Shouldn't Mad Men Season 2 be on DVD by now? What are they waiting for?

What in the world is lovelier than this very morning?

Some days it is better not to think too much, to let thoughts float at the top of your head and refuse to bring them into focus for introspection. Because it will just make you sad for absolutely no reason except that you are all outta wack. I wish there was a chiropractor for thoughts. Just snap and bang; your head is a lovely screen call of pretty and mundane. Not that I believe in chiropractors. If it works for you, keep with it. I think they are tricksy, but that's me. I'd totally do acupuncture though.

GARDEN is planted. I'm adding another row of corn in two weeks so that we aren't overwhelmed with more corn than you can shake a stick at, but everything else is done. I found another giant hole chewed by my friendly neighborhood rabbits, so I put up yet another friendly piece of chicken wire. Chew on that, beyotch. I'd like to say that removing all the topsoil has solved my weed issue, but it has not. I need to newspaper and straw it. I feel like I'm building a house for one of the three little pigs.

Well, well, well. If it isn't my old friend Heating Pad.

It was so beautiful yesterday. The kind of spring day that cause me to wonder if it ever existed or is a memory I've stolen from a movie or an advertisement. Jeans and t-shirt weather. Glorious sunshine, blue skies and puffy white clouds. A little kid laughing and shrieking with the hose, drenching their sneakers and chasing daddy.

I couldn't stay away from the garden. I weeded and repaired four wheelbarrows worth of soil and rocks. I put-up chicken wire in my latest move against my rabbit foes. I planted marigolds and roma tomatoes, grape tomatoes and brandywine tomatoes. I planted yellow and green peppers. I planted oregano and basil. I cleaned-up the broccoli rabe, the broccoli, baby carrots, arugula, spinach and lettuce. I planted borage. I worked and worked and worked and it was outstanding. And then I realized my back hurt. And today I am in rehab-dictated position with a heating pad.

I should have skipped the aleve and gone straight for the prescription stuff.

And I see my garden out there, still needing me to finish weeding, still needing me to plant jalapenos, Thai chili peppers, orange peppers, cilantro, onions, soybean and corn. And I can't do a damn thing.

We visited my sister and her fiance at their Airstream yesterday, and now Mort is very vocal and intent on his desire for a "moving home." And really, no one could blame him, because it is super-cool, but eventually I had to tell him to get a job and start saving. And then Duke and I laughed and laughed.

Let's play guess what time I woke-up last night (this morning?) I will give you a hint: I watched back-to-back episodes of Roseanne. That is a darn good show. Do I hear 3 am? Cause if I do, we have a winner! 

Why does my internal clock feel that 3 am is an appropriate time to spring to life?

My garden is overrun and causing me great anxiety. My indoor seedlings are becoming leggy and nervous, looking to spread out. I have found not 1, not 2, not 3, but 5 holes chewed through the fence by my friendly neighborhood rabbits. And one tunnel dug beneath it. And I can't get out there to work because it will not stop raining.

Abrupt subject change.

I have a friend, Riley, who could truly teach Martha Stewart a thing or two. The woman is a full-time stay-at-home mom, who works outside the home in the evening and on weekends. She runs her household by herself for the most part as her husband travels nonstop for work. She is like a mythical figure blessed by the Greek gods. Her home is always always always immaculate. Eat off the floor immaculate. Her flower beds are always lush and overflowing with nary a weed. Her child just turned four and is already able to write. She does elaborate crafts. She changes the decor of her home for every holiday. And I'm not talking she strings up some lights. She creates her own garland with handmade snowflakes and hearts for Valentine's Day. And even though she just spent 5 hours in the emergency room with her wee one, who will be completely dependant on my friend for the next month or so, I just received a thank-you note for a birthday party that very recently took place. Handmade. Two paragraphs written in regards to the gifts we brought. With a picture. Seriously, Riley should run for State Senate. Or Ruler of the Free World. That woman can get some shit done.

I really need to remember to read the online discussions of the local newspaper. That is some damn funny stuff. Demented and sad, but funny nonetheless.

