I have no doubt that I drive my husband nuts because I fail to put the dishes in the dishwasher. I rinse them. I place them in the sink. And I walk away. What's so hard about taking that next step? The dishwasher is RIGHT THERE. Why can I not make the transition from rinsing off the dish, and op, up, ack, not placing it in the sink this time! Instead I could bypass the sink and place it in the dishwasher. Yeah, I just can't do it. Mort's teacher told the class that he does not believe that "can't" is a word. I was all, Aw, that's so cute. And a giant lie. For instance, men can't get pregnant. Even when they are really females living life as males. Nope, sorry, if you're pregnant, you are a woman. Even with that goatee. So, no, I don't think that deserves media coverage. Also, I can't be duped into believing that American Idol or Not Quite a Celebrity Can Dance are legitimate television shows.

And so, back to Duke. Who would like you all to know that he requested I refer to him in this blog as "The Duke." I chose No. As in, you can't be referred to as The Duke. I just finished reading Twilight. I didn't think I would. I had started reading it once before and couldn't do it. The writing was too Sweet Valley High. But this time, I did it and I even get the appeal. Hint, it's not the writing. So, my point being that maybe Duke isn't a vampire, but he doesn't harp on my dishes in the sink. And that is true, everlasting love right there. And seeing as how vampires don't eat food, can imagine how annoyed they would be by dirty dishes left in the sink? And having to wash them for all of eternity?

I just submitted my first graded assignment for class. It was hard. Freakishly, frustratingly hard. Hard enough that it makes me question my ability to have a career in this field. (Would you per chance like to read some more sentences that contain the word hard?)

I knew that I didn't have any formal training in the world of editing, hence undergoing the process of becoming professionally certified. However, I was unaware that I apparently also have no skill or background in the English language. Seriously. Duke was better able to dissect the sentences than I. And his last brush with English was 20 years ago. Ugh.

Someone has been returning home from school each day (cough*Mort*cough) having gotten in trouble for a repeated insistence on talking out of turn. Yesterday, however, he made it through the entire day without having to be spoken to about his speaking AND he won an excellence award for having written an complete sentence constructed and correctly spelled without any assistance. Hmmm. Maybe Mort should help me with my assignment...

I don't tend towards the hysterical. At least, I don't think I do. Maybe my loved ones would disagree. Anyway, I have had a small red irritation on my face for over a month now. Originally, I thought it was the start of a zit. Because wrinkles and zits are fun, fun, fun for the almost 40s! In fact, I said to my sister, "Look at this stupid zit." See, that proves it looked like a soon-to-be zit. But here it is a month later, and it is still here. Except now it's puffy and irritated looking and just never subsides. And I never touched it and it never became a zit. So that makes me wonder if it's time to see a dermatologist? Really? Have I reached this stage in life?

Another procrastination post. As much as I love words and love correctly fitting them together like a puzzle; well, I've got NOTHING on the people with whom I'm taking this course. They make me look like the kid who skipped English to go smoke in the bathroom. Because my whole deal with taking this course is that I'm a fly by the seat of my pants, edit from the gut crazy kind of gal. And it would be helpful to have some book learning method to my madness kind of skills.

But I am not as ...um, excited as my fellow classmates in debating subordinate clauses and what not. Who knew? In fact, just doing the readings is making me very very tired. Which is also not good. Because quite frankly, the last time I was this tired, it turned out I had mono.

I thought at the time that I was just depressed and needed a change, so I cut off all my hair and dyed it black. And then it turned out I was just suffering from mono. Falling asleep on the stairs while only halfway up probably should have clued me in, but really, when you're 18, you don't devote alot of time to wondering why you are too tired to walk up the stairs. At least I didn't. So then I had to have bad hair for the next three years. because I had to grow the black out and then cut it off again. Because black is impossible to get out of hair. At least then it was. Nowadays they have that fantastic color oops stuff that could take the color out of anything. So, yes, I had really bad hair. Plus, my hair was so damaged that I used to sleep with my hair drenched in olive oil and wrapped in saran wrap. So, I also smelled like a salad. Good times.

