with all the hoi polloi at Coolidge Park, fulfilling a lifelong dream of mine to see a balloon glow.  Ooooh!  Say it, balloon glow!  Doesn't it sound so psychadellic?

It was pretty amazing.  The colors, the lights, the people.

At first Baby Girl was two thumbs down on the chilly evening outing.  But then, the idea illumined her mind that all these people were gathered for a NIGHT PARTY! And then she was all banshee-dancey about it being a NIGHT PARTY! And she kept looking up at the moon and singing happy birthday to the moon and thanking that lunar globe for hosting the NIGHT PARTY!!!

Happy Rocktober, y'all.

Single Thing

There were always those kids in school who would Use Their Time Wisely and get their homework done so they wouldn't have to do it later. I was never that student, putting on the blinders from the Koosh ball game happening in the corner so that I could point my nose to the grindstone, and finish copying the definition to plateau from my Social Studies text. Who needs to write down the definition of plateau, anyways? Plateaus are unforgettable! I have never had the singleness of mind to focus on one particular project. I've never been monogamous with my work or my activities. I've always spread myself too thin, being jackie of all trades and mistress of none. I'm chronically frustrated with myself because I don't really have a portfolio of stuff I've done that makes me proud. No pictures of the cowlneck sweaters I knit or all the great meals I've cooked. I just kinda dabble, you know?

But believe it or not, something I learned in slingin' cosmetics helped me to change. When I was trying to win a contest for a purdy ring one quarter, I thought, What is the one thing I am doing TODAY to help me get that ring?

I didn't really chart my activity (see also: allergic to numbers) but I was very conscious of my daily activity. It paid off. I got the ring. And I had the best sales quarter evahhh.

Since that time, I've used this principle of one thing every day to help steer me on my course toward my goals.

I recently submitted four chapters of a memoir manuscript to an editor friend. I've got more sizzlin' in the pan. If you would have told me that I could do this, in spite of moving and compiling syllabi for three new classes I'd never taught before (and mom-ing and wife-ing it up), I would have said, Sorry, Palsie. You've got the wrong woman. I don't have time for that scheduled ballyhoo.

But I did it. I committed to writing 500 words a day, 4-5 days/week, and I pressed my fingers to keys and the cursor moved, and yeah. Yeah, I'm too fat for some of my pants. It's true I have probably paid Netflix $48 to hang on to one DVD for the last three months. But I wrote some stuff! It may never go further than the editor friend's desk. Still. I didn't stop in the middle of the first chapter and decide to up and learn Scottish highland dancing. This is big for me.

But not as big as Little Man's BUZZ CUT!!

Now you see his hair.

Now you buh-bye.

(He looks a little displeased here, but he was a cool customer of the buzz.)