They’re cutting down all my baby’s trees! He loved to hug those trees. There were four of them in front of our house, and he would run from tree to tree hugging them. I don’t know where he learned that. I mean, sure I’m a tree-hugging hippie, but I don’t think I’ve actually hugged one in front of him before. But he did. He hugged trees and it was cute. But he won’t be hugging those trees anymore

So, I have a shamefully dorky confession to make. You all know I am the biggest dork alive. I mean, there are no illusions of coolness here, so I’ll just come out with it. I write a little blog about my Simmies, narrating their adventures as I play them – something like a soap opera. It’s stupid most of the time, it attempts to be funny (it probably fails), it is ridiculously dramatic. But I check my site stats and people spend hours reading this thing, people come back every day to read it, so there must be some merit. Some of it may be irrelevant to people who don’t play the game, but anyway, I just wanted to say that it’s there. There, I feel better now.

not a writer:

novel stats:
46,900 wds. (~43%)
144 pages
Starting ch. 5 of 13

Just plugging along. Starting chapter five, polishing up chapter four for my writers group to read. Man, I’m coming up on the half-way point soon. That’s a little exciting.

I think I’ve mourned and come to accept the fact that one of my characters does die. Yes, she does. It fits the story too. It’s going to be sad

not a photog:

I’m sorry, but how cute are they???

Buy a pair of Target shoes because they’re cute and you can afford them. And a new bag while you’re there. Buy a bottle of Diet Sunkist, just this once, even if you are well aware that the combination of sodium benzoate and ascorbic acid could cause cancer. When you get home, let the baby tear up the paper filling from your new bag and stuff it in your empty shoebox, because it makes him happy, and buys you thirty minutes of peace so you can make your family dinner that is seventy-five percent fresh and fifty percent organic.

Some kind of ‘fess up Friday

not a writer:

- I got out of bed in the middle of the night this week and wrote a little flash-fiction story. That was very surprising. One minute I’m trying to sleep, the next I’m downstairs on my laptop in the dark and cranking out a little story. I’m calling it fiction even though in its beginning stages it was about 95% true, but I don’t think there is such a thing as flash-memoir. Or even if there is, after revising it’s only about 75% true, so fiction it is!

Surely there must be other writers in the world who get out of bed in the middle of the night to write, right?

- The novel continues to be written. 21% done. I don’t know how to measure it’s progress, actually. I just have this idea of a final number in my head, and I know what I have already written, officially, which is two chapters and about 23,000 words. But then I have a huge amount of notes and random scenes for the rest of the 11 chapters, but not counted officially because as the story gets written for real, who knows if they’ll actually stay or not.

I guess there are probably about a hundred ways to write a novel. I guess beginning to end isn’t really my style.

not a housewife:

- My novel seems to have eaten my housekeeping skills, and it generally looks like a disaster around here unless I’m in the mood to avoid writing for some reason. But I did discover that I can iron hubby’s work shirts during Grey’s Anatomy! That will get it done at least once a week, which is much much better than never.

Speaking of, I thought last night’s GA season finale was pretty darn lame and cheesy, and I’m pretty darn lame and cheesy myself, so that’s saying something.

totally not a YMCA member:

- But I did walk outside about 5 days of the week, so about 15 miles. I really have been meaning to get to the YMCA to workout, and Dylan loved playing there with the other kids, but I just can’t bring myself to take the car during the day with gas being so expensive like it is. It’s already a 20 mile round trip to hubby’s work and back, so to drop him off would make 40 miles in one day, and being the tree-hugging hippie that I am, I just can’t bring myself to do it. I wish I could talk him into arranging some kind of carpool once or twice a week and leaving me the car. You reading this, honey?

That, and he wont let me buy a bike to ride around town with Dylan, since you know in Detroit, cyclists are worth bonus points. Even more than old ladies with little white fluffy dogs! But I think that with gas being as expensive as it is, a lot of people will be biking more. I already see it. I’m all ready for a big fat car boycott, but *sigh* hubby puts his foot down.

