Ramona and Beezus

Selena Gomez and Joey King

I'm not going to lie. When I was first contacted about attending the press screening of Ramona and Beezus in my area, I had mixed feelings. Feelings like, woot! free movie and press? me? and Ramona? really? is there not a Johnny Depp flick that needs reviewing? But if you know me, you know that woot! free movie won and, hello, I have an 11-year-old daughter, so of course we would be first in line to see a Selena Gomez movie.

Also, until the movie began, I was not certain I could tell the difference between Selena Gomez, Demi Lavato or Mirando Cosgrove. Frankly, still not sure. But I digress...

Carlie and her friend Hannah and I headed off to the *free* movie, wherein *free* = we did not pay for tickets, but we spent $32 at the concession stand. Free? Heh.

I'm not going to lie. The filmmakers knew exactly what they were doing when they cast this film. Selena Gomez? The two 11-year-old girls with me could not have been more thrilled. But mommas, fear not. Your needs were not overlooked in this movie.

SIDE NOTE: Have I ever told you about the time I wept openly while watching Sex in the City because my beloved DJ Chris from Northern Exposure had made a grand comeback as Carrie's boyfriend Aidan? True Story.

DJ Chris Stevens of Cicely, Alaska

Not gonna lie. Had to stop and process the fact that one of the men from my Top 10 Hotties of all time list is now playing the dad character. Way to make a gal feel ancient. But any movie casting John Corbett in a leading role is going to, at the very least, get my attention.

It was somewhat less traumatizing to have Leo from All My Children play the hot-and-reformed bad boy next door. OMG, do you remember the Leo & Greenlee love story? Swoon.

As for the movie. The girls loved it. And I am willing to drop my hardcore rock-n-roll-mom persona (bwahaha) long enough to admit that I enjoyed it to. Both of my girls cried at the sad part. And then they both cried at the happy part. And then I said oh, holy hell, preteen hormones, someone save me.

As far as finding a movie suitable for the preteen girls that I had with me, this movie was the perfect mix of goofy little sister, pretty/cool teen sister, cute boy/innocent crush and family. It was definitely more Junior Chick Flick than kiddy movie. Which suited my girls just fine.

Between the three of us we give it six resounding thumbs up (as opposed to the last movie I saw with Carlie, which she gave two thumbs down and one finger up the nose. It was that bad.)

Ramona and Beezus opens nationwide July 23.

Jealous

My nest. Emptier, but not quite empty. Yet.

In unrelated events, recently two of my friends posted old photos of their fabulous college-aged selves with their now-spouses. And it made me jealous --

When Tim and I met, I had two kids, he had one, and by our first wedding anniversary, we'd already welcomed Carlie to the family.

-- And I found myself envious of those friends and their days of being young and in love and not a parent and enjoying that time together and having it to look back on in later years when life becomes harried and crazy with kids and schedules and drop offs and pick ups and OMG how did this become my life. In my envious fantasies, I imagine meaningful, knowing glances as you pass each other in the hall, calling out, "I'll be home by 6:00, don't forget to drop her off at dance," and having those memories of way back when to pull from when you're looking for something to hold on to.

All of our memories, Tim and I, are of a family. We were never a couple. That's the way it is when it's your second time around and you've already lived a life. It's not a bad thing, it's just a different thing. And thank God we're old enough to have the empty nest in our near-future (seven years!), and will still be young enough to enjoy it when it happens.

Carlie is currently obsessed with my high school year book and old photos of mom and dad as teenagers, which only adds fuel to my what if I knew you then fire. Of course, the reality is, things would not have worked out between this troublemaking chick and that churchgoing boy circa the 1980s. But still, it's fun to think about. Maybe I'll write a story...

Meanwhile, I can't get enough of Swell Season this week. I don't know why.

In which I am a grown up.

"Did you see who had the NERVE to sit next to me in church?" I pseudo-whispered to a friend at the coffee maker after mass. My friend looked at me, pretending not to know what I was talking about. As if. "You know. Remember? I can't stand her."

