July.

Can it really be July 4th? It seems like the days flow out from under me too fast, regardless of my efforts to slow them down. In 26 days, Isaac will be nine. NINE!

I won't get too sentimental, but it is impossible to think that nine years could have passed in such a seemingly short time. If I logically untangle the years, I can see the vast ways that both he and I have changed... but the gloriously mixed up prism of memories has him playing Thomas Trains, ecstatically jumping in his johnny jump up in the kitchen doorway... coloring Transformers and playing his toy guitar.

Now, we discuss global warming and play Wii. He draws Phineas and Pherb and takes guitar lessons. Afternoons find him lazing about, reading voraciously... quite my son.

I am humbled and infinitely fortunate to have my children--but I will never again be unaware of the swift hand of time.

As the dust settles...

...this new year comes on tennis shoed feet, the parade of boxes and bags and the motley mix of furniture and random stuff that used to be my home.

I am apprehensive, excited: ready? Yes. But taking deep breaths all the same.

The kids are a mix, as varied as my things. S. is of course ecstatic--ready for the new. I. is more reluctant, clinging to the only home he has ever known.

Tonight I sit amid... nothing and everything, the memories of the past beaten back to faint lurkers in my mind. Bits of tinsel litter the wood floor; endless stray legos lie amid the newspaper and forgotten piles.

How do you pack up an old life? In jumbled boxes, in bits and pieces. In bags and crates and baskets. The reconfiguration is the release, the renewal.

I am happy and sad and it is okay: the new year begins.

Almost Thanksgiving...really? And other musings...

As I watched the kids playing with sharpened sticks and kicking up the multitude of leaves, I had one of those gripping thoughts: Another year has come and gone. Here are my babies, one with shaggy hair and a penchant for Harry Potter; the other a pipsqueak powerhouse, her singsong voice telling tales of mermaids and castles as she colors and draws.

Isaac asked me today: "Will I be sixteen when you're forty?"

Yes, baby. You will.

Tucking Sophia in on Friday night, I sang as I picked up toys--"Turn around, and you're two, turn around, and you're four... turn around, and you're a young girl, walking out of my door." That song gets me every time. I remember my own mother singing it, and the forlorn tone of it both captivated and puzzled me. Isn't the point of life to get older, grow wiser, move on? And yet, my mothering heart understands: how quickly pass the years.

Behold: PROMETHEA!

Well. I did it. Or rather, my sister did it. I finally achieved Promethea, minus her caduceus. A goddess worthy time was had, if I do say so. My sister went golden as well, channeling her inner Artemis, minus the bow. We figure our glitter was enough to make up for our lack of weaponry.







To see the "real" incarnation of Promethea, check out Alan Moore's "Promethea," from America's Best Comics.

It's a Blanket! WITH SLEEVES!

So, while, watching The Soup last night, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a blanket... but not just any blanket, my friends. Blankets themselves are troublesome; difficult. Using one might mean accidentally uncovering your feet or exposing an arm while you fumble with the remote. You might have to--gasp--get up off your cozy ass and walk to the kitchen for a snack.

But now you don't have to. Yep. That's right. And I can't say it any better than geekologie.

Here's the commerical:





AND YOU GET A PRESS AND OPEN BOOK LIGHT! Gee whiz, Betty, let's order today!

Of course, this is not a new level of laziness. I am always creeped out by the grown up "sleeper sacks."
Some have little cuffed feet, like the "Couch Sacks" from Fleece Corner. Nothing says sexy like the words "Couch" and "Sack" combined into one plaid fleece garment. Rrrrrrrr.

Hogwarts Happenings...

10 kids, six boys sleeping over, and a roomful of popcorn kernels later, I's Harry Potter Party was officially a hit.

Granted, I feel like I've been hit by the Hogwarts Express, but then, motherhood involves martyrdom, eh?

Party highlights: Most of the kids came dressed up in robes or witch hats, which was adorable... we had a "Potions Class" that involved Exploding Potion, Swirling Prismatic Potion, and Bouncing Black Beetles Potion. (The first: vinegar, food color, and baking soda...the second, milk with food color and a drop of dish soap, and lastly, craisins and Sprite.) They LOVED it--and thank god we did the activities outside! It was a glorious, foamy, vinegar-y mess. My hands still smell like I dyed a vat of easter eggs.
The boys had a "Bertie Botts Challenge" that involved closing their eyes, chosing a bean from the bag, and eating it, sight unseen. One boy cried, it tasted so awful... and I have to say, having played a similar game with my first box of beans, Jelly Belly has accurately captured some truly horrific flavors... soap being foul and long lasting, much like the real thing... and vomit making one feel, well, like vomiting. Earthworm has a lingering, dry, dirt taste that is only masked by eating something equally intense, like grape jelly. Thank the gods for the jelly and tuti fruitti mixed in!

I. requested a golden snitch cake, so S. and I obliged. We also had "Mexican Muggle Meat" (our HP version of tacos) and "Pumpkin Juice" (orange Koolaid dipped out of a tureen whilst dry ice bubbled and fogged below).

Now, the aftermath:

streamers and stickiness and the filth that occurs when your house is filled with 7-9 year old boys. Lucky me!

SHOUT AT THE DEVIL

Yep. I went to Crue Fest. And I am not ashamed to say it.

Yes. I got my picture taken with some shirtless tattooed drunk guy who reeked of sweat and cigarettes (so sexy) and who nearly tripped on me and my friend.

Yes, I felt like a stranger in a strange land. I think I'm still recovering.

Indie girl that I am, content to bob gently with the bass and nurse my imported beer, this was quite a new experience.

I sloshed american beer in a plastic cup and screamed along with the rest of the drunken, shirtless rednecks.

I kept my shirt on.

I have to admit, it was kind of a novelty to see fireworks and flames onstage... and I truly enjoyed their video screen accompaniment. When they played Same Old Situation, it was a medley of Bush, girl bush, and guns... images of war and explosions and oral sex. It was fairly political, which I didn't expect.

It was a very short set. I am used to the long encore, but they came back and played one song and they were done. D-O-N-E. I think Vince Neil was about to pass out from the sheer exertion of wearing those pants and trying to reach those notes, poor guy. Living a life of debauchery is hard on a fellow.

And, in case you're hankering for a little taste of the crue, enjoy this (via the impeccably tasteful Mr. Jones):