The axis of evil is alive and well and in my garden. Weeds, birds and rabbits. And there you have it. I haven't even fully planted yet due to this $#@% nonstop rain, and already the rabbits have chewed a hole through my fence. But y'know what rabbits? I KNOW people. People who deal in chicken wire. I didn't want to go there, but it's on. I made what I thought would be an annoyance to keep the birds aflutterin' on out of my plants and leave my strawberry blossoms alone, but as with all things scarecrow, they just sit on top of it. And the weeds. Ugh. WEll, I have reached the point of no return. The next day it is not pouring rain, I am starting over. I'm digging out every inch that isn't planted and then replacing the soil. Other than that, I'm at a complete loss.

I am so tired I feel like I'm trying to resurface from anesthesia.

Aren't baby ducks so dang cute that you could just pop them in your mouth?

I think I am officially old. (No comments from the peanut gallery, thank-you.) I would rather go hang out with my sister and have a "nice dinner" than go to a Dead show. The seats are "eh". There's that whole pesky "Dead Jerry" issue. And I'm tired. I'd rather just shoot the breeze with my sibling. A Dead show is a whole event. I have a birthday party for a 5 yr. old that morning. I think that's all the event I can take nowadays.Plus, there's not nearly enough time between now and then to fully grow-out my armpit hair and I have standards to uphold. I can't go bursting back onto the scene like a novice, you know.

That smell-I love it. The smell of outside, the smell of dirt and grass and flowers and air heavy with moisture. It feels so fresh and clean, it feels like towels rough from drying on the clothesline, it feels like the sunroof open and a good tune playing on a  winding country  back road. It feels like lying on a sheet in the front yard with my sister in the middle of the night, trying to escape the heat of the house, watching the bats' graceful swoop amongst the  insects  dancing in the street light. It smells like birdsong and the distant rumble of trucks and the warm air being pushed grudgingly by a fan.

 Around 5 pm, I shall loathe the heat with every fiber of my being, but with the morning dew still sparkling on the lawn, it is delicious.

Overnight my seedlings have been reaching towards the window like gangly adolescents, like rearing king cobras ready to strike. It seems as if I sit here long enough,if I am very very still, i will witness the turning of their heads to best catch the rays of the sun.

"What happens in the garden stays in the garden"--AP

All of my friends have their They Might Be Giants "birdhouse in my soul". 

Once upon a round robin flurry of e-mails, my brilliant friend S tossed out the idea of communal gardening. Everyone in our circle is planting a garden this year. We all have little kids who are only interested in gardening for 11 minutes or until a butterfly flutters through their field of vision. And we all gather together at least once a week. Why not join forces and tools and help a sista out?

And I will tell you what, it has been pretty darn fun. When there are that many hands and that much laughing and gabbing going on, suddenly all the weeds are pulled and the ground is cleared and it's time for lunch. 

Today my nose is sunburnt and my back is sore, but my heart is full.

 

Three minutes of complaints

Today marks day six of antibiotics, day nine of fever, aka day nine of feeling like ass. My doctor thinks I should wait it out a couple more days. Not exactly sure for what I am waiting. I guess I'll know when it happens. It's not like I've ever had a sinus infection before, so it's not like I know when an antibiotic is working. Is it time for the sinus surgery? Ugh. Probably. I am juggling working from home with my sahm work. I only slept four hours last night. My dog pees on her bed the minute I place it, freshly washed , upon the floor. I am congested to the point that I have to keep reminding myself to breathe because it's easier to hold my breath. Oh, and my new prescription from the eye doctor is off, so I have the choice of squinting or seeing through a tunnel. Good thing I'm not staring at a computer or looking things up in the 17 reference books piled amongst my Kleenex,coffee mugs, unwritten thank-you notes, germinating seedlings, and Star Wars coloring books. Oh, except that I am!

Damn you, Derek Zoolander!

Mort just asked me which belly I was in when I was a baby.

I am fairly certain that it is in the contract of the trash men (I'm not being politically incorrect. Our trash people happen to be men. I'm not saying they couldn't be women. In our house, for instance, the trash person is female 50 percent of the time.) to leave the lid open if it's a rainy day. "It's raining, Hugh! Don't forget to keep that lid up or else that trash can will not fill with water and keep us chuckling the rest of the day!" 

