"All people have had ill luck, but Jairus's daughter & Lazarus the worst."*

Reports of my laziness have been greatly exaggerated.

What? That’s not how that quote goes?

Well, I don’t care.

Haven’t you ever heard of poetic license? This is blogetic license. Deal.

Why, yes, I am snarky today. I had a good run and escaped the house to edit a paper and am in a remarkably good, if snarky, mood. H was out last night (watching the Pens lose, they’re 2 down, very sad) and will be out tonight (oh, yes, and Friday evening as well; thank you, I will be accepting my Wife of the Month award at a later date). And while this means I get the kids to bed myself, it also means I have the house to myself (once Quarto finally stops nursing and goes to sleep, and once Terzo stops yelling for me to sing one more song, and once Primo and Seg stop squabbling). And even if I work, or play umpteen games of WordTwist, it’s still relaxing to have time ALONE (ish).

We had a very family-oriented weekend, and while it was mostly pleasant, I am ready to be a hermit for a while.

T-ball out the wazoo Saturday afternoon (first Saturday in the past month it has not been rained out).
Wedding Saturday evening (apparently half the world was getting married on Saturday, and the other half were attending).
Sunday was the family picnic, which, after the hellishly long drive there, was fine. Yesterday, finally, we got to relax a bit. The boys spent the morning (after sleeping in!!!) out in the backyard making forts out of the giant cardboard boxes my neighbor's new porch furniture came in. Then we all went out and bought roller skates/blades for the boys and packed up our hockey sticks and pads and took them all to the hockey deck to play.

Primo whined and cried but ultimately was pretty pleased with himself and his progress (there was minor drama (as always) over the skates we bought him first at a sporting goods store – but then when we got to Target to buy Terzo skates, they had rollerblades MUCH cheaper there AND they were adjustable so he wouldn’t outgrow them in three months…you’d have thought we were taking away food or something. Honest to God, that child. Am I depriving him by returning the $65 skates and making him use $30 skates? You’d certainly think so.) Seg was as always, slow and steady and will be fine. Terzo, his stocky little body planted squarely over his feet, acted as if they were merely extensions of his legs and was skating around like a pro in literally minutes (he’s going to be the one who supports me in lavish luxury in my old age, thanks to his NHL career). I hadn’t been on blades in eons but it’s like riding a bicycle (only more fun).

And I need my own hockey stick. Too bad Mother’s Day is past – do you suppose H would give me one as my Wife of the Month award? Hope so. Especially since *I* am the best skater in the family. She says modestly.


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*Mark Twain

"A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men."*

This morning I attended Primo’s Scholar’s program play. (Scholars’ is what the public schools call what WE called TAG (Talented & Gifted). The kids adapted Roald Dahl’s story “The Enormous Crocodile” into a play, and produced and acted in it. They did the set and the costumes and the sound. There were THREE stage managers. Primo had one line (but, oh, what a line it was). No seriously, he had one line but I hadn’t been to the Gifted Center all year, so I was happy to go check out his play. It was fun – the kids were surprisingly good, with mostly perfect comic timing, and such enthusiasm that even had it been boring, I would have still been entranced. And as a bonus, I stopped in at the lost-and-found and reclaimed two of our four missing lunchboxes.

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I just finished John O’Farrell’s May Contain Nuts, which succeeded where much satire fails, by being both intelligently subtle and yet so over-the-top as to be hysterical. I can’t wait to get my hands on more of O’Farrell’s work.

Now I am embarked on Jennifer Sey’s so far somewhat formulaic memoir/expose Chalked Up: Inside elite gymnastics' merciless coaching, overzealous parents, eating disorders, & elusive Olympic dreams. Having dreamed of being the next Nadia myself (but being about 6 inches too tall and not particularly blessed with athletic talent), I am pretty into this book anyway; added bonus is that Sey grew up in South Jersey, two towns over from where I grew up, so reading about the places I too frequented is always fun.

I am also reading Laura Lippmann’s first Tess Monaghan novel Baltimore Blues. Lippmann is a mystery writer who has been blipping on my radar for a while, so I figured I’d try a Tess-flavored mystery and one of Lippman’s stand-alones, in this case, Every Secret Thing. When I am in the mood for a good mystery, it’s nice to have a go-to author.

I whipped through Prioleau Alexander’s You Want Fries With That? A white-collar burn-out experiences life at minimum wage. If you are expecting Barbara Ehrenheich-type indignation and enlightenment, this is not the book for you. In fact, Alexander is pretty darn annoying and exhibits some grating writing tics that just about drove me over the edge by the end. Was it necessary to use the phrase “crickets chirping” Every. Single. Time. he wanted to make the point that he was met with silence? Really? EVERY SINGLE TIME? Where the hell was his editor? Hmmmm?

I am having a lot of fun with My Last Supper: 50 Great Chefs & Their Final Meals. Badger, or anyone else with an inexplicable yet ravishing case of the hots for Tony Bourdain, like me, NEEDS to see the photo accompanying his Last Supper. YUM. Tasty. And I don’t mean the supper, as I do not care for roasted bone marrow.

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*Roald Dahl