The land where summer almost never ended

The heat this summer was especially hard on me and my hair care regimen. My dark hair attracts sunlight, so I can work up a sweat just walking down the street. Add that to my fitness classes, where I sweat from my scalp like a drip system three times a week and I start feeling like a dirty grease ball. Because I can't wash my hair too often (it takes forever and tears to tame it after each wash), it's been tough trying to look fresh during the week. There were definitely times when I thought it would stay hot forever. I began imagining my new life as this: 90 degree weather every week until eternity and me just melting down the road like I'm part of a Salvador Dali painting.

That said, I am so pleased with this fall weather. Fall forever, thank you. I celebrated at Target with a pumpkin spice latte.

I think we're almost ready for Halloween at the Teeni house. We have Ira's costume made (he's a Jawa), the pumpkin carved (Minecraft!), candy bought (includes Kit Kats, sorry babe, or you're welcome?) and our couples costume is ready to go. I talked Leon into being Wayne and Garth with me, mostly so I could get another use out of my David Bowie in Labyrinth wig. I'm so glad Garth does not wear crazy eye make up because the face I had to put on for the Goblin King was so tedious. I am not great at doing make up where it has to look like you're wearing it. I can do no-make up, make up like a champ. We even watched the movie again and it holds up! Party on, Wayne! Party on Garth!

I'm here.

Sorry, I was lost. I was delayed, I was waylaid. Stop me if you think you've heard this one before. Har.


I've been getting frustrated with social media lately and the blog is seeming way more appealing. How's that for vagueness? But I think we all have these frustrations when it comes to communicating, don't we? Aren't we all misheard and misunderstood at some point? It's part of modern life and I can totally deal with it...but maybe it's time my one-sided conversation resumes.

Phoning it in series

Phone pictures from the not too distant past and the timely present. Letting the future happen every day.


^^Autumn leaf jumping.


^^Playing with Kittens.


^^Hiking to waterfalls.


^^Asked for the Macklemore, got the Macklemore.


^^Eating french onion soup with extra cheese and extra bread.


^^This begging face.


^^Christmas gingerbread disaster.


^^Christmas break travels to SF.


^^Jungle in the Conservatory of Flowers.


^^Sleeping innnnnnnnn.


^^Reading with dad.


^^New Year times.


^^Good news. It's not a tumah.


^^Mawwidge.


^^Photo booth fun.


^^Sisters.


^^Friends.

I think that about catches us up.

There was a thief

Last night we found out what we feared to be true. An animal that is not ours has been sneaking into our laundry room through the pet door and eating the cats' dry food. We first thought it was the neighbor's cat Frankles, who is a pretty charming cat, so handsome, friendly and would absolutely never, ever pee in a toaster. I couldn’t even get that mad about old Frankles skimming off our stash, but then we started finding the dry food bin tipped over and sometimes open. Our cats have been spoiled by wet food lately, so breaking into the dry food would be so passé for them. "Dry food. Really?" They’d say. "Sprinkle on some brewer's yeast and maybe we'll talk."

I started to worry that a raccoon or an opossum was coming in. Nah! I've got dogs. The dogs would let me know if a wild critter got into the house. Wrong, wrong, so very wrong. I forget I have Boston Terriers, the most un-terrier-like of all the terriers. They are so unlike their fellow Rat, Jack Russell, West Highland and Bull terriers, that the American Kennel Association puts Bostons not in the Terrier Group for classification purposes, but in vast catch-all group of Non-Sporting. As in, don’t get these dogs if you want a sporty pup. They’re bred as companion dogs, sleep on the couch dogs, burrow into the foot of your bed dogs. They get winded on long runs, they fetch a ball back to you up to ten times before collapsing in a fit of snorts in the grass. They’re the best dogs ever, but they will not solve your vermin problem. I should know this. The only things my dogs catch are fleas and foul cases of flatulence.

So last night while we were watching TV, some vermin came in and ate all of the cat food in the bowls, drank all of the cats’ water, then drunk on their spoils, tipped the dry cat food bin and made a hasty retreat. After assessing the scene, I went out back to see if Frankles the neighbor cat was anywhere in sight. I didn’t see him but I heard something scampering up our neighbor’s tree. Then Leon spotted a huge raccoon in that tree looking back at us with glowing green eyes. It was horrifying! Grab the airsoft gun! Get a flashlight! I was ready for battle, but we had no arms and no batteries. So I had to just sit and stare it down until it left. We secured the pet door and I washed the cats’ bowls in soap and hot water. The worst part is that some of the wash water splashed into my eyes, so now I’m probably dying of rabies. Thanks raccoon. If I catch that beast in my house it’s getting Wustoffed.