Flashback to a little event that I like to refer to as O Holy Clusterfuck, otherwise known as the Annual Children's Program. I won't go into the logistics of the now defunct ritual (praise be) other than to say that it was, a-hem, somewhat chaotic. And also needless to say, my daughter pleaded with every fiber of her being to be included. Every. Single. Year.

This particular year, she was playing a violin solo at OHC (aka ACP) before the actual mass began. Several children with varying levels of musical ability were playing solos in a half-hour *presentation* before mass, a mass that is always full to capacity with overflow seating in folding chairs ringing the perimeter of the church and spillover folks standing in the hallway outside of the church. The way that OHC (aka ACP) worked was, mass starts at 5 p.m. The Program begins at 4:30. The children in the Program had to arrive by something ridiculous like 3:30. As a result, all seating for the 5 p.m. mass was completely filled to capacity by 4 p.m. Oh, and this all took place on Christmas Eve, the one night of the year when everyone that has not been to church in a calendar year comes to church, and those who come to church every weekend point and stare and mock and judge. But I digress....

My child, wearing angel wings and a Christmas dress, was standing at the front of the church playing her violin solo. I was sitting in a near-front pew, videotaping her. And this woman walks in, stands directly in front of me and my videocamera, and does not sit down. Just stands there, looking around.

I choked down my roar of hey lady, down in front! and instead said, excuse me, I'm trying to videotape my daughter. To which the woman responds by ignoring me completely and talking to her husband in her *outside voice* about how ridiculously crowded the mass is. Meanwhile, my daughter finished her solo, took a bow, and left the altar, and I not only didn't get it on video, but barely got to see it.

Needless to say, I memorized this woman's face and vowed my vengeance, wherein vengeance = being totally passive-aggressive and snubbing her at every occasion. Heh. Also, no need to comment on my unchurchly like behavior. I know.

Back to present. I am standing at the coffee maker with my friend, who is pretending not to know what I am talking about. As if.

"You know. Remember? I can't stand her. The one who stood in front of me at the Christmas Program and wouldn't sit down? Totally rude? Remember?"

And my friend looked at me and said, "Seriously? That was, like, five years ago. Let it go."

What?

I drove home thinking about the last time my now 11-1/2-year-old preteen wore angel wings, and I'd say five years sounds pretty accurate. Seriously? Am I that fucked up, that I have been harboring a grudge against someone whose name I do not know for five years? Oy.

So in the spirit of embracing the message at church today, which I could barely focus on because I was so busy being mad at this woman sitting next to me, and , hence, in the spirit of preserving my mental health, I am letting go.

Poof. Gone. Goodbye. I am done. I am letting go.

Dear obnoxious lady, I forgive you. You're welcome.*

*I actually wrote "you're welcome, bitch," and then realized that might be contrary to the spirit of letting go. So I deleted it. Because I am letting go. Like a grown up, albeit in baby steps.

The Daily Awesome

image from despair.com, apropos of nothing

I was on the phone with a friend earlier today, and it came to light that much of the joy I derive in life comes at the expense of others. Like, when I think of things that would really make me happy, it usually involves someone else becoming quite unhappy at that exact moment. For example, my wish today was for my friend's new business venture to annihilate the business of someone I don't like. That kind of shit. If something goes wrong (for someone else), I generally find it amusing, and then hide behind the guise of I'm laughing with you, not at you. Like, OMG, I am so sorry that you just tripped and fell ass over head over your baby's jogging stroller while passing me on the trail. So sorry, in fact, that my laughter is just an awkward attempt to help you heal from the humiliation.

That concept, coupled with the fact that my life seems to be made up of a continuous string of tragic yet random events led to the thought... I wonder if other people are getting a kick out of my misery? And the answer, after a scientific survey of asking three people how funny they thought it was when I went to work yesterday without my equipment**, was yes, indeed, people do enjoy my sorrow.

