Thansgiving Dreams… and the Reality, which was pretty funny

November 29, 2015November 29, 2015 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

The Thanksgiving Plan

I would drive down to the greater Charleston area with Scout Son for a fun-filled family-by-choice “weekend.” I would get there early Tuesday evening, allowing for some writer-only time before the kids all came back from school in New York that night. We’d stay through Sunday noon, or until the end of time, whichever came last.

On Wednesday, after a good night’s sleep, I’d get up early and take my time making Pumpkin Cheesecake with Sour Cream Bourbon topping. We’d all take turns in the kitchen and the pre-event cooking would all be done in a leisurely fashion.

Thursday morning would be bright, shiny and relaxed, as Captain Thanksgiving took care of the turkey, potatoes and gravy.

Then, a weekend of holiday hoopla, online shopping, and torturing each other with family ornament craft time, much gaming, and a lot of eating.

The Thanksgiving Reality

One week before Thanksgiving: Get two-month temp assignment. No one mentions the upcoming holiday, or the belief that anyone would be willing to change travel plans to meet their needs. Work schedule bartering takes place, with me offering the soul of my next born child (I might have neglected to mention an inability for there to be a next born child) in exchange for working as late as necessary to meet a given goal on Tuesday and not being there on Wednesday.

Scout Son and I pack the car up, and seven hours after I planned on leaving, we hit the road. The race is on. Who will get to Charleston first: those of us driving, or the kids flying in from Rochester, NY? According to the Google Maps, we will win by ten minutes. But as every self-respecting speed demon knows, Google underestimates times. I feel good about my odds.

Scout Son drives as far as South Carolina’s Welcome Center. When I take over, something insane happens. Google announces there’s a bit of a backup on I-26 in Columbia, and no lie, I drive for an hour at higher than approved speeds (my Kia is the Millennium Falcon) only to have the Google tell me that I’m now 3.5 hours away instead of 2 hours away. Um, WTF?

For once in my life, I do not ignore the Google when it suggests I might want to consider an alternate route that will save me 1.75 hours, and… it is right. I win the race, but just barely, and not by the “I will be there before you get to the Rochester airport” amount I’d been hoping for.

Wednesday does start out early, as Captain Thanksgiving has to go to work for the morning. Well-rested is not a word that enters our vocabulary as we all had to do the catching up we’d planned to do earlier, and nobody went to bed before 2 a.m. With four-ish hours of sleep, we are now downing pots of life-saving coffee, and completely ignoring the plan.

Thus, at 3:00 that afternoon, there is a mad rush of four cooks into the kitchen because we’ve finally realized if we don’t get our $#@! together (yes, I had an opportunity to swear in the blog and passed it up), there will be no Thanksgiving feast. Oops.

Why have pie when there's cheesecake? — Why have pie when there’s cheesecake?

Kitchen hilarity occurs. Yes, there might have been a wee bit of Jameson’s involved. Some whiskey for the cheesecake (don’t start – yes, I know whiskey and bourbon are different; whiskey’s better), some whiskey for the cooks.

Now, we come to the true holiday crisis. We’ve put together the breakfast casserole, but egads! It has to sit on the counter and “rest” (again, WTF?) for thirty minutes before you can bake it for an hour, and there’s one oven, and one turkey and it’s 24.5 pounds so it’s not going to just cook up in an hour.

Here’s where I make my mistake. I look at my dog. “You know, Princess Cassie of the Weak Bladder always gets up at 6ish to go out. I’m going to be down here anyway, so I could pull the casserole out when I bring her down. Then it’d be ready for cooking when we need it at 7:00.”

Much celebrating in the kitchen, and some more tequila/whiskey/wine, depending on who’s glass you sniff. (Julia Child was a wise woman.). Another late night of games, conversation and hilarity ensues.

