I have been editing a piece that is so far out of my comfort zone that I am simply pretending that the words I don't understand are written in a foreign language. Because basically they are. Science. Don't get me wrong, I believe y'all that the world is round and gravity keeps our feet on the ground and that there are black holes and Bermuda Triangles (c'mon, they are sorta the same, right?) somewhere out there. But please don't explain it to me. Because I already have trouble keeping track of all the stuff I really want in my head. The rest of it, I'm counting on someone else to know but have no need to share that knowledge with me. Like Duke. Poor Duke. He tried to tutor me in my remedial math classes that I had to take before I could even move on to Math for Dummies in college. I think he may have tried to use Sex and the City analogies for awhile:

Okay, now if Carrie is X and Mr. Big is Y-

and I would interrupt with, "Which season Carrie? Because I don't like the season that she had really bad hair and Miranda was a man. Can she be wearing her fur coat?"

It's amazing that I was inducted into Phi Kappa Phi, is it not? Thank God for whichever side of the brain knows language.

Anyway, I have been on a tear lately. I've been doing a couple of miles on the treadmill every single day. I've started cooking again.

Speaking of Mort, he does so delight me in thoughts and deeds. We were running errands and because he cooperated, we were allowed to LOOK at the toys. He, not surprisingly, saw a new-fangled Bakugan that he desperately wanted.

"Buddy, you don't even play with the ones you already have. I just don't think it's a good idea to get another one." Don't I sound like such a parent?

And he stared at the Bakugan for a moment and then looked up at me and said, "Yeah. They seem so exciting when they're in there, " here he gestured at the package, "but then when you open them, they really aren't."

I have to try and make this brief because i want to treadmill it before I start the day. That's right, I prefer to use the treadmill in the air-conditioning with the fan blowing as opposed to being swarmed by gnats and breathing in humid air and wheezing because someone is mowing their grass. Deal with it.

Sometimes when one sends out invitations over a month in advance and includes self-addressed stamped envelopes in which the recipient can rsvp, it is not only normal, but EXPECTED that one write yay or nay and drop said envelope in the mail. Do you need me to fill it out for you, too? Common courtesy people. Sheesh. Breakdown of human civilization. Assholes.

But on the positive side, our fox is alive and well and leaving half-eaten apples strewn about the yard. I may not have told you that I saw a dead fox on a nearby back road and was concerned that it was ours. But apparently it was someone else's.

In the immortal words of Merle Streep, that's all.

Do you know what sucks (besides wasp nests under the sliding board and oregano that won't grow)? The Complete Idiot's Guide to Raising Boys.

Periodically I like to torture myself by reading a myriad of how-to books regarding child rearing. Sometimes they are helpful in reminding me to be fully present and in the moment with my child when I'm with him, and not thinking of what I have to buy at the grocery store for dinner or when the next season of Project Runway will begin. Sometimes I glean insight as to why time-outs aren't always working (because I'm doing them incorrectly and not using consistency and/or first giving a warning and allowing my child time to correct his own behavior) or that using a calm voice of explanation can go a lot further than screeching. Thanks, Super Nanny!

And sometimes, like the Complete Idiot book, they remind me that common sense and unconditional love will always triumph over regurgitating old stereotypes and passing them off as truth. Boys aren't verbal! Boys don't like to read! Boys just want to run around and whack things with sticks! Boys want to marry their mothers and kill their fathers! 

DUDE. Thank God the husband and wife team who penned the book do not live anywhere near me, so my child will not be interacting with their freaks. Plus, they named one of their kids Bjorn. Had I seen that, I would never have even picked-up the book.

"Look," said I as the tiny puffs of white silk drifted through the lazy sunshine, "our entire yard is filled with wishes."

Do you know about wishes, aka some type of seed, not exactly unlike dandelion seeds, but not exactly like them either? Or was that just in my family? We always called them wishes and I've spent my life catching them, making a wish and releasing them into the breeze. I recently passed that bit of lore onto Mort, who was immediately skeptical and asked if his wishes would really come true. I'd love to know what he wished for and make it happen. Unless it was something involving dragons and pirates and sharks and tornadoes and ghosts. Which it probably was.

Anyway, a friend had stopped by as I was admiring the wishes drifting around our yard and she located the abundant source of them and screwed-up her face, "Uh, I hate to tell you this, but those are thistles."

And thus ended any speculation about the source of the spiky weed things that have infiltrated my garden like a million blades of grass that I can spend hours removing and have an entire new crop growing within 4 days.

My garden is so so terrible this year. I've spent more time and money and care and work than all the other years combined and even discounting the rabbits and the thistles, it is horrid. Things that I usually am pawning off on every passer-by because my garden is overflowing? (Hey there! I see you're out on a walk this morning! Would you like some basil/green peppers/jalapenos/tomatoes/ to enjoy as you exercise?) Pitiful. I have planted oregano 6 times. And it refuses to do anything but die. My basil is already going to seed. Spinach and arugula and broccoli rabe went right to seed. My peppers are refusing to grow larger than the size of the palm of my hand. My lettuce is bitter. My broccoli is dinky. Although on the positive, this year's grape tomatoes taste like sunshine on a vine. And I just may have ears of corn as I didn't mistakenly pull it this year thinking it was grass.