So in order to spread love and bring peace to the land, I decided to start the Daily Awesome, wherein *awesome* = OMG WTF seriously? did that just happen? dripping in sarcasm.

I was going to make it a blog feature, but then decided to make it a Facebook page, that way, when something awesome happens to you, you can share it with the world too. Because nothing helps one feel better about their current suckage than to have others point and laugh at it.

You're welcome.

So go to Facebook and join the Daily Awesome. Right now. And if you're not on Facebook, then go join Facebook. You too can be awesome.

**I am a court reporter, and yesterday I went to a deposition without a steno machine, or laptop, or anything. If you're not familiar with this industry, the best example I could give would be imagine you get your entire family together for family portraits, the kids are dressed up and clean and everyone's hair looks good. And the photographer shows up and says, Crap, I forgot my camera. And that photographer has no camera, or back up camera, or even so much as a camera on his cell phone. That's what I did yesterday. But to lawyers instead of your family. Awesome.

Aging Well

I am in love with Eddie Vedder. I have been since my first Pearl Jam concert in 1992. And dayum, he is aging well.

Then...

And now...

Skinny Bitch, my best friend this summer

Everyone. Right now. You need to be drinking a skinny bitch. Seriously. It's that good. Vanilla vodka is the secret. PS: drunk blogging, who? PSS: Yeah, it's a Jonas Brothers tee-shirt. You got something to say?

It was the best of times... it was the worst of times

For some reason, the gods of cool were smiling down on me today and many cool things came my way, making me quite giddy.

I received an email today informing me that my chicken fajita soup recipe had achieved runner-up status in a contest that I forgot I entered. $25 cash prize. Holla.

Also through the wonders of the Internet, I have been mistaken for a real blogger and have received not only passes for a press screening of Ramona and Beezus, but a chance for a phone interview with Selena Gomez. This has upped my cool factor in the eyes of my child by about 200%.

Because I have a new pastime of hanging at the pool, I have been in search of the perfect insulated non-glass pitcher for taking a batch of cocktails to the pool. And today I found it. At Goodwill. For $3.99 in all of its retro glory.

With that $25 cash prize burning a hole in my pocket, I also hit the fabric store to purchase fabric for a quilt I am planning for my oldest, Maggy. And guess what? Didn't even know it, but all quilt fabric was half off. Are you seeing a trend here? I am golden, people. Gold. En.

My bargain mania took me on one final stop to Ross, in search of a case for my iPhone and a spare pair of sunglasses for the pool. Found both. On sale. Cha-ching.

And when I got to the register, the twatty little cashier asked, "Are you 55 or older?" to see if I qualified for the senior discount.

BITCH.

What crows feet? What divet in my forehead? Bags under the eyes, who?

BBQ Fail

UPDATE: once Tim got home with the tools, it took 90 minutes to get that puppy built. Amen.

Happy 4th of July! A day of celebration and grilling. My chicken has been marinating in a mango salsa since last night. I've got sausages ready to toss on the grill and baked beans ready for baking.

One small problem...

Our New Grill

Fourth of July BBQ Fail.

Choose your battles

I have a huge story to tell you about the aftermath of this event, but I am tired of hearing myself talk about it. So I'll just give you the abbreviated version. Carlie is fine and dandy, with nothing to show for the accident but a little scar on her eyelid/brow area. THANK GOD.

Eight days after the accident, I received a call from the insurance company for the grocery store to tell me that my "claim" has been denied. I didn't even file a claim! But that doesn't really matter, they just wanted to give me a courtesy call and let me know that, after investigating, they are denying liability.

I don't even want to go on any more about how they have their wine bottles precariously teetering on the end-caps of their store, or about the fact that I DID NOT FILE A CLAIM. But in the span of two harassing and unsolicited phone calls from "the man," I went from "accidents happen" to "OMG I will own your ass when this is done." And that? Is a place I do not want to go.

So let's take a poll. Does this look safe to you?