And now I think I'm tired because I am depressed. Or some other reason. Maybe it's the cold I've had for three weeks. But getting out of bed is so hard. I only manage to do so because I would never be able to function enough to drive Mort to school if he missed the bus. But I slept for eight hours last night. Granted, I only slept for four the night before. And my to-do list is growing and nothing is getting crossed off.

Thank God for my wonderful friends who keep me tethered to reality. They call and e-mail and hustle me along like we all do with our children or like border collies with sheep.(Have you ever seen those dogs work? They are fantastic). They make me leave the house and keep involved in their lives and keep involved in my own. Whatever did I do before I knew these people?

Must. Care. About. Lie. Vs. Lay.

And I do. In theory. But really, I would much rather LAY down. Ha! See how I brought that full circle? I don't need no learnin.

Now, I may be inclined to agree that 65 does seem a bit old to become a first time parent in many situations. However, when the 65 yr old in question is Elton John, I'm going to go with the thought that age is not an issue. Because I feel certain that the nanny he hires to raise the child will not be 65.

C'mon Ukraine, let's go. Elton John and his husband want to adopt an HIV positive child and the Ukraine has said no because Elton John is too old and in their eyes, not married. So, it's better for this child to live out his days in an orphanage? Really? It's one thing to reject Elton John because he didn't pass the home visit, but realism please. You are denying this child a family, a home, access to the best medical care money could buy because you don't like old British queens. Dude.

Okay, well Mort surprised me. He ate the hummus and the star fruit. The yogurt, however, remained untouched. Today's offering to the volcano god was a green pepper, warm from the garden, Fig NEWmans, and a replica of his favorite Subway sandwich. A testament to my love and/or OCD is that I reshredded all the lettuce the way he likes it.

I have a lot of reading to do for class. I'm having a hard time getting in the groove. I also need to start day 2 of trying to find khaki colored cords. You would think that is easy. But for some reason, no one has those buggers in stock in the size I need. I'm guessing every 5 yr old boy in the tristate area must have a pair save for us. And if anyone is looking for a niche that needs to be filled: dress shoes for boys that cost under $60. I'm not even talking anything fancy, I'm talking just not sneakers. Because apparently no one has thought to make them. Why are there a wide variety of platform heels for little girls and only sneakers and flip-flops for little boys?

Actually, don't get me started on the platform heels for little girls that some misguided parents must be buying or else they wouldn't continue to be made. Do you know how old I was when I started wearing heels for non-special occasions? 26. I was not 4. I was not 5.Parents should be as concerned with their girls having the freedom to run and jump and climb in comfortable footwear as their boys. Weird-o-rama. And yes, I'm stalling for time to avoid the mountain of books sitting to my left and glaring at me.

Oh goodness, and however did I forget about this one? Last night, Mort and I made pumpkin muffins. The same recipe as the pumpkin bread, just poured into muffin tins instead of a loaf pan. After dinner, Mort asked for one. I gave it to him. He took a bite and declared he didn't like it. This is the same boy who ate an entire loaf single-handedly last week.

"I don't like the shape," he said mournfully.

"Would you like me to make it look like bread shape?" I asked in a faux patient, helpful voice.

Big sigh worthy of someone named Mort, "No thank-you. I just don't think it will help."

One more thing and then I promise I will start studying. Or doing something else productive. Or watching E!True Hollywood Story. It's a ll a toss-up. I saw Inglourious Basterds this weekend and it was great. GREAT. I did want to see it, but I thought it would mainly be a "eh, yeah, it was alright" kind of film. I didn't love Kill Bill part 1 or 2. I liked From Dusk Till Dawn. I didn't really like Pulp Fiction (too violent). Jackie Brown was...eh. I can't help it. I like what I like. Mainly I like things that are nice. There's enough sorrow and violence to be found in every day life. I don't need to seek it out for entertainment. Anyway, I was surprised by how great the movie was. It was long and I didn't get squirmy or look at my watch even once.(Although I did have to look away from the screen with some frequency because of sad/violent scenes. But they weren't gratuitous.) Brad Pitt was doing a French Stewart face and goofy accent and I didn't even hate him. I cared about the characters. I was surprised by the plot. (I read like nobody's business, so most plots are as obvious to me as to anybody who reads a ton because they recycle the same five ideas over and over.) It was a good movie. In fact, it was the best movie I've seen in a long time.