What's the price?

How much does this cost? If you ask this, they say, you can't afford it. I don't know if that's true or not. Lots of times I don't ask how much something is if it's not labeled. Probably about half the time because I'm passively punishing a seller for not merchandising their widgets well enough and I refuse to buy their goods. The other half of the time, I figure well, I probably really can't afford it anyway.

What about life? If you ask what the price is, would you really want to know? Would you pay for it? It's impossible to know and it's a dark place to visit, but it's a question that's been weighing on me this week. We lost a dear family member recently. I hate using the word lost like this, like he's wandering around Denio's, bewildered, but every other word that can be used to describe someone's sudden, tragic death seems just as lousy. My cousin was a big deal, a big joker, he laughed big raucous laughter, he was the big grill master. He was Santa for the kids at Christmas. Anyone with that big of a presence in a family is going to leave a big hole when they're gone. That's what we have now, a huge crater of full of missing. We're a bunch of loose ends. The cost is due and we're all paying.

I look at my kid's face, his precious, perfect little face and I feel boundless love for life. What's the price of that and will I ever have to pay for it?

[Last Night]
Ira: "Mom. These are the best butter noodles you've ever made!"
Me: "I'm so glad you like them! I love to hear nice things about my cooking. I feel it in my heart!"
Ira: "Mom. These are worth more than gold."

Using Ira's price scale, if the perfect butter noodles are worth more than gold, then life is worth more than gold times infinity.

I do all my own stunts (slightly NSFL)

I'm putting this big picture first because it's Russel making his signature face (it's as if he's perpetually asking "what about me, guys?") and because I'm about to post a picture of my box cutter injury. Even though it's stitched up, it might gross you out.

La, la, la....

Do I have to make this space longer in case you decide to wuss out?

How about a nice YouTube video?




Okay, are you ready? I'll lead with the not gross picture.


On Saturday I was trying to get through some kitchen recycling that stacked up over the previous couple of days. Junk mail, magazines, cardboard packaging, brew bottles. Don't act like your kitchen never gets messy. Any way. There was a craft brew bottle with some wax around the neck (some serious WTF design but I love you anyway Cigar City). I was going to remove the stupid wax before tossing it in the glass bin. That wax was tough stuff! When my fingers couldn't peel it off, I went for my super sharp box cutter. You already know where this is going! So like a genius, I held the bottle in one hand and swiped my box cutter through the wax with a little too much force (here's where it went way wrong), right towards my thumb. The blade sunk right into me, so very deeply. I screamed and ran to rinse the cut and inspect the wound. My heart just about leaped out of my chest when I could see the yellow, polenta-like fat layer seeping out of my cut. I am so sorry that I just ruined polenta for you. Even that really delicious polenta from Magpie, where they must use an entire stick of butter in every serving, because how else do they get it to taste so unbelievably creamy and rich? Man alive, I love that polenta! Moving on - I panicked hardcore and then Leon swiftly dropped me off at urgent care. I was certain I needed stitches, maybe even a prosthetic hook thumb. In panic mode I always go to the worst case scenario. Why not? Go big or go home, I say! So I checked in at the front desk and went to sit as far as I could from the other folks lolling about with very vague-looking illnesses. I think I was the only one there clutching three super-sized paper towels in a wad around my thumb as if my blood volume depended on it. I have to say, it was a real soul-searching 20 minutes there. How could I have been so careless? I was embarrassed, mortified and absolutely horrified. My eyes started to tear up and I couldn't stop them.

Before long, they called me back into a treatment room, where the best nurse in the entire world triaged me and joked with me while she cleaned my cut and gauzed me up. Seriously, her sense of humor had me in stitches (pun intended), which calmed me down a lot. I managed to peek under the gauze to get a better look at the cut. It was awful. I could still see the layer of skin and fat I had cut through. I didn't have the stomach to take a picture of it. You're welcome. Or, I'm sorry? Then a nice lady doctor came in and numbed my thumb up proper, stitched me up 1-2-3 and it was over and I was on my merry way.

Here's that NSFL picture. Don't go on. Go back while you still can. This is not the way. Take heed and go no further. Beware, beware. Soon it will be too late.











I changed my bandage that evening since it was still bleeding a bit:


Today it's achy and tender to the touch. I still have to do some stuff one-handed (washing and such) and I haven't tried holding my guitar yet. I'll maybe give it a try tonight.