Wine bottles, stacked upon other cardboard boxes full of wine bottles, with nothing but a one inch rim of cardboard holding them in place.
Do you know how easy it is to round the corner at the end of the aisle and bump these displays? And when I took the photo, I gave the middle box a tiny shove and the bottles started to topple. I stopped them from falling. Because I am not 11 years old and saw it coming. But I digress...

I am so not looking for a legal battle. I have insurance (thank God) (but it's shitty insurance) that will hopefully cover the cost of the E.R. visit (if our deductible has been met). But I still have a $100 ER copay and the cost of the doctor's office visit co-pay (stitch removal) and whatever portion the insurance is not going to cover (I think best case scenario, they cover 70%. Like I said, shitty insurance).

And let's remember, I have yet to receive a hospital bill OR submit a bill for reimbursement to the store or their insurance company.

So can someone please tell me why they would choose to call and fuck with me? Really, I'm dying to know.

Also... how awesome are are my iPhone photos. Thank God I am easily distracted...

Can you out slob me?

So I got dressed for work this morning, and lo and behold there's a big gob o' something on my sweater. Ick. Did I take the sweater off and grab something else? No, I didn't. Because there is nothing else. Because, hello, dollhouse sized washer and dryer and LAUNDRY, WHO?

I pinned a rhinestone butterfly over the gob o' something and went to work, ignoring the much smaller and less discretely placed mini-gobs.

Not going to lie... it's not the first time I've been a wardrobe slob. Wearing jeans off the bedroom floor? Check. Hanging up a dress after a party to wear it again before dry cleaning? Check.

How about you? Because I know I'm not the only one.

Summer... finally!

Summer has finally arrived in the Pacific Northwest. And honestly, not a moment too soon. When the local news did a story with the title "Summer Cancelled?" people kind of started to lose their shit.

To celebrate the sun, I got an iPhone. Oh yes, I did. It's kind of like a little mini starter version of the iPad (which I still don't have). So I am looking at it as iPad practice.

As soon as the weather was warm enough to swim, Carlie was ready to be at the pool 24/7. Except she had one small problem. Or make that five small problems... five stitches in her eyelid. Which, WTH with the super healing power of children? It has been a week and a day, and she is almost looking 100% like nothing happened. Whereas I still have pink puckery scars from my surgery in February and, frankly, I think my 11 and a half C-section scar is still kind of numb and jacked up.

She got her stitches out on Friday, and we spent most of the weekend hanging at the pool. Oh, and just FYI, I am apparently the fattest person in this condo complex, or at least the fattest one in a bathing suit at the pool. Yay me. FML.

I can't find my camera, but this is our pool. We are big pimpin', can I just say.
Since I am the fattest person at the pool, and since I have this gorgeous running trail literally steps outside of my door, I've decided to put it to use and get back to a regular running routine. You know how people say shit like "Getting out there is the hardest part, but I'm always so glad I did it," and "Oh, I love the energy I have for the rest of the day after a good morning workout" ?? Well, they are all fucking liars. Working out SUCKS. And running SUCKS. And OMG why couldn't I have been born with some kind of freakish metabolism that allowed me to eat cheeseburgers and kettle chips and not pork out? LIFE IS NOT FAIR.

So that's what we've got going on this summer. Some running, some swimming, some pool lounging, healed stitches and an iPhone. Never a dull moment. I wonder if there's an app for that.

Spreading the love

I've been spreading the love, wherein *love* = strep throat. I was going to insert a picture here, but was so horrified by what google images presented me with when I looked for strep throat images, that I couldn't bring myself to do it. You're welcome. In my defense, I thought I had allergies, and then I thought I had a cold. I never would have attended those two birthday parties and one dance party had I know that I was contagious.

Meanwhile, our family continues to single-handedly keep the medical industry afloat. Sunday, Carlie and Erinna went to the grocery store to buy eggs to make brownies for dad for a Father's Day treat after dinner. The joys of having a teen driver in the house, no more last minute grocery runs!

