cranky pixels

So you’re all on the edge of your seats wondering how the birthday thing went, right? I kept you waiting out of sheer wickedness. Wickedness, and the fact that I am both lazy and sick with a cold. What’s up with all these damned colds? They’ve been rotating through our house like some sort of white elephant gift, passing from one person to another and, frankly, making me rather pissed off. I AM THROUGH BEING SICK, DO YOU HEAR ME? Also, I am running out of tissues.

Anyway: the party was a success, if a little under-attended (one group of guests had apparently been sure it was the next weekend, at which point they e-mailed me going “Um, did you know that your party was a week ago? You probably did.” Which was funny, and I may have LOLed, but only very quietly and to myself). The kid had a fabulous time. He helped me decorate the littlest cupcakes (which he decided were meteors). No one else had any idea what the cake/cupcake spread was supposed to be, which was fine. I guess.

Also a (qualified) success: the rocket softie. I made some modifications to a pattern I found in One Yard Wonders (which is a pretty fabulous book, if you’re into that sort of thing) and it turned out kind of awesome. The kid likes it, which was the important part.

In other crafty news, I finally slipcovered the Fabulous!Rocking!Glider! (the exclamation points are to emphasize the fact that I love the lovely glider and am not going to get rid of it despite the increasing impracticality of having it in our house). A favorite snuggling spot for both kid and cats, the F!R!G! was sort of disgustingly stained and matted with cat hair, and since the cushions were both a) cream-colored and b) upholstered, cleaning it was a pain. ENTER CRAFTY MAMA, with her IKEA fabric and her barely-passable sewing machine skills! Given that I don’t have the first clue what I’m doing, I think it turned out pretty well.

All those other grand ideas I had? Not going to happen. I was totally going to make garland, and ornaments, and stuff. But what did I do instead? I caught a cold. (I did make gingerbread men. I’m not dead.)

December is full of busy in the Cranky abode – the kid’s birthday is followed so closely by that one big holiday, and all of it comes right on the heels of that other big holiday, the one that involves a lot of overeating and the generation of vast amounts of leftovers.

This year is no different, except for the part where the kid is SUPER EXCITED!!! about all of it. Last year? Meh. This year? OMG birthday! OMG Christmas! Is it Christmas yet? CAN SANTA BRING ME AN INSECTOSAURUS TOY?*

But I? I am a shopping master this year, and am already done with gift acquisition, thanks to the glory that is the Internet.

And we got a tree! A real tree, made of wood and green stuff. Someone brought it to us on a bicycle. (Have I mentioned lately how much I love Portland?) We decorated the other day (the tree, not the bike messenger) and I took one look at the finished product and OF COURSE decided I need to craft various felt-based ornaments to pretty it up. (Still talking about the tree, here, people. Keep up.) I’m thinking garland, for one thing (found a super-simple tutorial on Anna Maria Horner’s site – the kid could even help, which would rock). Also various and sundry hanging decorations (like the ornaments featured on Fantastic Toys and the Felt Circles ornament featured on Craftzine, which purports to be much easier than it looks). Someone also mentioned Shrinky Dinks, which – I love Shrinky Dinks, and how much fun would that be? And I totally got the kid a Shrinky Dink set for his birthday, because nothing says Christmas like robots, amirite?

Speaking of, I’m making a crapload of felt toys for the kid’s 4th birthday party, which we are hosting at our miniscule apartment because we are crazy people. I figured I didn’t have enough to do, what with Christmas and the business and the book release and all. Why not also make the solar system out of baked goods (related: I still love you, Pluto) and hand-sew a huge rocket pillow to give to the kid (and miniature versions thereof as party favors)?

Aside: party favors? Did not exist when I was a kid. Or else I just went to the wrong parties. Because I never got swag, and now everyone does it and I totally can’t be the only mom who’s all ‘hey, I gave you cake, what more do you want?’. But then I get all psycho overachiever and decide it would be so much cooler if I made favors myself, and that’s where you get the pre-party mama meltdown. Which is not going to happen this year, FYI. It’s totally not.

*He’s decided that an Insectosaurus toy is the most exciting thing anywhere ever, and every time he mentions Santa Claus he asks if Santa can bring him one. Which was a little dicey for those of us who do Santa’s shopping for him, since the damn thing’s apparently a collector’s item or some crap. Thank god for eBay, is all I have to say.