6:00 Thanksgiving Morning: Princess Cassie snores on as my alarm goes off. You’ve got to be kidding. The one day I have to get up and she ignores me completely. I strongly consider putting her in a hamster suit and sending her back to the college dorm with Snarky Daughter. Stumble downstairs, pull out casserole, write time on aluminum foil (every minute counts when your casserole is resting), and fall back into bed.

6:33 Princess Cassie stretches, and comes over to nose me awake. Evil Cow from Hell. Fantastic! Now I’m awake – again – so might as well go downstairs, start the coffee, put the well-rested casserole (glad one of us is well-rested) into the oven and work out.

8:34 Captain Thanksgiving is wrestling a turkey in the sink. Bacteria-infused water has sloshed everywhere during the Turkey Tsunami of 2015. Dogs and cats are all about helping clean up the bacteria water, while humans practice their slip and slide skills in the kitchen. Points to the turkey for a last ditch attempt to save itself.

2:15 The table is set. Many platters of holiday goodness have appeared on the table. I am handed the most important bowl of all: the ton of mashed potatoes, now referred to as pota-tons! Yes, we are an amusing group, and no, for once, there wasn’t a large amount of alcohol involved in our humor.

I was told, “Please go put these on the table.” Small problem. There’s no room on the table, which is now listing under the weight of 24 pounds of turkey, five gallons of gravy, and fifteen side dishes. Then, I see it. The perfect empty space… and drop the serving bowl of mashed potatoes on my plate.

Let the mashed potato wars begin. I’m not sure who thought it was a good idea to have me sit next to my arch nemesis Potato Guy, but there it is. He walks in and complains about my perfect potato placement. Silly boy. While everyone else wonders if they’re even going to see a potato, he and I reach a potato détente. Yay! Potatoes for all… but mostly for us. Seriously, eight people at the table, and I believe over ten pounds of mashed potatoes were made.

8:52 Gaming continues. I think we played Dark Moon, but really I’m not too sure. By that time, the exhaustion and the whiskey had kicked in. Also the allergy attack from hell that lasted 18 hours. We still haven’t figured out what triggered that.

I’d fill you in on the Crafting Explosion of 2015 which took place Friday night, and the holiday decorating that involved an English major doing electrical engineering of the Christmas tree, but there are some stories that are best saved for another day.

After all, there are 26 shopping days left, and we’ll all need some extra cheer in the weeks ahead.

Stay tuned for the creating of the St. Lucia’s wreath of fire crafting project!

Ironman vs. The Doctor

November 3, 2014 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

It’s confession time. I know, you can’t wait. As a romance writer, I have to have great confessions, right?

I have finally succumbed to… Doctor Who.

I didn’t mean to. Snarky Daughter’s birthday is in August. Seventeen is the boring birthday, stuck between driver’s licenses and becoming a grown up. So we did what all smart women do for their boring birthdays. We planned a day with the Avengers. Let’s be real here. What woman wouldn’t want to have Robert Downey Jr. or Chris Evans or any of the rest of the gang come hang out with them on their birthday?

So, we had a plan. All Avengers All the Time. Okay, some of the Marvel Madness for a few hours. It worked for me. She could stare at Loki (she’s young, she’ll learn), her brother could watch things blow up. It was perfect. Except…

…we planned this shindig for the night of the season premier of Doctor Who. With the New Doctor. Horrors! But hey, no problem. I hadn’t gotten rid of Directv yet, so you know we were recording it.

But then everyone in the room (all three teenagers) were babbling about the series premier, and would Capaldi be a good doctor, and sonic screwdrivers… it was like ThinkGeek exploded in my living room. So I suggested that if everyone but me wanted to watch Doctor Who, I had no issue with it. I was on deadline anyway.

Unfortunately for me, Capaldi is a great doctor, and about two minutes into it, I was hooked. The kids and various friends have been working on this for a long time. Of course, ten minutes from the end, we did have a huge storm come through and yes, it did kill our signal. So the next morning, Snarky Daughter and I caught the last ten minutes online somehow (I don’t ask).