I get a call from Erinna to "meet them at the hospital" because the "ambulance" is taking Carlie and BLAH BLAH BLAH I can't make out the words here because HELLO, WHAT?

The store is less that five minutes from my house, so I tell her GO NOWHERE and Tim and I hustle our butts off of the couch, where we're both being lethargic and streppy ( he has it too ) and get to the grocery store, where we find this...

Tell me that's not enough to give you a little heart attack on the spot?

Per Carlie's telling of the tale, she tripped and bumped a wine display. At this particular store, wine bottles are stacked on the corners of aisles and I've come pretty close to knocking a couple down myself when rounding corners. When she bumped the stacked bottles, one fell, but it didn't hit her in the head. It hit the ground in front of her and shattered. And a big chunk of the bottle rebounded up and smacked her in the forehead. Seriously. How does this even happen?

The store personnel called 911 because she was bleeding profusely from the head. The emergency guys got her cleaned up and she had a small gash in her eyelid that would need stitches. They were worried about glass in her eyes, so they bandaged them shut.

After some haggling about the direness of this emergency, I had them wheel her on the gurney to my car and I drove her to the hospital myself. WORST MOM EVER, I KNOW, SHUT UP. Sorry, but I'm not paying $800 for an ambulance ride to a hospital that is two miles away, at least I wasn't once they confirmed that there was nothing further they could do for her in the ambulance and it was just a matter of getting her to the ER. I got her there.

Not going to lie. I contemplated going home and putting a butterfly closure on the wound. It was very tiny but deep. Carlie was not complaining or crying, she was a little discombobulated with her eyes bandaged shut, but she had no eye pain, nothing. I asked the emergency guys if they could just but a butterfly thing on it and they said they could, but really they wanted her eyes checked for glass. Even though was not complaining of eye pain, it was a concern. So that's what led me to the hospital ultimately.

And as the doctor flushed out the wound, a glass shard about the size of a half-carat stone popped out of the wound.

OMG. Can you even imagine if I had left that in her head? Shudder. I placed it next to the penny for scale, because it doesn't look like much, but when it POPS OUT OF YOUR HEAD, it seems a lot larger.

The end result, she got five stitches and she's got a shiner. No glass in eyes, thank God. And we can add the ER to the list of places that I spread my streppy plague, because I sat in there coughing for a good three hours.

So, what did ya'll do this weekend?

Meet my daughter, Veruca Salt

Do you see the resemblance?

Alternate title to the post: "I hate summer vacation."

Fifth grade is over, which means elementary school is over. Which means my list of "nevers" has expanded to include: I will never be an elementary school mom again, I will never have to buy blue plaid uniforms again, and I will never have the luxury of on-site after school care again. But, wait, I have a middle schooler now. I shouldn't need after school care, right? Because middle schoolers are mature and self-sufficient?

Bwahahahahahaha

Side note: significant "nevers" in my life have included never change another diaper, never have to strap a kid into a car seat again, never lug a stroller along and never pack another diaper bag. But guess what? PSYCHE. Because when my "baby" was 10 years old? I got pregnant again. Boo yah, aka natural planning fail.

But I digress. Back to the mayhem of summer scheduling. This summer was supposed to be pretty laid back on the Carlie front, because, hello, middle schooler, you can hang out at home while I am a work. We don't need no stinkin' camps. Still, we made a few selections of age appropriate camps that she really wanted to do for fun. These are babysitters boot camp, "make a music video" camp, choir camp including a production of "Sound of Music," and be a helper at VBS.

Carlie has gone to VBS every summer since preschool (minus one when it conflicted with an out of town trip.) That's six sessions of VBS at our church (plus a few at other churches, which I'll tack on at the end of this post because? OMG, holy cheap child care). Last year, fourth grade, she didn't really want to go to VBS, but then decided at the last minute to go, because "next year, I get to be a helper." Why those two are connected, I don't know, but the "get to be a helper" aspect of VBS has been on her mind for at least a calendar year.