This photo filter is called "gator skin." I have my wedding ring in the shop for repairs, so I've got this big turquoise thing on for a while. Between this thing and the layer of greasy band aids, I keep thinking this is just my stunt hand. Nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-stunt hand!

This blog is now 12 years old and one day blog will be 12 years old on July 27. It's such a brat, it wants me to buy it a car when it turns 16. The nerve.

It's Not About Big Sur

Okay, here's some content! Words and images on a screen. Fresh, hot internet. It's not Big Sur, which I said I would post about, but no one's keeping track anyway except me. I mean, I keep putting this off because even though I think of something to write about, I immediately shoot it down because it's not about Big Sur. Maybe I'll get around to it before we go there next year. In the meantime I have forgotten all of the things I thought fit to write about. So here we are. And I'm not even mentioning how handsome my child is in these pictures because it is clear as day. Never mind, I totally just mentioned it!

It's been such an up and down summer. On the positive side, I went to see Fleetwood Mac with some super fans It was great! Some highlights: Mick wore his Mick Balls and did an epic, eleventy minute drum solo, where he was either talking to the drums or the audience, I couldn't tell. That guy is so weird but it was great anyway! They played all the hits and at the end, Stevie called me her dreamcatcher. To be honest, she called everyone in attendance her dreamcatchers, but it doesn't make it any less special since I felt like she was speaking directly to my heart. My comadre made these gorgeous leather-feather and beads hair clips to round out our gypsy-boho-Malibu-California Gold looks. The clip part was a mini-alligator clip. I remember some neighbors of ours used to use their leather-feather-bead "hair clips" to smoke funny cigarettes.


Mick Balls!

Pup update, pupdate! Heylove came down with a really bad case of bronchitis and was sick for a month. She sounded like the sickest little goose with all the honking coughs. We took her to the vet and she got x-rays and a bunch of meds. We're almost done with the meds and she is doing a lot better. My poor girl. Luckily Rusty didn't catch it. He's like a tank. I love those dogs and it hurts my heart to see either one of them suffering.


Speaking of suffering, I have a terminal case of the Fridays today. I really wish I were home laying on the couch and watching the slow panning of black and white photographs in a Ken Burns documentary. Instead I'm here, making public service magic all day, everyday. But just so you know, I used my 15 minute break to post this from my phone.


Sent from my iPhone.

^^See???^^

From the desk of the infrequent blogger

Wow, I really should not have gone back to boot camp the third day in a row. My elbow/tricep blew up. It got super strained and swollen. I've had my share of sore muscles before, but never any swelling. For the better part of last weekend I could not bend my right arm high enough to reach my face without excruciating pain. I needed help with the most basic of things: dressing myself, putting my hair back, preparing food. It's better now, but I need to pay better attention to my limits from now on. I'm not as young and resilient as I used to be. I hate pushups and pushups hate me.



Oh, Russell. Ira's lunch bag was left on a chair when we were out and this meatball here took prime opportunity to tear it up. I don't blame him, not every dog can be a proper lady like Heylove. We came home to find the bag's food containers strewn about, the shredded bag, a guilty looking Rusty and a very scared Heylove cowering in her crate.



Not to worry, we got a new lunch bag and Rusty wrote this letter of apology. I slipped it into the new bag for Ira to find at school. We all agree that it's hard to be mad at a Boston who can pen such a graceful note.



We took a little trip to Big Sur for some nature times. I am excited to sit down and edit our pictures, which I'll do first chance I get. I kind of love packing for trips. I typically make these little lists to plan out clothes. This is the one I made for Big Sur. Ira saw mine and made his own which included three things: a drawing of cowboy boots and some words about a jungle and one to-do, "play Ninjago weth [sic] Dad."

Beat camp

I joined a stupid boot camp class and had my first stupid work out sesh last night. It was so hard and I even crammed for it! I knew it was going to be difficult, so in preparation, I started a little bit of weight training a couple of weeks before, which I now see as a mere pittance. I thought it might help me ease into the weights or whatever was in store for me at boot camp. I mean, I had a rough idea of what I'd get. I have seen a couple of boot camps in my life, but never participated. You know, the random boot camps you see at parks or whatever. There are people doing their crunches or jumping jacks and I have seen these sweating, breathless people and thought to myself, "Psssht. I have done a lot of bike riding and 30 Day Shreds. I could totally jump into this boot camp and own it." I was so very, very wrong.