And I’ve been watching this season ever since. With, and without my kids. Although mostly with Scout Son because he really likes it and it’s nice to be able to talk about something together. I ask about school and he talks about synthetic math. That makes about as much sense as Kirk being the best Captain. Given the choice, I’ll take Doctor Who. But only with this doctor. Or the freaky angels.

But that’s it. Really. Because, sorry Mr. Capaldi, but given the choice, Robert Downey Jr. still wins out every time.

Kissing Season

June 4, 2014 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

A couple months ago Delta kindly informed me that all those miles I got when I flew with them years ago were about to expire. Being a sucker, I went with magazine deals. Lots of magazines. Like seven of them. I didn’t even know they still came in paper format!

Yeah, okay, I totally knew they still came that way, but I digress. Which is really hard to do with this blog. Sssoooo, among the magazines I signed up for was a subscription to Seventeen for Snarky Daughter.

For those who don’t know her, SD wears jeans/baggy shorts (depending on the season) and t-shirts to school pretty much every day. I really can’t blame her. I wear jeans and clingy shirts to work every day. Hey, I matured.

SD can hold her own in any geeky boy conversation. Doctor Who? Hitchhikers Guide? Stars Trek and Wars? She’s got you covered. Mascara, the current trend in skirts, and all things girl, not so much. Yes, she’s mini-me. I have no idea what brand mascara I use, nor do I particularly care.

I remembered reading Seventeen well before I was 17, and it was helpful in all things high school girls care about. We were the target audience. With my subscription, I wasn’t always hip, but at least I knew what was in. So against all her cries, I got the magazine. Which sits on the counter, unread.

Except last night, I was bored so I went looking for the horoscopes. What can I say? I wasn’t all that pleased with whatever Glamour had cooked up for me this month. Lucky me, Seventeen says I’m coming in to some money this month, and romance. Happy Birthday to me!

While flipping through, I found…

“Your Summer Kiss-spiration! Welcome to kissing season!”

Painting of a Kiss — The Kiss by Francesco Hayez

Here I’ve been lamenting the lack of kissing in my life lately, only to find out it’s not kissing season. HUGE sigh of relief over here. I was beginning to think it was me.

To celebrate kissing season, Seventeen quoted a bunch of guys ages 18-22 (and I’m sorry, but that’s icky — your target market, as defined by your name, is jail bait) about what guys think about during your first kiss with them.

Being a really good mom, I read the entire article out loud, because SD was not going to read it. And she deserved to know that twenty-something guys have no clue what they’re doing when they’re kissing. That was actually kind of humbling to hear, although not really a surprise since I remember kissing guys at that age.

Since that was already making SD scream, Mmmooooommmm!!!!” at the top of her lungs, I kept reading. In the article’s sister blurbs (all four pages of kissing info), I also learned that his top five makeout spots haven’t changed over the years. The beach, under the stars, and in a car still rank up there. Duh. And apparently guys still want to make out in a public bathroom. Huh?!!?

I shared the blurb about the Kissing Jenga game, a kissing truth or dare game which could be hysterical if you’re over 30 and have a bucket of margaritas to share with friends. I can’t imagine this being fun when you’re 17, because really, how many people have you kissed? “Spill your biggest #kissfail.” Seriously? It probably involved braces. Now, once you’re over 30, you have some serious #kissfails to work with.

(Because it’s also margarita season, here’s a tutorial on making margaritas. You’re welcome.)

Sarcastic Roommate and I rated the “other areas to kiss” advice. They actually nailed that one, although I’m not sure SD believes us. Which is fine because I’m not sure she needs to be traveling away from lips any time soon. I do know she never wants to hear any of this come out of my mouth again.

I’m thinking of laminating the article so I can read it aloud often. It was downhill from there, but I am psyched that kissing season is upon us. White shoes and makeout sessions. Gotta love summer!