Don't you just hate conflicting weather reports? Like when you are supposed to spend the day at a friend's pool and the newspaper is calling for heavy thunderstorms but weather.com is listing 0 chance of precipitation. Who are you to believe? probably whichever one is predicting the weather you would most like to see.

Who  doesn't love having a friend that steps outside, collects some eggs and delivers them to your house so that you can make French toast?

BTW, I saw no evidence of the French horking down French toast in France. I did, however, see them carrying baguettes and muttering about stinky cheese.

As I am always complaining about my lack of sleep, I give mad props to the Sandman because I slept from 9 t0 6 last night and I feel like I could leap tall buildings in a single bound.

We took an impromptu family day to an amusement park and I realized that had I any doubts prior, I am officially on the other side of old. My first clue was when I spotted a guy with a full-on, proper 1978 mohawk, complete with individual two-foot spikes and shaved head. And I thought he looked like a little boy trying to play tough dress-up. And I also thought it was an impractical hair-do for getting on rides. A mere 20 years ago, I would have followed him all around the park thinking he was the bee's knees. Although he probably wasn't even a twinkle in his mama's eye 20 years ago.

My second clue was getting dizzy on the Tilt-a-whirl of all things. Didn't I used to feel that the more loops and swirls a ride had the better it would be? Who can't take the Tilt-a-whirl? Old people with inner ear issues, that's who.

Oh, and  I worried that my sunblock was wearing off and  I  actually watched the shows. Yep. Nothing says "old" like watching a bunch of amusement park wanna-be- Broadway-stars' rendition of "YMCA". Although if singing and dancing is your thing and you are in college or high school(?), wouldn't that be a great summer job? Way better than working at Long John Silver's.

I am taking a break from cleaning because it's dusting time and I surely hate dusting. it's pointless. It's annoying. It makes me wheeze. And by the time you're done, there's dust again.

Hey, I thought, I will just pop onto the computer for a minute and see if I have any more editing work awaiting my attention in my inbox. And I didn't. So, then I wasted some time looking at classes and other freelance jobs and trying to prepare for life as a full-time stay-at-home mom when my child is no longer at home full-time.

Also, I went to a party yesterday and totally fell-off the diet wagon. I resisted the cake. But I did not resist the margaritas. Mort and I split an extra-lean turkey burger with no bun and I had about 23 tortilla chips. I'm not getting on the scale today. Anyhoo, see how I'm not dusting? But I did clean the toilets as penance for my margaritas and tortillas.

"What?" Mort just yelled.

"I didn't say anything," I replied.

"Oh. It smells like marshmallows." And then he disappeared back into his world of whatever it is he's doing. See, how can anything else I do for the rest of my life compete with that?!? What job could I possibly have where someone says things like that? And don't roll your eyes and think, DUH! Any job with kids. Because I don't like kids. Unless they belong to me or people I love. Or are really really cute.

Hey, so today is day 4 of the diet and i have lost 3 and a half pounds. I guess how can you not lose weight when you go from eating any old horrible thing you want in ridiculous quantities and no moderation to three days of eating only gigantic bowls of fruits and vegetables with the occasional baked potato and meat ?

With any luck,by the end of day 7, my sweet tooth will be calmed and my processed food addiction will be broken. I don't know how I lost my way so drastically. I used to be such a  smart and healthy eater. Even if I had a slice of pizza, I would put a handful of spinach leaves on top of it. Although I think new eating patterns take 3 weeks to become ingrained. Well, maybe this will be a good jumping point to make healthier choices.

I like bangs. I think they look sharp. Duke, however, truly hates bangs. And it's hard to do something to yourself when you know your partner wouldn't like it even if Angelina Jolie (or whoever is the latest hot chick. Insert name here. I'm not up on this stuff. I'm still mourning the break-up of Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt. Sigh.)sported them. It's not that I couldn't cut bangs. It's just that I know it would be the equivalent of Duke shaving his sideburns above his ears so that the white of his skin showed. And maybe letting his hair touch his collar in the back but be closely cropped in the front. I wouldn't love him any less, but I would wonder why he would do that to himself every time I looked at him. So, Duke, if you secretly long for the haircut, those are my feelings!

My garden needs some tlc before it leaps into uncontrollable territory again. I could clean up the weeds and replace the fence and thin out the crop and get it under control again in a couple of hours or so. However, I'm in slo-mo. No sleep. Again and again and again. Duke thinks I should hit up our friendly neighborhood doctor and check out their views on prescription relief. The problem with that being that I have tried that in the past and they have two effects on me: I cannot wake-up the next day and/or they do not help me to sleep and make me feel drugged and hungover.

I've tried herbal remedies, I've tried chemical remedies, I've tried old folk tales, oh, I think I've tried everything. I think the only time in my life that I slept well and deeply was in the first trimester of my pregnancy where I slept every time I stopped moving.

I fell asleep on the couch around 5 am and awoke to Stella doing her morning yoga and Mort quietly slipping his freezing feet against my legs under my quilt. There was an apple on the table beside me that Mort had taken from the fruit bowl and washed and dried for me to eat when I woke-up.

Have you ever tried the cabbage soup diet? Good Lord that thing is specific. I'm a bit desperate as I am in a wedding in a little over two weeks and I'm still 7 pounds from fitting into my clothes. Mainly because I've gotten in the habit of eating whatever I want, whenever I want, in whatever quantity I want and not exercising. Ugh. Wish me luck.