The work out started mild enough with two minutes of squats. At this point, I'm thinking, I will be the star student. My quads bulked up pretty nice when I was bike riding and I still have some strong muscles there. Squats are my best party trick. I did them. I was great! Yes, and not so humble about it. No, don't worry. I was humbled so hard by this class in the end. Suddenly, after my squats victory I was then pummeled by push ups, knocked out by kettle bells and fatigued by a very cruel and torturous thing they called the finisher. The finisher was several short bursts of really terrible things that I only see my Crossfit-obsessed friends post about on Facebook. I won't bore you with those details because we all have a Crossfit friend in our news feed and you don't want to hear any more about burpies and power jacks more than I do right now.

I finished it (poorly) and immediately felt like I was going to throw up. I have never felt like this after exercising and I thought I have done some fitness in my days. Having been so exhausted from those push ups (I was the last one done by over two minutes), my arms turned to jelly and I could not lift them. I stood staring at my water bottle trying to remember what it was like 45 minutes ago when I could lift the bottle to my lips without it feeling like it weighed 25 lbs. After I got home, I began peeling my work out clothes off but got stuck trying to wiggle out of my shirts. I completely lacked the strength to take them off at all. I was nearly in tears trying to not only figure out a way to get out of my clothes properly, but how I would even be able to wash my hair. To make a pretty boring story short, I got out of my clothes and my hair got washed.

Today I'm in the office sitting at my desk, carefully weighing and selecting my actions. I dropped a pen, but if I reach to get it, I will collapse in a sore pile of bones. I want to put my hair in a bun, but if I reach for my head I will cry in agony. Nah. Not worth it. I'll just sit here and try not to feel too bad for myself.


I'm totally going back there tonight.

I don't like to cut people...

Last night Ira asked to help me pack his lunch.

Ira: "Can I cut this cucumber?"

Me: "Sure, but wait for me and let's be really careful." [I do let him cut veggies or fruit from time to time, under strict supervision of course.]

Ira: "Don't worry mom, I'm careful. And I don't like to cut people."

Me: Leaning in close to him at eye-level I say lowly: "I don't like to cut people either, BUT I WILL IF I HAVE TO."

Ira: Takes a beat or two to understand what I said and smiled at me slyly.


Speaking of cutting, I was surprised to find that this kid very quietly cut all four permanent molars as we found out at his last dental appointment. What a tough guy. My baby is practically all grown up.

And more about tough guys - here's a picture of me and my cousin, who is now an MMA fighter. I'm really excited about his upcoming fight at Thunder Valley! As you can see I taught him everything he knows about choke holds.

Slice of life

Small happenings from my phone.

From the trenches

I'm guilty of waxing over my parenting challenges here and on my various social media accounts. This isn't because I want you all (hi, you five or eight readers!) to think I've got it all figured out and mothering my rascally boy is all laughs and sunshine. It's because I really don't want to bum you out with every negative thing that goes down in life. That there is the preamble.

This is the official statement: This stuff is hard, dude! My kid is a firecracker, but that's why I love him. He's energetic, funny, wildly creative and honestly, he's never given us a dull moment. All of that comes with a little bit of stubbornness, willfulness and a strong sense of self (he's never going to have an identity crisis). We sometimes butt heads over things and neither of us likes to give in (even though I am always right...come on, he's only six - give me this for a few more years). Yesterday we had a dust up over something trivial that escalated quickly (it was stupid and I'm waxing over it anyway). At any rate, Ira was angry, I was angry. We both went to sleep apologetic, but still knowing we disappointed one another. Don't worry, there's a happy ending. This morning it was all but forgotten and by the time he was off to school, I got about 20 silly kisses.

While I say it's all better now, I always have a hard time shaking that feeling that I've failed to control my child's behavior. It could take a few days where I'm not thinking back on this and post-gaming it from start to finish. That's a nice way of saying that I remain so anxious about my parenting problems that it takes me days of replaying them in my head until I work through that anxiety or find something else to worry about. The act of working myself into a froth over non-issues is one of my specialties and not only is it great at making me feel totally isolated ("I'm the only parent in history with a child that sometimes misbehaves and I don't always handle it correctly!") it's completely exhausting. Plus, it's not even a good party trick. I need to figure out a better way to do this.


It's a good thing this kid's got such an adorable face.

Kittens Looking Good

The band I'm in has been working hard on adding to our set list and mixing down a split single. Once we have enough done, there may be a music video in the works which seems so I don't know...wild? Exciting? Kind of unreal? I mean, we haven't even played a show yet.

