Pulitzer? Puh-lease.

Recently I double tapped a book, quite by accident, on my iPad and was the not-so-proud owner of "A Visit From the Goon Squad" by Jennifer Egan. Due to my shaky pointer finger I had just paid $12 for a book I didn't want and didn't have any desire to read.

I wanted Vampire Smut.

Not this--- Pulitzer Prize Winner???

In spite of myself - I was intrigued. And since my spasticness bought the damn tome, I was going to read it.

As punishment.

I can't even recall the last Pulitzer-worthy book I held in my greasy lil' hands - which should tell you how much I enjoy reading "intelligent" fiction.

But I digress.

I settled in each night, iPad pressed against my nose lest the sleeping baby tyrant see the glow and roar his disapproval. I got to know the characters somewhat, each flushed out to be intelligent or drug-addled, all damaged in some "cool" way that real people never are. All had smartass answers to seemingly innocuous questions and each person introduced was cleverly intertwined back to the original love-triangled teenagers we met in a previous chapter. The book spanned decades and - I got lost. I felt like I was being apparated and got splinched, to steal an example from JK Rowling's books. Each time a new chapter hit I was left wondering whose head I was in, what time was it and why should I care.

By the time I got to the chapter written entirely in Powerpoint Slides (no, not joking) I was ready to toss the book out the window.

But, seeing as how I like my iPad, and was not near a window, I forged ahead.

Through 300 pages.

It was like watching a soap opera where all the characters were ones you didn't care about but you couldn't change the channel because your half-dead Aunt Lulu has watched it since she was twelve. So you suffer through it. Catching snippets. Getting caught up in one of the 30 storylines weaving across the screen only to find out it was a subplot that wasn't even important enough to be tied up neatly.

So - my final review?

I didn't like it.

I didn't get why it was a "winner," per se.

So I downloaded Rick Riordin's new book.

Knowing that, if all else fails, the main characters were not likely to end up as drug abusing hookers in Venice.

At least, I hope not. :)

Security Needed - Apply Within

I'm going to post an ad in the paper/Craigslist/local Unemployment office.

LOCAL SECURITY NEEDED

LATE HOURS

RUDE CUSTOMERS

BRUTE FORCE NEEDED

MUST KEEP WOMAN FROM HER OWN REFRIGERATOR.

For the past two nights I have cuddled my kid, let him thrash about on top of me while crying and giggling like some sort of bi-polar rolly-polly, and then drifted to the kitchen to stare in to the fridge.

Last night I decided, at 11pm, that the only way to be able to sleep well was to load up a casserole dish with broccoli, cheese and Panko and eat my way into oblivion. Tonight was no exception as I scooped up the last of the sour cream, salsa and chips into my gaping maw.

I've tried busying myself with other tasks but I find that only delays the inevitable.

So, instead of dieting (that would be foolish), I have decided the only reasonable option is to hire a large man to stand in my kitchen like a bouncer and make sure my name is NOT on the list.

Yup. That's the only reasonable option.

Maybe I could be the next Jenny Craig?

Or Marie Osmond?

Or Kirstie Alley?

Yup - I'm totallllly Kirstie. :)

Egg-ceptionally --- Stupid

"Why don't you just go ahead and boil the eggs tonight?" Harry suggested as he sat at the kitchen tabled backing up the kajillion pictures we've taken of our kid the past year.

"Good idea," I said. I hopped up and went to the fridge to hunt for the eggs I bought last week with dyeing in mind. Plucking the carton from the shelf I flipped the lid open and - paused.
"Oh my GAWD," I exclaimed.

"What?! What did I do? What did I do?" Harry bellowed from the table.

I walked over to the table and tossed the eggs in front of him. "These are the eggs I bought for our son to dye on his first real Easter."

"They're brown," Harry said. He lifted the carton and studied the side while I dissolved into hysterics in the kitchen floor. "And expired."

Sometimes my stupidity surprises even me.... :)

Right in the Kisser!