All of this build up to get to the inevitable point: of the few measly camps she was wanting to do, VBS and "music video" are the same week. OF COURSE THEY ARE. Have you met my life?

Let us compare, from Carlie's standpoint:

Music Video - work with a hip hop choreographer and vocal coach, record and tape in a professional studio and get to have a copy of the video on DVD at the end of camp

VBS - get to be free child labor doing the grunt work for the teachers. But you get a free tee shirt!

Music Video - of course someone will notice her raw talent and untapped potential and within months she will be the next Disney flavor of the week

VBS - brownie points with Jesus.

But let us also compare:

Music Video - noon -2 x five days a week. Noon to 2? That's convenient for a working parent!

VBS - 9 am to 3 pm, enough time to actually, I don't know, say, GO TO WORK

Music Video - $125 (ish, don't feel like looking it up fo sho right now)

VBS - $30 fee waived, because you're helping (generous!)

And of course, I got her signed up as a VBS helper before realizing the scheduling conflict, so she is committed to that now.

Fast forward to Friday night. I am laying on the couch, hacking up a lung, spewing green phlegm all over the place (not really, but kind of ), and at 8:30 pm Carlie runs into the room and shouts "I'm going to be late for dance!" Oh, son of a... that's right, she has a dance class at 8:45 pm on Friday nights, followed by practice dancing from 9:15-10:30. How could I forget? Said class has sucked the life out of my Friday nights for a year now.

So I haul my sick ass off of the couch, brush my teeth and hair, put on a bra and shoes and schlep her ass to dance, feeling like total crap. I get her there, and even dance a few times, you know, to make sure I spread the plague to everyone in the joint. And did I mention the part where I pay $7 billion per year for dance?

And at 10:30 pm, with my throat swollen shut and my lungs collapsing, I get in the car with my little sweet girl, who I know is oh so appreciative of the sacrifices I make for her, and she gets sad and teary-eyed. ME: Oh, honey, what's wrong? HER: I really want to go to that music video camp.

Are you fucking kidding me?

So I, sick and full of martyrdom, commence to have a melt down about appreciation and commitment and blah de blah blah blah.

And she, over-tired, up too late and channeling Veruca Salt, commenced to have a full blown fit about NEVER getting to do ANYTHING that she wants to do.

Scroll up and re-read the part where I just crawled out of my death bed to take her ungrateful ass to DANCE CLASS.

I am so jacked up on sudaphed (the real kind) and dexamethorphan that I can't even remember where I was going with this story. Oh, wait. I remember. My kid is an over-indulged brat. That was the point.

On the plus side, she has also been raised with a healthy dose of Catholic guilt, and I have no doubt she will wake up and be apologetic this morning, as is her usual M.O. But still...

THE END.

PS: My VBS story. I'll keep it short. One year, about second grade'ish, a girlfriend and I got this GENIUS idea to schlep the kids around town to all of the different church VBS programs because, hello, cheap to free daycare all summer long. Some of the highlights were Carlie receiving communion at a church of different denomination BEFORE having gone through the rigorous "first communion boot camp" at our church, Carlie needing to learn a significant amount of Vietnamese (wherein significant amount = enough to survive in a 100% non-English speaking environment) and Carlie being featured in a gorgeous photo on the cover of the newsletter of a Presbyterian church as the poster girl for their children's program. The Great VBS Caper was not one of my more well thought-out plans.

The Homestead

Now that we are unpacked and moved in, I thought I'd post a few pictures of our new digs. Have I mentioned that 1,100 square feet IS VERY, VERY SMALL? OK. I know it's not, like, sharing a 700 sq ft apartment with a family of 12. BUT STILL. Everything is relative, and going from 3,000 to 1,100 has been an adjustment. Now that 2/3 of everything I've ever owned has gone to Goodwill, though, I think the space will work.

I apparently have no control over the order that Blogger uploads photos in, so here is a reverse tour of the main floor of the house.