NaNoWriMo: Day 1 was a rousing success. I got almost 1700 words and can’t wait to do it again tomorrow. This is because I am a crazy person, but crazy people are fun, right?

Not So is watching Ghostbusters. This is what we do. We watch things.

In other news, I was really sick a couple of weeks ago with what may or may not have been swine flu (take that, specificity!) and realized one night I forgot to take my prozac. Since then I’ve continued to not take my prozac and I’ve felt kind of fabulous, so I’m counting that as a win. The prozac was great, actually, but it made me so freaking tired I could barely keep my eyes open, except at night, when I would just lay in bed with a million ideas running through my head. I enjoy my sleep, but I also enjoy not sleeping at appropriate times, kwim?

Speaking of sleep, I’m tired, and I have a TON to do tomorrow.

I’ve decided to end my streak of bitter misanthropy and actually get out and socialize every now and again. Luckily this coincided with one of my oldest and prettiest* friends moving to Portland, where it is much easier to convince her to while away one evening a week passing judgment on everyone who is not us. Well, and drinking beer. I guess I like beer now. This is weird, y’all – I’ve never liked beer, not even a little, and now here I go drinking it on purpose. More than once! And in quantities of two or more!

So, whatev, apparently my big midlife crisis involves an appreciation for hops. This is encouraging, if only because it means I can go out to a bar and not end up either a) bored, b) trashed or c) spending the next 24 hours puking my guts out and swearing off all forms of alcohol including cough syrup and vanilla extract. IN FACT, the last time I had a drink that was not a beer I got such righteous alcohol poisoning that I had to cancel my flight home the next day. And you know how many drinks I had? ONE AND A HALF.

I do not make these things up.

*Seriously, she still looks exactly like she did in high school, and in high school she was what one would objectively call a knockout. Of course this does not make me feel like an elderly bag lady, why do you ask?

For years I’ve been searching for the perfect red lipstick. Not too orange, not too fuchsia. You’d think this would involve a single trip to the makeup counters at Macy’s, but you’d be so, so wrong. I’ve been on the lookout for YEARS, people. Quests have been undertaken, and failed. I’d begun to think the perfect red was a mere legend, a story told to round-eyed children at the campfire. “And the princess’ lips were the ideal shade of red, with not a hint of fuchsia to be found.”

(I’d just like to note that, much as I would love it if they did, neither Sephora, DuWop or the campfire-story industry contributed any products, gifts or suggestions to the author of this piece, who is fully capable of waxing lyrical about lipstick all on her own.)

So. Don’t tell anybody but I seem to be re-working my manuscript. The first one. From 1998. There’s no good reason for this, except for the fact that there is clearly something wrong with me (and also I’m waiting to hear back from any of my several beta readers before I can do another draft of the latest novel). I mean, it’s not like I don’t have enough other stuff to keep me occupied, what with the business and the kid and the house and the cats and the husband. But, see, writers? Writers are crazy.

In other news, I think the new draft of the old novel is going to rock.

SO, my husband is camping again. It’s lovely that my husband camps, and even lovelier that he does it without me (my idea of a vacation does NOT involve sleeping on dirt, with the bugs and the nature). But it’s his second week-long camping trip in as many months, and we’re WAY behind on work, and the stuff he was supposed to have ready for me before he left is not, how shall I say, ready.

This does not result in a Happy Fun Me.

Also: solo parenting. Generally I like one-on-one time with the kid. Generally we have a pretty good time when daddy is out of town. Generally I don’t have to spend every waking second typing frantically on my computer while the kid pulls on my arm and (quite reasonably) demands attention. I would like to point the reader to Exhibit A, wherein I took the kid for a week-long vacay at my sister’s house so Not So could get some uninterrupted work time – and I STILL ended up having to do a ton of unexpected work because he got all swamped with projects at the last minute and yeah.

Yeah. Our entrepreneurial adventure has hit a rough spot. Send reinforcements in the form of chocolate.

Speaking of chocolate, I made a chocolate cake late last night, as sort of an apology to the kid (and also to assuage my massive PMS of doom). Much of it ended up stuck to the bottom of the pan, despite the fact that I followed the instructions for greasing the pan to the letter, thank you very much, but I filled in the empty bits with frosting. Ha! Take that, cake! I also ate the stuck-on bits myself with my fingers and went to bed all jittery with sugar. Good times.