I taught Baby Harry how to give "KISSES!" so that every time I ask for a kiss, he presents to me his forehead. When I finish the smooch I then flail my legs and basically pretend to have a semi-seizure of happiness. He grins at me with crinkled blue-grey eyes and drools with happiness - he absolutely loves it.

However, no one told me that kids like to do things over and over and over again and will not tire of a new "game" for, oh, I dunno, three and half years!

So ten minutes into our "KISSES!" game today, I was pooped. I am a plumply girl, with matching legs so having a mini-seizure of happiness every five seconds wears on the bod, ya know? So I took his little cheeks in my hand and said, "Momma is tired now, K? One more kiss and then we'll just sit here, K?"

He stared at me for a few seconds, trying to figure out the new rule.

A large, gap-tooth smile lit up his face as he lunged and - HEADBUTTED ME RIGHT IN THE MOUTH.

Apparently, the game was not over.

And would not be over until he was ready.

And as I reeled in pain and flailed my legs in agony, he giggled and drooled - he liked this new game.

He liked it a lot.

Music of the Night

At 1:14am last night, Baby Harry's toy piano turned itself on and began to play Beethoven while flashing lights at the same time.

So obviously - my house is haunted.

In the past two weeks I've had:

• Mysterious ants that appeared and disappeared within days.
• Bees that also come from nowhere and refuse to die even when beaten, sprayed and squashed repeatedly.
• and a continuous creaking noise with may or may not be the pipes or ductwork settling.

My house - is haunted.

So what do I do?

Instead of googling "How to Get Rid of a Ghost" I've decided, instead, to embrace my new houseguest. I will leave the piano out in the other room, along with some Grenadine and Sprite (Ghosts like Shirley Temple Drinks, right?) and maybe some cookies...

I will just kill 'em with kindness. Er, wait. They're already dead... Hmmm...

:)

Oooh - Shiny!

As soon as the coffee cup overturned and spilled it's foul-smelling contents onto the surface of the hardwood floor, I saw my husband toss the baby (not literally) at me, grab paper towels and had the spill cleaned in a matter of seconds.

Crisis averted, I went back to gaily chatting with my Bostonian and Pittsburghian aunts since I didn't get to see them very often.

"Wow, that's shiny!" Big Harry said as he looked down at the floor.

I pulled myself away from the conversation. "What did you clean it with?"

"That Swiffer stuff you bought." I was impressed. It must've been hard for him to wrestle with that big bottle attached to the Swiffer mop but I just smiled and let it go. Until I stepped on the newly clean spot and did a quick three second impersonation of a hippo in flight.

"What the hell?! That's SLICK!" I yelled as I continued to slide around ungracefully.

"I know. I wish the whole floor looked this good," Harry said as he gazed hauntedly at the shiny patch of oak flooring.

A few days later I was filling the dishwasher and opened up the under-the-sink cabinet to grab a handy Cascade pack when I saw a shiny canister. I stopped. Thought. And then called my husband.

"Hi. Where'd you get that Swiffer cleaner from?"

"The cabinet under the sink."

"The shiny spray canister?"

"Uh-huh."

"That's FURNITURE POLISH!" I said slowly, hoping he would get that he turned our living room into a free for all skating rink.

"No. No, it's not."

"It says, 'For Wooden Furniture' right on it."

"It's wrong," he said.

"It's wrong? The can is wrong?"

"Yes. It's floor cleaner. Not furniture. Floor," he repeated.

"Is it your plan to try to kill me? Or are you just trying to get us to glide around in sock-feet all day like in 'Risky Business'?" I asked.

"That one. The 'Business' one."

I know they make child-locks for cabinets to make them childproof - but do they sell husband-proof ones, too?

:)

Brush 'em, Brush 'em, Brush 'em!

Baby Harry was nestled sweetly in my lap, Spongebob jammies on, one hand wrapped around my wrist while he held tightly to his toothbrush with the other. It was so comforting that I closed my eyes, just for a minute - and suddenly felt a slimy, drooly Oral-B toothbrush shoved in one side of my mouth. Lips still propped apart, I opened one eye, stared into the grinning gap-tooth face of my baby - and burst out laughing. Last time I let myself rest when an evil baby is so close by! ;)