But I have to ask. Do I need a kissing license?

Battling Ladybugs and Wandering Monsters

March 7, 2013 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

Really exciting day here at Chez Hope. Snarky Daughter is on Spring Break because she goes to a school on a college schedule. So she’s lurking around the house, with her nose in a MacBook Air all day. Yesterday we went ice skating and I realized I was really falling down on the conversation side of things. I have no idea what to talk to her about.

Sigh. I’ll figure it out, I’m sure. It didn’t help that I’d only had about 5 hours of sleep. But ask me about the totally awesome chat I had with Magesh at Amazon at midnight. Didn’t have a problem keeping that conversation going for twenty minutes.

Anyway, today, much excitement. First there was the crash that didn’t sound quite like a crash. It was really windy here today, so when I heard a thuddish kind of sound, my first thought was we’d lost a branch. Woo-hoo. So I wandered out around the side of the house where the thud had come from in my bunny slippers (what all professional writers wear to work). OK, they aren’t really bunny slippers, but only because I can’t afford the Killer Rabbit slippers on thinkgeek.com. In college, I had moose head slippers just like these (yes, you can find everything on the internet, even 20 year old slippers). They were awesome.

Right. Focus. So, wander outside, but no, the only branches over there are the ones I have successfully ignored since November. Hey, what’s the point of picking these up until I’m ready to burn them. More will collect in the meantime and I’ll have to do it all again. Also, it’s cold out and I’m a wimp.

So, back into the house. For some reason I can’t remember I wandered into my room, and found the source of the thud, which should have really sounded like a crash. Athena has been working very hard to keep the house ladybug free. In her enthusiasm, she took out my bedside lamp. Thank you, Thea.

Hi, I'm Thea. I broke Mom's ugly-ass lamp. She has another one, and it's got to go too! I am not ashamed. Have you seen that lamp? — Hi, I’m Thea. I broke Mom’s ugly-ass lamp. She has another one, and it’s got to go too! I am not ashamed. Have you seen that lamp?

At this point I should say that I really want to redecorate my ~~life~~, um, house. The lamp in question is 15 years old and totally out of date. Also, the CFL that was in it (remains unbroken) is pretty full of dark and really low on light, so really, this whole light concept is an in name only thing. The lamp shade (also unbroken) is dark green. My bedroom is periwinkle blue.

The surviving lamp. You can't tell, but that would be frosted crackle glass circa 1994. — The surviving lamp. You can’t tell, but that would be frosted crackle glass circa 1994.

In considering a move across country, I’ve been wandering the house figuring out what is worth paying to have it moved 3,000 miles. Believe me, this lamp, and it’s sister, were not on the list to go. In fact, they wouldn’t be on the move list if I was moving two blocks. I keep them because I think I’ll be starting over soon and I don’t want to cart more crap than I have to, or waste money on something I’m going to give away or sell in a yard sale in three months, but I still need light. Or something like candlelight but safer. I still have one, so I’m good.

In other excitement, Scout Son, Snarky Daughter and I all played Munchkin Deluxe tonight. It’s a pretty simple game with some of the worst written directions I’ve ever read. I’m sure they make sense to the D&D set, but I didn’t have the patience for D&D either. Anyway, if you’re playing with someone who can teach you so you aren’t dependent on the directions, it’s really a lot of fun. And vicious. I like being evil. Are you surprised? No? How odd.

Scout Son unleashed a boatload of evil on Snarky Daughter, just so I could see how it's done. He's helpful that way. — Scout Son unleashed a boatload of evil on Snarky Daughter, just so I could see how it’s done. He’s helpful that way.

Anyway, given the choice between writing a cover letter for a job and spending quality time putting curses on my kids, you can guess what I chose. And I won. Well, they kind of let me win. The kids were being gentle for the first couple of rounds because I had no idea what I was doing. They will not be as kind next time. Which will make it even more fun!