Anyway, faced with the prospect of being on video for all eternity has some of us sweating (send wine). What will it be like? What song will we do? What will we wear?! At her request, I took some notes from our singer and came up with two fun looks for her. I'm no fashion expert, but I love doing these personal style boards! It sort of feels like playing paper dolls with my friends. I have a lot of fun finding pieces and putting together these collages, imagining that who I'm making them for might be inspired by what they see. M, I hope you found this helpful!

Life and Times

DOGS! I love these two little puppins. Before getting Rusty, we often fought over who got to cuddle with Heylove while we watched TV at night. Those dark times are no more. I've come down from the mountain on my winged horse to declare in an Oprah-fashion:
"Okay, look under your chairs...everybody gets a Boston!"

Or jeez...something like that.




It doesn't even stop there. I got this funny Valentine's card and two precious Boston salt and pepper shakers. I am totally going to need a curios cabinet for all my terrier treasures when I'm an old lady. It's the sturdy confidence that comes with my mid-thirties age that allows me to be okay with stating things like that. I also hope one day to lead a life that allows me to slow down enough to be able to enjoy my supper at 4:00 p.m. and watch Jeopardy daily. And you thought you knew me.




On with love! I made these little tomato hearts for my tiny's lunch on Valentine's day. He didn't eat them. I guess that's part of being a mom: doing shit that no one notices on a daily basis, since the beginning of time. Well, at least I photographed it and received loads of appreciation from my internet friends.




I think it's because he's so busy making plans for world domination, that he doesn't have time to eat twee cherry tomatoes.
1. Make a Volcno-shped mound of flavo.
2. Sell idea to Taco Bell.
3. Profit.

I wrote 2 and 3, in case it wasn't clear.



This is not the best picture, I mean I'm pretty sure I'm not going to win a Pulitzer for it. But it was an excellent pizza from Pizza Rock. We've been there maybe three times in the last 4 weeks. As FLAMES, ROCK AND ROLL and TRUCK BURSTING OUT OF THE WALL it is, the pizza is actually pretty good. I like it anyway. Tiny loves it for the capitalized reasons mentioned above.




Some friends took us to KP International, a double-sized grocery store with food from just about everywhere. We picked up a few really tasty things, but these cookies were not one of them. I have a friend who taught English in Japan and she told me what Kancho means. Trust me, you do not want a cookie that has anything to do with Kancho.


Well, that was fun. I don't know why I don't come here more often.

Rusty eats snowballs

Here's a video of Rusty, the totally pro traveler, the complete opposite (but in a complementary way) of Heylove. No leash, no problem! Snowballs? Let's try to fetch them, then go bananas when they crumble apart. This guy is a dog's dog in the best way.

Snow cold

Over the holiday break we were able to head up north to the snow for a couple of days. We arrived just after a big storm and everything was freshly blanketed in fine powder snow. It was beautiful. I also took way more pictures than this, but our computer finally met an untimely death (sad trumpets!) and we can't retrieve any photos until we replace it.



We took Rusty with us because last time we took Heylove out of town, the poor thing nervously shook the entire time and didn't eat, drink or pee almost the whole trip. At the end of that trip, I was so worried about her, I started twitching too. Anxious not to relive that again, we left her in town with family and brought Mr. Meatball instead. He was the best traveling dog on this trip. He loved the car ride, he peed at rest stops, he ate, drank, napped, behaved very well off-leash and went absolutely bananas chasing snow balls. It was such a relief and a joy to bring him with us. This is what having a real dog must be like*!



Ira had a blast in the snow. We made snow angels, we galloped around up to our knees pretending to be snow dogs. We threw baby carrots for the horses and snow balls for Rusty. We took an afternoon to try cross country skiing. I loved it, but Ira had a little difficulty staying upright and began to get frustrated. He got better towards the end, especially once we had lunch. His metabolism is that of a mosquito and if he doesn't have a snack at the ready, then he turns into a tantrum-throwing honey badger. I always try to keep a kid's energy bar in my purse, but when we're traveling and our routine is disrupted, it's tougher to remember this stuff. Really though, if you're ever hungry and you see me carrying my giant mom purse, just ask me if I have bag of almonds or some room-temperature string cheese. Chances are, I got you covered. And if you need a wet-wipe after, I got that too.




*I realize Heylove is a real dog, but she's so person-like, it's easy to think of her as a little, anxious human covered in fur.