Milk from cloned animals is “virtually indistinguishable” they say. The “virtually” meaning that there is at least some difference, or they would be saying it is “absolutely indistinguishable.” I’m not saying it should or shouldn’t be done, but I am saying I want the right to know which milk it is, so that I might choose to drink it or not, and choose to give it to my family or not.

Send a letter to your Congressperson or Senator!

For my vegetarian husband, who I think will appreciate this, a little bit from the book everyone is reading, and I am currently in love with, Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.

“I did well with them until I started trying to think how I would describe this dish, and I thought, It doesn’t look like intestines. It actually looks like tapeworms. Then I pushed it aside and asked for a salad.

“You don’t like it?” asked Luca, who loves the stuff.

“I bet Gandhi never ate lamb intestines in his life,” I said.

“He could have.”

“No, he couldn’t have, Luca. Gandhi was a vegetarian.”

“But vegetarians can eat this,” Luca insisted. “Because intestines aren’t even meat, Liz. They’re just shit.”

He he

Dylan had a good Christmas. He got more toys than any eighteen month-old child ever needs to have. He got more toys than we even have room for. We didn’t even realize how much Santa bought for him until we saw it all in one room together. Oops. We are told this is a normal mistake for first-time parents to make. And that we will know better the next time around.

One of my favorite parts of Christmas is making and sharing yummy food with people. I make these smoked salmon rolls, that if I might say so myself, are pretty darned yummy! They are always gone within minutes. I like making sandwiches. Sandwiches are good for the soul. You’ve got all of your food groups in one bite. A perfectly balanced meal.

In an alternate universe, I would own a little sandwich shop where I would make big fat sandwiches out of fresh veggies, strange and exotic cheeses, and yummy meats and fish. About 75% vegetarian, but some stuff for the carnivores too. Not diet food, but healthy whole food. A place where people could eat and feel confident that their lunch had no hydrogenated or high fructose anything.

Chipotle hummus and turkey sandwich with smoked Gloucester cheese. There, I have two menu items already.

But when I was in high school, I worked for a woman who owned her own little pizzeria. She worked six days a week, and that is only because her son ran the store every Monday. It’s not easy work, and I’m afraid I am a little bit lazy. However, I would be able to hire some high school kid to do the dishes for me.

Of course, this gets filed along with all the other things I might do when I have my midlife crisis. The bestselling great American novel, the children’s photography studio, the genius invention that makes me a million dollars. Do you see what happens when you get a degree in creative writing? You grow up to be a dreamer.

I hope you all had a Merry Christmas. I hope you recycled your boxes and wrapping paper!

The ideal Saturday morning: take out the recycling, go to the farmer’s market.

I don’t know if I mentioned before my strange habit for making schedules (usually ones that I don’t keep). These are detailed and include the exact times and descriptions of what I am supposed to do. 6:00, wake, drink coffee, write something. 8:00, baby wakes up, eat breakfast, must include protein and veggies. 8:30, do the dishes while Dylan finishes his breakfast (translation: throws his breakfast on the floor). 9:00, play. 10:00, go for a walk if nice outside, or do yogaÖ and so on throughout the day.

I call these my guidelines for a productive life (yes, they are titled!), because most of the time, I don’t feel very productive. I revise them often, sometimes daily, as I discover more about what works and what doesn’t. I guess this is usually to accommodate the baby, who seems to change so much from week to week. Maybe all of this really has to do with my need to find a working woman/mommy balance, but that enough for a post all on its own.

So anyway, my new Saturday morning routine is a keeper! Saturday mornings will go as usual to breakfast (perhaps replacing my writing block with some fun and mindless activity like gaming or reading my mommy boards), then, we take our recycling to the recycling place (are there names for these things?), and go to the farmer’s market to buy armloads of fresh, locally-grown (and even some organic!) fruits and veggies. Oh fun! How have I lived in this city for almost three years and never been to the farmer’s market???

I don’t think the point of all this is to be a schedule-Nazi, but just to make sure that some things get done. I feel great when things get done, because then going off-schedule, which seems to happen so often, feels a little more deserved than indulgent.

I can already see my child growing up to rebel against my love of structure and then blame me for his dysfunctions as an adult. *sigh*