Who Doesn’t Yell During the Superbowl?

February 4, 2013 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

With Sarcastic Roommate here, I was finally allowed to watch a sporting event in peace. You see, up until now Snarky Daughter and Scout Son were pretty sure I was the only person in the history of the world who yells at the TV during sporting events and the State of the Union.

Enter Sarcastic Roommate. This is her first year here so she has only heard about Snarky Daughter asking me during the Hail Mary pass of last year’s game, “Do I need to turn the TV off?”

Yes, I failed as a parent on this point. My kids don’t get sports. Football and basketball are too violent. So sayeth Snarky Daughter. Excuse me? I get football, but basketball?!!? This from the girl who will watch a 234 car pile up without batting an eye because someone couldn’t quite turn left enough at 189 miles per hour.

And yes, I yell during NASCAR races too. Really, if there’s a sporting event on, I’ll pick a side and for the next few hours, I’m a devout fan of that team. Being a Bay Area native, you’d think my choice was set in stone. And it was, although my family probably wishes I’d picked the Ravens instead because then San Francisco would have won. I’m really a Bears fan, and we saw how their season went.

Anyway, 6:00, I kick the kids off their Doctor Who marathon — hey, they discovered him last month, I discovered football 35 years ago — and headed over for pre-game commercials. Which meant I could now eat the chips and dip I’d picked up. Yeah, me!

Sarcastic Roommate came downstairs and joined in on the chips and dip ’cause we know how to throw a party. The game started and within three minutes I was yelling at the TV. I considered for a nanosecond trying to behave with decorum, but I was raised by FANS. Also, SR was having her own conniption fits on her couch.

Snarky Daughter: You two know they can’t hear you, right?

SR & Me: That just means we need to yell louder!

You can tell she fits right in. Deep into the nightmare that was the first quarter, so maybe five minutes of play or 20 minutes of air time, SR spied Scout Son’s computer. He too, was ignoring the game, because yes, I totally failed. He was playing his new Monopoly app.

Clearly Snarky Daughter was desperate to get us to quiet down with the yelling at the football game, because she quickly agreed to a rousing game of Star Wars Monopoly. It’s not like the Niners were playing anything worth watching during the first half. We did slow down play long enough to watch all the commercials. The Joe Montana BBQ sauce stain Tide commercial is my favorite. Yes, I loved the farmers and the horse, but they made me cry, and only the outcome of the game should do that.

Well that and being beaten in Monopoly by SD. Honest to God, every other time she went around the board she landed on Free Parking. And yes, we play by putting $500 in Free Parking as well as every stupid charge you get that doesn’t go to someone specific. I’m pretty sure all the money she was raking in came from me. We all gave up play when we realized we were all waving rents.

I went back to yelling at the TV. SD decided she had to take a shower to drown out my yelling. Having watched sporting events with my neighbors, I know I’m not the only one who yells at the TV.

They can hear me, right?

Building the Tree

November 15, 2012November 15, 2012 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

You know you’ve been out of work too long when…

You’re excited about Michael Strahan’s new dressing room reveal tomorrow;
You know which Twilight star is dumber than a post, which one is the post, and which one actually has a brain. And uses it;
You no longer stop typing when a cat lies (lays?) across your arms;
You have to go to The Oatmeal to figure out if it should be lays or lies. (It’s lies.)

Photo of kids building a fake Christmas tree — “Yeah! We’re building the tree!!!”

I know you’re all shocked because this is two posts in two days, as opposed to my usual once a week/month/lifetime routine I’ve had going lately. But I knew you all wanted to know how the tree building went.

First, boys do not know how to fluff trees. Shocked, I am. Especially since I’ve been re-teaching this skill for five years. So I went through the refresher. Some branches have to point forward to cover the florist wire, some to the left, some to the right, some down so we have a full tree. And still, the skill does not come naturally to those with a Y chromosome.