In the tradition of Julie vs. Julia, I am going to start documenting what I make my son for lunch and whether or not I was successful in creating something that he is willing to eat.

Today I packed Mort a cut-up star fruit, hummus with crackers, and yogurt with blueberries.All things he clamours for in the privacy of his own home. I'm thinking he will eat the star fruit and the rest will return untouched in his lunch box. Stay tuned.

Mort has been playing school all morning. He is writing the names of his friends and relatives on a piece of paper and then grading their behavior. I'm afraid that most of the people we know have received only a check mark(good but not great) for their pretend efforts. My sister's cat, however, has been awarded 5 stickers and a smiley face, Mort's highest marks in his ranking system.

My cold has progressed to a full-blown head cold, but is still not a sinus infection. I don't know if that's even good because at least with a sinus infection you take antibiotics and it gets knocked out of your system. This feels like my head is stuffed full of cheap toilet paper. Duke feels certain that I simply have allergies. Because I haven't suffered from allergies my entire life so I couldn't possibly tell the difference between allergies and a cold. But he did get up with Mort this morning and make him pancakes while I slept for several more hours. So, I guess as long as I get to sleep he can call this what he will.

Mort woke us last night by hacking up a lung and when we gave him some homeopathic cough syrup, he announced, "My throat feels grouchy."

As we were falling back to sleep, Duke asked, "What was the adverb he used?"

"Grouchy," I replied.

"Oh, I guess that's a noun," he muttered.

"Well, really it's an adjective," said me, "unless you're referring to Grouchy one of the seven dwarfs and then it's a noun."

And for some reason this made us laugh hysterically. That seems to happen alot when Mort wakes us up.

At least Stella wasn't disturbed. Oh and on Mort's ranking system, Stella received a check and an x for less than good but not terrible behavior.

I sometimes wish that I was more crafty and hands on and could make beautiful things instead of just buying them. I do so admire people who have that gift. I guess that I should just be grateful to know such people. Because I benefit by proxy.

My sister is amazingly talented. I can't wait to see the magical land that she will create for her wedding. I think it will blow our minds with its sheer awesomeness. I feel certain that someone should be photographing it and filming it for design mags and HGTV.

It is rainy and I have a decent cold that I'm trying to stave off from turning into a sinus infection. And I thought I'd tackle the enormous project of sorting all of my hundreds of books by color and rearranging them. I was only a couple piles into it when I realized that I like them better just jumbled together, classics with trash and great works of literature with torn paperbacks.

Packing Mort's lunch has been a consistent struggle. I've toyed with letting him buy lunch, but I know that he will not eat the unfamiliar tastes that accompany familiar names. In trying to raise a child with leanings towards, fresh, organic ingredients and minimal processing, I have limited his palette towards the greater world. (We once tried to order him a pb & j at a restaurant. It was peanut butter made of many things other than peanuts, jelly made of more than fruit and white bread. He gagged.)

Mort has rejected all of the lunch items that I pack for him that he deems acceptable at home because they are the wrong temperature. On the list of items he will not eat in his packed lunch: grilled cheese, peanut butter and jelly, turkey sandwiches, wraps, and quesadillas. Yesterday, I packed him pb&j crackers and a slice of homemade pumpkin bread.

At dinner last night he announced out of the blue, "See! The pumpkin bread was just perfect! I could eat the whole thing!"

I started my course work last night. It took me a very long time. Probably because I was sharing my workspace with Mort who needed me to look at his drawing and/or magnetix creature every couple of minutes. Or to retrieve the magnetix pieces that kept "falling" onto the floor. Or to tell me how and why he built what he built and drew what he drew.

