Pillow Talk

"It's cool, I guess."

Afternoon Readers,

It's wonderful you've decided to join me on a Wednesday because yesterday I was making big decisions.

What?

Oh, I forgot. For all of you who are new here today, I make all my big decisions on Tuesdays, write about them on Wednesdays, feel guilty about them on Thursdays, drink them away on Fridays, receive validation from Husband about them on Saturdays, ask for forgiveness on Sundays, and start re-evaluating new topics for life decisions on Mondays.

So it made sense then when I stripped the cases, held up my bedroom pillows and asked the wall, "What are these?"

"Pillows."

I shook my head. "No, these are orange and disgusting. Who sleeps on these? This one looks like a tater tot. Or a giraffe with polio."

Sundance the Bride

"You'll never even know it was your wedding day."

 Afternoon Readers,

I'm not sure how many of you are married, thinking about getting married, or planning a wedding right now, but after you order the cake, book the DJ, and buy two tons of colored almonds, please remember to also invite the Kellermans.

Please note: Surveys show marriages we witness have a one-hundred-percent success rate, mainly because all of those couples are terrified we'll show up to a second wedding.

This past weekend was a mad rush to get the kids where they needed to be, Husband into dress shoes that fit, and a running start to  get my Spanx from my ankles to a position on my body where they'd try to make a difference.

My knees have never looked so thin.

General Chaos

"I have nothing under control, so I put corn on this hat instead."

 Morning Readers,

You know how sometimes you wash your hair before you go to bed, braid it, sleep on it, and wake up thinking you'll look like Gisele Bundchen, but the result is more like Ron Perlman from the old 80's TV show Beauty and the Beast?

And you look in the mirror and think, "Really, hair? I would've settled for looking like a bad version of Linda Hamilton from 1980's Beauty and the Beast."

Yeah, me either.

Control. We have none. This is especially true when one has small children to tend to and a wedding to get ready for, all in one week. Are my Spanx clean? I don't know. Does Butch have socks to wear under his shoes? Beats me. Will Sundance show up wearing her new dress as a skirt and a purse as a shirt? No doubt.

If You Give An Author A Cookie

"Your house is cleaner than mine and these drapes are whimsical and thought provoking. I'm staying."

Morning Readers,

She may just follow you to your blog.

And when she follows you to your blog, she might crash on your couch.

And once she gets comfortable on your couch, she'll demand a blanket, the last installment of Harry Potter, and a warm brown sugar Pop Tart with cold 1% milk.

The milk will make her sleepy, so she'll ask that you read to her in dulcet tones.

An Open Letter To My Hacker

"There's not much more you don't know about me, except I like big bows and I cannot lie.

Afternoon Readers,

It was quite a busy morning around the Split-level, I must say. Not only did the early hours require me to divide my attention between eating my breakfast bar and working through the two pound bag of Skittles I received for my birthday, but you, my dear friends, alerted me to the fact my email had been broken into.

What's a girl to do?

Well, eat the green ones first, obviously. Green Apple was a solid switch.

But how was I to deal with having my inbox cleaned out, breaking my breakfast bar into three pieces so the twins could have some, and seeing this letter sent to all people in my writerly life:

I Want To Give You Things For My Birthday

Morning Readers,

I may or may not be turning 29 today. But that's not the point. The point is I just got the sweetest call from Husband.

"Happy birthday, babe!"

"Thanks!"

"Will you remember to take out the trash? Because it's trash day."

Nope, I guess that's not the point either.

Oh yes, I remember....

Welcome to the Hotel Unrest

"We have to make our own meals and change our sheets, but they give you a complimentary cigarette lighter."

Morning Readers,

Well, it's official. I think I picked the wrong place to stay for summer vacation.

The brochure looked nice, all three glittering pages luring me in with promises that a warm bed and air conditioning were included in the low, low price of my mortgage, but I'm just not sure about everything else.

Like any other vacationer, I'd diligently saved my money in order to tour and see the sights of Kansas, once named, "The Most Un-Exotic Exotic Destination in the Middle of the United States." But how's a person supposed to watch the local Robins peck holes in the wood siding, if she's downstairs making her own continental breakfast?

Not to mention, the coffee maker looks like no one's bothered to clean it in months. Who are these people?

Under the Deck

"I know what I saw under there. Spiders, bugs, a fruit snack I lost last month."

Afternoon Readers,

You joined me just in time. At this moment, I'm watching justice doled out in the form of an irate toddler in a tutu trying desperately to whack her brother with the fin of her mermaid doll, in the attempt to ward him off from chasing her with the sprinkler again.

Fascinating stuff, this parenting.

If she connects, I can't say he didn't have it coming.

How to Celebrate a Four Year Anniversary

"So now you have a hat to match the boat. That's what anniversaries are for."

Afternoon Readers,

I must tell you of our adventures. Please sit.

Act I.

When the morning of our anniversary dawned, I couldn't wait to forget to call Husband because the children all needed to be fed or extracted from a cabinet. So I did just that. Delayed gratification smatification.

Days of romantic import should always begin with a volley of sweet words, delivered after Fruit Loops have been sanded off tables.

"Hello," I purred into the phone. "Happy anniversary."

"I was going to say that."

"But I beat you to it."

"I've gotta get back to work. Remember to feed the dog."

I nodded. "I'll feed the dog, just as your poetry has fed my soul and given me sustenance to make it through this day."

Why I Love the Laundry

"And the I said to Bill, why do we need an energy efficient machine when we can do the neighborhood's laundry in Marlene's hot tub?"

Afternoon Readers,

There comes a time in every woman's life when she pulls a shepherd, a building block, and the Angel of Bethlehem out of her washing machine.

Quiet. You'll get there.

And she, like myself, will look at the poor shepherd and wonder whether she meant to wash him in cold water for efficiency, or if that was supposed to be her husband's socks instead. And then she wonders why people even wear socks. And after that, why people even need to do laundry except to clean shirts to cover stretch marks.

Weekend Re-Cap and a Giveaway at the Camp

Let's put on our Monday suits and get down to business.

Afternoon Readers,

As Friday didn't present me an opportunity to post (due mainly to the fact a critical bout of lazy struck right as inspiration did, thereby canceling both things out and prompting me to go eat ice cream instead), I'm sending you a snapshot of weekend happenings around the Split Level:

1.) Doc Holiday is mobile and in love with both climbing the vacuum cleaner and trying to hoist his fat form into the bottom drawer of the oven. The only reason for the latter, I can think of, is the baby believes himself to be a plump Christmas ham.

Although the twins didn't put this idea in his head, they're happy to encourage it or any other plans the baby has to fall off of or into something.