OK, this tree is 11 years old, so it gave up on full years ago. But it was a really good tree I got for about $2.32 when I worked at Michael’s because that was more fun than potty training one of my children. Yes, I really chose retail during the holiday season over potty training a child. And I wonder why I haven’t been nominated for Mom of the Year.

photo of Kids building a Christmas Tree — Scout Son tries to fluff like Snarky Daughter. Yes, I see she is wearing a barcode on her elbow. Yes, I have the Photoshop skills to fix it, but why miss this opportunity to embarrass her?

Back to the tree. Rockefeller Center’s got nothing on this 7.5-foot plastic concoction currently sitting in my living room. Snarky Daughter, being a girl, was all about the fluffing.

You know what’s really depressing? A Christmas tree without stuff on it. So we built the tree and Stumpasaurus Rex immediately tried to figure out how to scale the tree. Given that he’s missing a back leg and can’t jump well, you’d think I could breathe a sigh of relief. The problem is, he’s muscle. Since he can’t launch himself, he pulls himself up things. He is regularly at the top of the 6-foot cat tree.

Which is the other reason I was worried about the tree. Given that they already have one thing to climb in the room, would the cats see the difference? I really expected a cat as a tree topper.

Rex is crafty. He spent the evening under the tree trying to figure out how to get up the clothing hanger branches. We’d be watching TV and all of a sudden some part of the tree would start shaking.

Photo of kitten exploring Christmas Tree — “Finally, you brought the trees inside! Where are the birds and squirrels?”

I had a glass of wine and generally ignored it. Athena, Goddess of Christmas Trees, felt that this tree was like any other plant (real or fake) in the house and it was meant to be eaten. For that, I grabbed a spray bottle and shot her with water. She was not amused. I expect a retaliatory hairball any time now.

This morning, I’m staring at an empty tree and the cats are totally. Ignoring. It. Totally. Like, OMG.

I may speed up the process and add lights. So tune in next time (I almost wrote tomorrow, but that seemed like a promise I was going to blog tomorrow, hahahaha) to see what’s going on with holiday preparations.

And find out if I mess with Bon Appetite’s Pumpkin Cheesecake recipe or if I keep it pure for Thanksgiving.

The Perfect Pie… and How it Died

November 3, 2012November 3, 2012 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

“Mom, I had an epiphany in health class, and you were right.”

“Duh. About what?”

“It turns out, I can’t eat store-bought cookies and stuff. I need to learn how to bake.”

Trumpets blare in the background, heralding my success.

“Told you so.”

You see, that’s how this blog started. I wanted to bake cookies with Snarky Daughter, but she wouldn’t help. Then, two hours later, with the scent of cookies wafting upstairs, down comes She Who Can’t Be Bothered, to eat the fruits of my labor. I don’t think so.

“You didn’t want to bake them, you don’t get to eat them. And by the way, it’s time you and your brother learn how to cook. I’m not sending you out into the world without skills, so you’re going to cook once a week. And then you’re going to blog about it.”

Or not. But they have been cooking semi-regularly. Scout Son became my baker; Snarky Daughter my chef.

So I was thrilled when I learned I was right and she was going to have to learn to bake. In our house, I may not know what’s for dinner, but I can bake a cake/cookies on any day.

Vegetables? Meh. Chocolate chips and butter? Always in the house. The chips are ideally purchased in five-pound bags. Isn’t it that way in your house?

Continuing on in the You Were Right Conversation:

Photo of French Apple Pie — Before the accident. We were too broken up to take an “after” photo.

“What do you want to make?”

“Um, cookies?”

“Really? We’ve been talking a lot about pie lately.”

“Pie would be good. But isn’t pie hard?”

“Not if you understand the chemistry going on. Besides, if you can make pie, you can make anything.”

Nothing like trial by fire.