I don't know how closely you follow celebrity news, but I heard perhaps the single greatest thing ever on the radio the other day. I believe I was driving home from the eye doctor. Anyway, Woody Harrelson (He was on Cheers. I'm pretty sure he played someone named Woody.) attacked someone who took his picture. And his rationale for attacking the person was that he thought the photographer was a zombie. I mean, seriously, you would have to forgive someone if that was their excuse. And think of all the occasions on which you could use it! All of the following problems could be solved by replying, "I'm sorry, I thought you were a zombie." Excuse me, I was next in line! Our newspaper wasn't delivered this morning. You left the lid open on the trash can in the pouring rain!

sinusitis fever

am editing anyway

i like getting paid

p.s. obviously too feverish to be able to properly count syllables

I'm not Andy Rooney, I just play him on TV

I have so many plants and seedlings on my window sills in everything from proper containers to salsa bowls to Dixie cups that my house looks like a second grade classroom.

I don't know why people seem to think bluebirds are so rare. Our yard is littered with 'em.

Have you ever been thanked for something you've done but didn't do for that person? Say, bought whole wheat tortillas for a dinner you were making, for instance , but were thanked as though you had bought them for someone's lunch? Is it best to just smile and nod?

Sometimes I renew my library books because I'm too lazy to return them.

My eyesight has reached the point where there is just no seeing that bedside clock, no matter how hard I squint.

I like to eat less dinner so that I can have more dessert.

I had a nightmare about working in retail. Although at least nowdays there's no such thing as customer service. 

I try on heels all the time.I wore them  consistently for so long that wearing flat shoes used to cause me to trip and make my legs and feet hurt.  I thought I would return to them when Jay was too big to carry and my back didn't cause me such grief. But now I am a sucker for comfort and even the best 4 inch heel in the world can't compete with Birkenstocks. It's like wearing make-up. Now that I've reached an age where I  really,truly, no getting around it, look better with it than without, I really can't be bothered to wear it. My mom used to tell me I didn't need to wear all that make-up. And surprise, surprise, she was right again.

Did you ever see the episode of South Park where it is revealed that Earth is just a reality show? Our world is comprised of creatures that have been plucked from their respective planets all over the universe and thrown together for the amusement and viewing pleasure of a dominant alien species. Some days, that explanation is the only one that makes any sense.

I feel compelled to remove the 927 weeds that have hijacked my garden, despite the fact that I will need to wear my ski jacket and snow pants to do so. Okay, it's not actually snowing today. But it did snow yesterday.

I had hoped for a brief spell that the weeds were really some unknown vegetable I had planted, but as they are all over the garden and in spots that I have not yet planted, I guess I need to let that thought go. Aside from the weeds, things seem to be steadily progressing in GardenWorld. Arugula is up. Broccoli rabe is up. Spinach is up. Strawberries are growing. My housebound plants are making progress: four tomato plants, two jalapeno plants and three yellow pepper plants.

This whole growing thing just doesn't get old. Each little shoot of unfurling green is as thrilling as the one before it. It's a good spot to focus my hope. Especially as there is seemingly no rhyme or reason to it. They all have the same soil, the same amount of sunlight, the same amount of water. Who is to say why four tomato plants are reaching for the sky while six remain locked in the dirt?

I hope that when the Easter Bunny arrives, it is unable to sneak under the staked fence barricade in the garden over which Mortslaved. I am fairly certain that everything within that fence is frozen at this point, but you never know. And while I have little doubt that the Eater (ha! I meant to type Easter, but instead I typed Eater. That, my friends, is a good 'ol Freudian slip.) Bunny could chew its way through the fence, I do not think it would have time to chew a hole large enough for its basket of goodies. I also hope that it is not 31 degrees on Easter. Because that will probably make it chilly for the Easter egg hunt I have planned. Oh, I'll be fine, because I can watch from the window. But it might be tricky for Mort. Especially as I have already put away the winter coats.

