What did I learn this summer?

Faithful readers, you will be pleased to know that I didn't waste an entire summer shopping online or reading trashy beach novels. I in fact have acquired some new skills and knowledge! They include:

1.  How to julienne a zucchini. Properly.
2.  How to change a diaper with an upside down infant. Harder than it looks.
3.  How to drive past trucks with Mitt Romney stickers and chuckle. Not too loudly.
4.  How to prepare shopping lists and write a press release. At the same time. This is also harder than it looks.
5.  How to stick three screaming children in a car without drawing too much attention to myself.
6.  How to be neighborly. Big one! I went to a new neighbor's house and introduced myself. By, like, myself.
7.  How to prep a Slip N Slide.
8.  How to wipe runny noses, take temperatures and dispense Tylenol. For three people. All of them under five.
9.  How to disguise boxes so the Mister doesn't think I am spending too much shopping online.
10. How to love the suburbs.

Ha ha, that last one is a crock of shit. But I am working on it.

Catch 22

I would like to shed two more pounds, although everyone is buzzing in my ear that I am thin enough. I think maybe I have a form of OCD. Do I absolutely have to lose the weight? No, not absolutely. But I like even numbers, so 120 sounds better than 122. Try saying it aloud, you'll see.

If I stopped sipping bubbly three times a week (okay, four), the two pounds would likely just melt off. But mamma likes her bubbly, particularly after a long, arduous day of diapering, bathing, changing, soothing, driving and more diapering. Champagne adds instant festivity to uneventful, poop-filled days.

So here I am, mired in a conundrum of my own doing. Give up the bubbly, or drastically reduce it, and realize the glory of weighing an even 120?

Nah, I didn't think so.

Is there a bandwidth on love?

Since relocating to the sticks (no joke...there are many trees here), I have had the good fortune of becoming reacquainted with long-lost friends and some family members who also live in said sticks. We spent some time getting caught up, eating good food and being nostalgic. At the end of almost every visit, I was told by someone, "I love you." Or, "te quiero."

Which made me happy because I don't always think I am the most lovable thing (I see you vehemently shaking your head in disagreement. I love you.) But being all analytical and also having more time now to think real thoughts beyond press releases and company org charts, I pondered the notion of love. At one time I may have loved these friends who I was lucky to find again. And my extended family, too. But is it really love or just some amped up version of like, since I haven't seen most of them in over a decade?

What happens to love once you have it for someone but they move away, or you lose touch, or life just happens? Does it get stored away? Do we have the capacity to dredge it back out when we see that person again? Is it like riding a bicycle or roller skating, wherein if you haven't done it for a long time it just comes back naturally?

I see you shaking your head, thinking damn it, woman who lives in the sticks, can't you just accept a loving gesture and not dissect it?

Come now. How long have you been reading this blog? I know you expect nothing less of me.

So this notion of love past and resurrected will occupy my thoughts this week.

Gotta love it.

The upside of not working

1. I can start drinking at 5 pm. I could never start before 7 pm, in my previous life.
2. Frequent costume changes. This being due to spit up, or other bodily fluids, thrust upon me courtesy of the babies.
3. Mornings in the garden. Is there nothing sweeter than early morning dew, blue jays and hummingbirds greeting you? (see #1)
4. NO MEETINGS
5. Visiting Target in the middle of the day. Perhaps only a trip to Walmart is better.
6. Drinking at 5 pm

American Independence

Three reasons I am glad we won our liberty from the Brits:

1. British food
2. The monarchy
3. Rick Astley

Suburban Lawns

Remember them? They were a spacy New Wave band, if memory serves. And if memory serves, I have yet to update you, faithful readers, on the latest goings ons with yours truly.

So I resigned the day job. Yep. Ten years is a long time. They were sad, or pretended to be, and threw me the requisite farewell breakfast with stale muffins and day-old fruit. I gave a nice speech, invoking word for word the verbiage Joe Pesci used when winning the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor (for Good Fellas): "it was my privilege, tanks." (Yes, I actually said tanks. Fucking cool.)

But back to Suburban Lawns. Well, we have one. Two actually. Two lawns in suburbia. Yep, the mister and I hightailed it to - cue spooky music - Camarillo. There are many suburban lawns here. Why, you ask? Oh, so he can be closer to his job and we don't spend our nest egg on gas driving from the Marina to the 805.

It has been a week and you will be pleased to know that I haven't had any meltdowns or public outbursts. Keep in mind it has been a week, though. There is the looming crisis about my identity and how the hell did I go from an independent career professional with a regular dry cleaning bill to a house frau with a minivan and three kids, but I see that this post is running long and really, I wanted to talk to you about my lawn.

The two suburban lawns.

Magnusism, #1

"Mommy, can you delete my underwear?"

Pause. Come again?

"I want you to delete my underwear."

"Magnus, do you mean you want me to remove your underwear?"

"Yes."

"So you want me to take off your underwear?"

"MOMMY! I said for you to DELETE my underwear!"

And so it goes. And goes.