A few days later, armed with butter, brown sugar, spices and pounds of apples, I explain the secret to pie crust. Time. And freezing a lot of the ingredients to stop the formation of gluten.

Four hours later, Snarky Daughter pulled the Perfect French Apple Pie out of the oven. Can I just tell you how awesome this pie was? No, there aren’t words. But it was better than some dates I’ve had.

It was phenomenal. Right up to the moment I went to put it in the refrigerator and watched, horrified, as it slid off the cookie sheet and crashed to the floor. The ceramic pie pan shattered.

Yes, I did look at a four-inch piece of flaky, joyous crust and wonder if it was bad form to pick it up and eat it off the floor. I also wondered if we could pick through the ceramic splinters liberally scattered throughout the filling.

It took about twenty minutes of cleaning up to realize I wasn’t so upset about the loss of pie, as it was the loss of this pie. The first pie. The perfect pie. I literally stood there calculating how long it would take me to make another pie (duh, four hours). And what I could put it in since, you know, my pie pan was toast. And finally realized I was upset because it was Snarky Daughter’s First Pie that I killed.

I made another pie in an emergency pie pan two days later. It wasn’t the same. And now I’m on a search for another ceramic deep dish pie pan. Because practice makes perfect.

I’m back!

October 4, 2012 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

Hey, welcome back.

Actually, you should probably be saying that to me.

Like the new colors? It’s quirky. They’re not quite right, but they’re better than the previous version. They’ll probably change again in the next few weeks, but not until I’m sure I’ve nailed it. I’ve been spending a lot of time learning about color and design.

And why, you ask, does a writer care about color and design? Well, let’s review the past few months for me:

In April, I smashed and sprained my thumb.

In May, I fell and screwed up my back… and re-sprained my thumb.

In May, I also was crazy enough to bring two kittens into the house.

photo of kittens playing — That’s Marking Kitten (4 lbs) taking on Laid-Back Kitten (7 lbs).

In June, I re-sprained my thumb.

In July, I finally went to a specialist who told me I had sprained the worst part of my thumb and that it would take forever to heal, but I could type as long as it didn’t hurt.

Guess what? It hurt. No writing for me. I also put Cranky Cat on Prozac. A miracle drug.

In August, I sent Snarky Daughter back to high school. She’s now a sophomore. I also took her to get her learner’s permit . Awesome! The curves may kill us – feel free to light a candle.

In September, I sent Scout Son to 8th grade. He also earned his Life Scout rank in Boy Scouts. Awesome! We also put Marking Kitten on Prozac. Fingers are crossed.

Now every time I think it’s getting better, I do something small like breathe on it and the whole mess swells and I’m back to playing with my website colors instead of writing.

In other news, my new book, The Billionaire Bachelor’s Revenge comes out this month! And I was asked to take part in a holiday anthology, so mistletoe moments are headed everyone’s way!

And now, somehow, it’s October. And I’m writing. Blogs and books.

I’d promise there won’t be any more lapses in content, but then I’ll tweak my thumb and be down for the count again. Of course, one more time and I think I’ll have to invest in some of that Dragon stuff.

Because speaking my blogs to the cats isn’t nearly as interesting as sharing them with you. But the cats think you missed some quality stuff there. Of course, they think I’m a goddess as long as I have one functional thumb.

Sickness Strikes

January 31, 2012June 21, 2014 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

Sick kid home today. Allergy shots this afternoon. Linux training this evening. Working out somewhere in there. Really the best part of today is the sick kid because it means I’m off the hook for making dinner. Who wants to smell spaghetti sauce when they have a stomach bug?

Yes, that’s right. I’m taking one for the team here and offering to not cook for the rest of us so that Snarky Daughter won’t smell anything that would set her stomach off. Am I a good mom, or what? OK, really there are times when I’m the worst mom around. Those times tend to be when people are sick.