Well, I am not going to lie. Things have been a little crazy around here. Or I've been a little crazy around here. Either/or. Take your pick. I won't be offended.

I tried to cram in a week's worth of stuff into yesterday. Why? Yeah, I don't really know. Probably because I spent the earlier part of the week mindlessly washing the kitchen floor over and over again in a vain attempt to eradicate the sticky spots that emerged post-Monday dinner. Oh, and I was able to sucker Mort into gardening with me by pretending I didn't want him to. I can't believe I didn't think of that earlier! Lately our conversations have been a broken record:

Me, "Want to work in the garden with me?"

Mort, "No."

Me, "Please?"

Mort, "No, thank-you."

Me, "C'mon, it will be fun!"

Mort, "No thanks."

Me, "Well, you have to come outside because it's a nice day and you need fresh air and you aren't sitting inside all day and I'm going outside and so are you."

However, this week I have merely pulled on my Wellies and announced, "I''ll be in the garden if you need anything."

Darn if I barely unearth my trowel before he marches outside with his Wellies and gardening tools announcing that he came to help. And help he does! He pulls weeds and digs holes and pounds in fence stakes and spreads seeds and looks for any gaps where the rabbits might slip in and then he goes and plays with his friends. Win/win.

And my yellow peppers are up! Things are really trucking along.

What was my point? Oh, yes, so yesterday I tried to get going on preliminary plans for two bridal showers, send out the invitations to Mort's birthday party, buy all the ingredients for Duke's birthday dinner and cake, wash eight loads of laundry, wash the dog (third time this week, but I'll get to that in a minute), clean the bathrooms, organize Mort's stuff for consignment, schedule Mort's physical, look at houses for our annual mommy beach week, seek out a new safe-for -Earth-humans-and-pets floor cleaner since the kitchen floor was still sticky(Ecover Floor Soap did the trick!) and make a complicated dinner that I will not again make. If something has that many steps, it should be super good. But it was only okay. Yeah.

So, Stella. Oh, Stella. Stella has been suffering from some type of allergy for at least six months at this point. Probably longer. It feels like longer. We have been to the vet so often they now know our voice on the telephone. Just like the pizza place. The vet has been through many trial and tribulations over the ill-bred mess that is Stella, but this one has really taken the cake. He finally decided to go to our last resort : a round of steroids. He was trying to avoid this as it would trigger one of her other issues we had finally cleared--her leaky bladder. And I am not exaggerating when I say I have been scrubbing the carpet at least 20 times a day. Not including the scrubbing M does.

One of my friends suggested doggie diapers. They are eco-friendly ones that you just wash. Aren't friends wonderful? My hands were starting to cramp between all the scrubbing and gardening. And God love that little dog, because she did submit to wearing them. She was fairly horrified, but she did it. However, she was

laying on M's legs later that evening and peed all over him. But, it was worth a try. And it's not like she peed on me. Another unfortunate side effect of her steroid use is Stella's insatiable appetite. I do believe I was just singing her praises about how great she is around food that is not hers. Now she has become a bottomless pit. Yesterday she tried to choke down the crust from Mort's pb &j that was ON HIS PLATE. ON THE TABLE. She refused to give-up even when I caught her. Luckily, her sheer greed in attempting to swallow it whole without chewing gave me the time to yank it from her mouth. Later on, she was quicker and snatched and swallowed an entire organic turkey sandwich on whole wheat. I mean, the dog is nine years old and she has never even sniffed hopefully around our people food. Duke is convinced it's some type of roid rage. Maybe she's eating to ease the shame of the diaper.

And Duke had an excellent point regarding Madonna's failed adoption attempt. If you are a child who will be raised in an orphanage, how pissed will you be upon learning that one of the wealthiest women in the world wanted to adopt you and make you her heir and someone decided stamp a big red "NO" on that? Granted you can't watch television if you're one of Madonna's kids. But you could probably get some pretty decent meals and learn yoga. And have access to clean water. I'm just sayin'.

I see that Japan has plans for a robot to walk on the moon. Can we maybe get cracking on that library book returning robot I'm hoping for?