First thing that we unpacked? The bar. Oh, yes, we did.

The townhouse has a great room floor plan, so from back to front you've got the kitchen, dining area, living room, then balcony. This is standing near the door to the balcony, pointing towards the kitchen. Obviously.

This was taken from the balcony. The Columbia River, right across the street. One day last week I looked out the window and there was a big red beer truck being pulled by Clydesdales trotting along the river. Surreal, much? I've got pictures. I'll have to post one up.

The living room. That window looks out to the balcony, and the fireplace is right across from the couch.

The fireplace. And TV. That's been another adjustment. In our big house, we had a living room with no TV, and the TV was down in the family room in the basement. Now it's kind of IN YOUR FACE in the only living space in the house. On the plus side? WE HAVE CABLE TV. CAN I GET A WOOT! WOOT!

Again, because I have no control over how the photos load, the fireplace is pretty much the first thing you see when you walk up the stairs from the garage and foyer. So this is a reverse tour. Move on down to the next post for the rest of the tour!

The Homestead, Part 2

This is the second half of my photo tour.

So... the kitchen. Lots of cabinet space and a small pantry. One of the few areas where I did not have to make any huge sacrifices and get rid of a ton of stuff. Thankfully. We are having a very drab and rainy spring here in the Pacific Northwest, so this photo is not so great with the lack of natural sunlight.
This one is brighter, and you can see the marble countertops. Love the marble countertops.

This is the master bedroom. The two bedrooms are really about the same size, but this one has a bathroom. And a river view.

A major sacrifice in the downsizing has been my office. I've always had a dedicated office space (a necessity when I was working from home 100% of the time with children). Now? No office. I commandeered half of the huge double closet and, voila, instant office. It works.

Carlie's room. I didn't make her clean up for photos. She has abandoned her pink and green and purple phase and is embracing what she likes to call her "city girl" decor. I thought letting her decorate would make her want to keep her room clean. Yeah. No. Not so much.

Not pictured... there's a second bathroom, of course, with a stackable washer and dryer. ANOTHER BIG ADJUSTMENT, the small stackable washer and dryer. To help make the point of just what a change it is compared to our extra large capacity washer and dryer at the old house? My helpful cat, Buffy, has peed on Carlie's queen sized comforter not once, not twice, but THREE EFFING TIMES. On an unrelated note, I have a sweet kitty looking for a new home if anyone is interested.

Also not pictured, a very tiny one-car garage and a third room, referred to by the developer as a "studio." It's in a weird location, off of the garage, but is a nice sized room currently housing a day bed and trundle, TV, sewing and crafting stuff and a place for Carlie to do homework.

When I am not so frustrated with Blogger and its lame ass photo upload capabilities, maybe I'll do a Part 3.

So that's it. We are downsized. We have not died. I have not killed anyone. Win!

Peace out.

Vancouver, Represent

I know I have been a complete freak about posting regularly. And if you are here visiting from Blog Trotting, hi! I apologize for being tardy, but, really, it's kind of how I roll.

I'm blogging from Vancouver, Washington. I live in the downtown area, which puts me less than 10 miles from downtown Portland, Oregon. I *love* the proximity to everything Portland has to offer, but there is a small contingent of weirdos who get a tad offended when Vancouver is referred to as a suburb of Portland. And of course, there are also those in Portland who turn their noses up to living "north of the river," hence the affection nickname Vantuckey. Which I kind of love.

Because I apparently have no control over how images load into this blog, in no particular order I bring you some highlights from Vancouver.

Esther Short Park, a beautiful example of urban renewal in downtown Vancouver. This is a beautiful one mile stroll from my home.
The park is home to an awesome Farmers Market on weekends. Fabulous artisans and vendors, fresh produce and delicious food.

I live on the Renaissance Trail along the Columbia River. It's a gorgeous running/biking/walking pathway and my route to downtown.