After I did all the stuff to assure the folks in computer land that I knew how to operate my computer and could thus pay them the exorbitant fee to take this online class, I printed out the 18 page syllabus because I read better when I can hold the material in my hands. And I have short-term-mommy-memory loss. I can tell you when show and tell is and when Mort last had steamed broccoli or received his booster shots, but I don't know anything on the schedule for Duke or for me. Or Stella, for that matter. Because my brain plays the all Mort channel all the time. Which is undoubtedly why I awoke at 1:30 am full of what-ifs and couldn't fall back asleep until 5. And then I had to get up at 7. And I've lost weight, but my jeans that fit when I was heavier no longer fit. Or it's entirely possible that I couldn't figure out how to button them and gave-up. I'll try again later.

Oh! So, can I just tell you how quickly my heart beat when I saw that the first assignment was an editing test? I LOVE that sort of thing. A Where's Waldo of grammatical errors. First I gleefully ripped through it, switching out apostrophes and changing words like "arouse" to "rouse" and matching up verb tenses. But then I started to over think things. And I became uncertain if I should really edit the sentences or just minimally clean them up. If I knew the sentence would read better by switching the phrases would the professor think I was taking away from the voice of the piece or was she looking to see if we were aware that the sentence structure could be improved? It took me about three hours to do 40 lines. It generally takes me three hours to do about five or six full page articles. I agonized over things such as whether or not I should change north east U.S. to Northeastern region of the United States (I did.) In the end, I went whole hog. Because if I was getting paid to do that piece, that's what I would have done. I would rather have the professor tell me that I over edited rather than that I missed too many extraneous bits and bobs. I think? I don't know. Neither scenario is great.Was I just showing off, hoping that when we dissect sentences and I have no memory of what a dangling participle is the professor will remember that I knew it's a Canada goose and not a Canadian goose? Probably. And of course, I am now checking my online grades every two minutes to see how I fared.

Yesterday, all of the mommies at the bus stop were summoned by the bus driver who informed us that one of our wayward children had repeatedly opened the window, thus setting off the alarm. (I am so old that when I rode the bus,there were no window alarms. You were allowed to open the window and get fresh air. And throw stuff outside. And write the name of boys you liked on the foggy glass.) The bus driver said none of the kids would fess up, so she yelled at us for awhile instead. Which would have been fine, but it had started to rain. And I had to hold my mail over my head because it seemed like a good idea at the time and it got all wet and I couldn't read it. I could tell right away by Mort's face that he hadn't done it. (I hope that kid keeps wearing that kind of stuff on his face, it will make my job so much easier.) And sure enough, he was the lone kid who had not participated. I praised him for choosing to not do something that he knew was wrong, but it was all reverse psychology. Because I know damn well that had he been ABLE to reach the window, he would have joined in on that action in a second.

Gotta go check my grades again.

Do you know Rachel Zoe? I mean, not personally, or heck, maybe personally, I don't know. Anyway, I have seen her in various magazines touting what is "hot" or having picked out clothes for someone or being slammed for being too thin. And I always think, "Ooh! I like what she's wearing!" However, yesterday I took a nap (I'm really getting into the swing of this kid at school gig) and while I was waking up with my second round of coffee, I turned on Bravo to see if perhaps they were showing any old Project Runway episodes. They were not. But they were showing The Rachel Zoe Project. And I think she may be brain damaged. Um. Isn't she like 40? Because I have 16 yr old cousins who are more articulate and less teeny-bopper than she. Is it a joke? Does anyone really speak like that? I am so disappointed that her seemingly flawless taste in clothes does not translate to a cool persona and instead translates to a 12 yr old imitating a Valley Girl from days of yore.

If I could think of any other pop culture stuff I wanted to discuss, I could call this the Hollywood edition and be on my way.

I got something fun for my sister's not-bachlorette-party. That's all I can say because she may read this. But it's not going to drive the Jersey boys insane for lifesavers and I think she will really like it and find it to be cute.

Our country, man. What's up? Is anyone really debating the merits of the President telling kids to work hard and do their best? And schools really didn't want to show that speech? It's called a democracy. That is the person for whom the majority, the VAST majority of the people in our country voted in the presidential election. And so if you want to cry because he's trying to lead our country out of the mess caused by previous yahoos, TOO BAD. Do it on your own time. A good lesson for children would be that regardless of where you stand, this is our President. And this is what he would like to say to our children. Not showing his speech? Are you kidding me? Can you imagine anyone getting away with that shit under the Shrub? Sometimes, my fellow citizens really scare the beejeezus out of me.

I need a dermatologist.

Duke and I have noticed an alarming trend in the very few television shows to which we devote any of our time. And it's a seemingly small pool, especially as we don't have anything fancy that would allow us to watch any of the good shows real time and we rent them in bulk and power watch them. We watch Weeds, the Tudors, Mad Men and Entourage. And although we had previously watched Californication, it was pretty eh/bad this time around so that one is off the list. Anyhoo, LIZZE from a now defunct college show keeps showing up on our programs! (Isn't that a bizarre word? I can't leave the house right now. I'm watching my program.) And because Lizzie, ie Carla Gallo is neither talented nor quirky , we are flabbergasted at her repeat appearances. Taking the cake was last night when she showed up on Mad Men. Seriously, she is either Steven Spielberg's kid (is he still relevant?)or she has compromising pictures of one of the Weinsteins. Because there are a lot of actors out there. There is no reason to keep casting her.

Speaking of Mad Men, is Betty Draper the worst mother since Joan Crawford or what? I wish Don would leave her pregnant ass ("I'm your little girl Daddy. You shouldn't bother me with this." and "Go watch TV." ) except then the poor kids would be stuck with her and poor Carla who is a significantly better mother to them. I assume there is a rationale behind her current plotline( being pregnant and an asshole), but ugh, she is entirely devoid of sympathy this season.

So, I've used up my blogging interest this morning, but I have enrolled in a program to become certified in editing. I think it should take about two years. And the cost of books has NOT become more reasonable since I graduated from college.

I've been trying to make brownies for the past hour. Not from scratch or anything. And yet every time I do the toothpick test (if you don't know what that is, you are even worse off than I and I can't help you), the brownies are still liquid. I was puzzling over this, and Duke said, "Oh! You only have the oven set to 325. Maybe it should be higher."

So, I dug the box out from beneath the coffee grounds (yes, still not composting. it's on the list.) and mused, "No...it says 325 for a dark coated pan."

To which Duke explained I was not using a dark-coated pan. Just a metal pan. Who knew there was a difference? Okay, probably everyone but me.

And what brought on this little fit of domesticity? Well, Mort had a dentist appointment this afternoon and instead of returning him to school, he and I went out to lunch. Because he missed lunch anyway. And then instead of returning him to school, we went to the playground. Because he missed recess anyway. And then we made brownies. Because it was a great day. And Mort may be the only child in the world to utter the phrase, "Going to the dentist is fun!"

What a week. I am generally not a tgif person as my job  knew no weekends, but today, today I say "TGIF."

I know that eventually this shall become our normalcy, but right now I feel suspended neither here nor there. I am looking forward to seeing my people this weekend and reverting to what previously looked like our life.

Although I suppose I do have more of a schedule now. Maybe that's what is throwing me off. Also, I seem to be requiring a lot more coffee. And I keep losing and gaining the same five pounds. And I was cleaning yesterday, marvelling that the house was dirty after I had just cleaned it, and realized it had been two and a half weeks ago since that actually happened. My time is alternately molasses and warp speed.

Jay is definitely dragging. I can tell because he's bouncing off the walls like he snorted a bag of pixie sticks. Not that he knows what those are, but I couldn't come up with a better anaolgy for the sugar high people now insist doesn't occur in children because of sugar. Have you heard that one? I know that I get crazy and  then depressed when I od on sugar, so you can throw out as many studies as you wish, but if my significantly larger body cannot handle it, there's no way a child is immune to it.