I am right across the road from the national park and historic fort at Fort Vancouver. There's always something happening there. And there's nothing quite as lovely as a stroll through Officers Row.

Besides all that Vancouver has to offer, I also love being close enough to Portland to enjoy the Oregon Brewers Festival, The Portland Rose Festival and all of the cool stuff that is always happening here in the Pacific Northwest.

Welcome to Vancouver! Hope you brought your rain boots and a hat... thanks for stopping by my blog! If you're not here from Blog Trotting, go check them out!

I'm in the midst of a photo tour of our new home now that we are COMPLETELY UNPACKED AND MOVED IN. Did you hear that? I said COMPLETELY UNPACKED AND MOVED IN. Seriously. xox.

Spring, who?

Today, June 4, I will be volunteering at the Our Lady of Lourdes Golf Tournament. In the rain. With an expected high of 60 degrees. I'm not going to lie... I kind of wanted to get out of it. Wherein *kind of* = please, God, no. But then I heard the volunteers were dropping like flies, or more like wet rats, so I'll be there. In the rain. With an expected high of 60 degrees.

Blah Blah Blah

Image from sodahead.com via google images

I've got a case of the blogging blahs. Or maybe I've got a case of help me, I'm buried under shit that I moved that doesn't fit in my tiny assed condo and I can't get up. Either way. So here's my week in review in haiku.

Moved a bunch of stuff.

Cleaned my filthy old house.

Glad that part is done.

Moved too much stuff, d'oh!

Turns out? This townhouse? Very small

Goodwill, here I come.

Rain, rain, go away.

Seriously? WTF?

This is total crap.

Unpacked lots of stuff.

Lots of screaming, and cursing.

Moving is now done.

And that's a wrap

We moved. Tonight is Night No. 2 in the new condo. It's also Night No. 1 in the new condo with THE CATS. Holy shit. What an ordeal, the moving of the cats. Blood was shed (by me) and the cat carrier fouled (by Buffy, the Mouse Slayer aka the stupidest cat ever). Good times, friends. Good times.

Because nothing can ever be simple, there's been other stuff going on during this period of crisis, I mean move. Maggy and Iris are here. Iris is very busy, what with being two and a half and all.

Saturday was Erinna's prom. I went to Lake Oswego Saturday evening to take pre-prom photos. And then sat in traffic for an hour and a half to get home. On a Saturday at 7 p.m. WTH, I5?

And Sunday was Carlie's big day at Arthur Murray Dance Camp. And guess what I did instead of sit at the dance studio for three hours? If you guessed DANCED, you win. That's right. One hour sessions in waltz, rhumba and swing. It was a lot of fun. Carlie is not particularly interested in me horning in on her dance fun, but since she was in the advanced class, I was safe to take the beginner class. And after dance, we sat in traffic for over an hour to get home, on a Sunday afternoon. Again with the WTH, I5?

So yeah, these girls kept us very busy this weekend, and yet we still managed to move 98% of our crap from the old house to the new. And we've been to happy hour twice at the McMenamin's across the street. I may never cook again. I've unpacked about, oh, 2%. Boxes and bins everywhere. Oh! And guess what? Not everything is going to fit in the condo. Specifically, my clothes and shoes. Which I've already paired down. It's just NOT. ALL. GOING. TO. FIT. Still trying to wrap my brain around that one and come up with a solution that does not = get rid of more stuff.

Monday morning should be full of awesome. Carlie will be going back to school for the first time since Friday 5/14. Did I not mention she had a stomach flu? Yeah. No school for a week, which means next week will be filled with school catch-up anxiety. And after dropping her off at school I'll be meeting a cleaning crew at the "old house" to start getting it ready for my renters. I've got a pro crew of two coming for kitchen and bath deep clean, and a college student working for $15/hour coming to help me with the rest of the house. Did I mention the part where I hate fucking cleaning?

This is the last time I'll mention "the move." But I will get some pictures up of the new place as soon as it doesn't look like a monsoon swept through.