Also, on the topic of food and because I have yet to bring up our Italian friend in this post, here is a subject that incorporates both. There has been much speculation that carbs are Bad. Carbs make us Fat. I, however, do not believe that. Because when I go to Italy, I eat. I really eat. I have biscotti and bread for breakfast. I have plates of pasta with full-fat cheese for lunch. I have something carb-y at 11 at night for dinner. I drink wine. I eat snacks. I eat fruit and veggies and tons of gelato. And I always lose weight. ALWAYS. My activity level also drops when I am there as my activity generally consists of lying on a beach and/or sitting and eating.

Now, our friend Luigi was here and he ate things that I shun, but that Duke does not. The two of them ate steak and "pizza" from Pizza Hut (I put this in quotes as Luigi thought it was  funny to call that pizza) and cinnamon bread I had made for breakfast and two fast food meals. Luigi gained six pounds and his pants became very tight. Duke's weight didn't fluctuate at all. So, in conclusion, I think it's not carbs, but rather any non organic, processed food that we eat in our country. Thank-you for your time.

Hey, so apparently in my new phase of life, I am Taking Charge. We have had a slight plumbing problem for a very long time. Slight enough that we have chosen to ignore it for almost a year, save of course for when our Italian pal tossed his silk scarf over his shoulders and whipped out a wrench and demanded I hold the flashlight while he attempted to fix it. He's a neuro-physicist who has a cleaning person and a gardner and whose mother still makes him lunch. And he's a truly great guy. Hard not to love anyone who can make your husband laugh that hard. Anyway. That conversation went like this:

Me: Why do you know how to do this?

Him: Because I'm a man.

So, the sink was still leaking and I called a professional. Who quoted me such an outrageous price that I sent him on his muttering-under-his-breath way. And I called someone else. Who was over $300 cheaper. And now we have a beautiful new faucet that doesn't leak.

Also, I just weeded and cut back annuals and made note of where I want to plant more bulbs. It may not seem like much, but it is alot for me. Seeing as how I am really not adult enough to be a homeowner.

Nonsequitur alert.

I love fall!!! Transitional seasons are the best.( And fall trumps spring.) I bought boots and nail polish in anticipation. And the gigantic magazines are starting to clog my mailbox. And my green peppers are still growing as fast as Mort demands them.

Surprisingly, or not, I am having mucho trouble waking in the am to walk Senor Mort to the bus stop. Also not sure why I'm breaking out my seven years of high school Spanish. Luckily for you all, that about covers all the words that I retained. I can only imagine that as it becomes darker and cooler outside I'm going to sleep later and later...But by then, he should have the hang of it, right?

I had to pull over to the side of the road yesterday because there was a yellow jacket in my car. Under my water bottle. I kept trying to crush it with a piece of wood that I found but it refused to be smooshed. Then I found a heavy rock and the sucker grabbed a hold of it so that it could flatten its poisonous grossy body against the rock's surface and escape death. But that is okay because I chucked the rock as far as I could, rolled up my windows (well, I didn't roll them per se. Do cars even come with that option anymore?), closed up the sunroof and was on my way. I almost had to pull over again because I started retching and shaking at the thought of the yellow jacket in my car. And I kept imagining I could hear a buzzing or something brushing against my foot. Ick.

Hey, so I managed to score a trial editing gig for a publishing company. If I do well, I will have some decent steady work between the magazine and the books, and still be able to be volunteer and bus stop and soccer and lunch time mommy. I need to work because I would go out of my head just hanging out waiting for Mort to return each day. Can you imagine? It seems lovely in theory, but horrid in reality. I mean, there's definitely lots of stuff to accomplish around the house, but I certainly don't want to be the one to do them.

I am two cups of coffee and one cup of iced tea in and still I cannot fully open my eyes. I feel like it's a weeble day.

I haven't really found my daily rhythm of life on my own as of yet, but who cares when the weather is this outstanding, when the windows are open and I'm eating  arugula, tomatoes and a hard block of Parmesan cheese?