It’s not that I don’t want to be that mom. The take-your-temperature-give-you-warm-ginger-ale mom. I do. But really? Come on. Someone has to go to the day job and said someone cannot be getting sick herself, because she does not get paid time off. Not complaining, I knew that when I took the job, and it’s not like I was getting time off when I worked from home.

So when a child texts me at work to inform me they don’t feel well and do they have to go to band, my response is no, go to your room. Don’t come out until you feel better. Do. Not. Share. Your. Germs. I’ll push food under the door.

I was better about it when they were little, but they’re teenagers now (or close enough), so they know that if they need me to stay home, they have to say, please stay home. And they have to be prepared for me to say, OK, I’m going to run to the office and get my computer so I can work from home. Because there’s nothing I can do. I can – and really do – give hugs and check temperatures and offer medicine. Or at least tell them how often they can take it while I’m at work. And I don’t take the vanpool on those days so if there is a problem, I can get home. But Snarky Daughter is three years from moving out, so it’s time for her to figure some of this out on her own. And she has. She turned green at the idea of the pink stuff and begged not to have to take it. Can’t blame her there.

Her bug is great news for Scout Son because it means he can spend some uninterrupted time on their computer. After we disinfect it. After all, I do not believe for one minute that she’s spent the day in bed without the laptop and Harry Potter fanfic. I’m tired, not stupid.

Also, he has announced he will be working on improving his grilled cheese sandwich skills. Good for him! See, this is a learning experience for him. I’m being a good mom!

Update on the Car Saga: I’m sitting at the dealership waiting for the car. It was not a simple fix. We’ll see if they got it right this time. Fingers crossed.

I Want a Zoo

January 29, 2012October 20, 2013 ~ kimberly ~ 2 Comments

Can someone please explain to me why I cannot get up at 5:15 to work out Monday through Friday, but on Saturday, after reading late into the night (or early into the morning), I wake up at 5:20 and can’t go back to sleep? I fought the good fight until 6:45, at which point I gave up, turned on the light and read until 8:30.

I followed that up with making chocolate chip pancakes for the kids for breakfast and then trimmed my fingernails and cleaned my room. At any point, I could have started, you know, writing.

The thing is, I was really enjoying myself. The dog prints from the rain earlier in the week were banished from my bedroom and my mattress pad was in the washing machine. I danced while I vacuumed and washed the floor.

Then I headed to the kitchen for lunch, but kind of forgot why I was there when I saw the giant bag of chocolate chips sitting on the counter and started making cookies. At 2:00, I gave up all pretense of working on anything resembling a book, and we headed out to buy the least frumpy looking frumpy shoes that my orthotics would fit in (stupid high arches).

They’re kind of cute. Snarky Daughter — living up to her name — didn’t think so. Until I held up the alternative. Then she agreed they were the best we’d found in months of looking. And they’re light blue, which isn’t as cool as 4-inch red stilettos, but they’ll do. From there it was on to Game Stop and Barnes and Noble so Scout Son could blow some of his Christmas money.

Penance for that came in the form of a movie. The child must have been switched at birth, because he doesn’t like movie popcorn. I consider it dinner when you go to a movie after 4:00. So, popcorn, soda and a movie. Yes, true torture. Because no Sith were harmed in the making of this movie. Also, no Deceptacons, Transformers or Starfleet Captains.

If you haven’t seen it yet, you need to go see We Bought A Zoo. This is a great movie about starting over. With the obligatory adorable little girl, a cute, albeit miserable, 14 year-old boy, Matt Damon (I’m happy already), and animals that you’ll fall in love with. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry. And you’ll walk out wanting some wild beast.

The thing is, the movie brought home to me that I must have recently hit a turning point. Because I’m not unhappy anymore. And I should be. Things in my life aren’t perfect right now. I’m still struggling in a lot of ways, and waiting for love to come along, and, you know, living one day at a time. Nothing has really changed from last week or last month or last year.

But today, I was happy. I took a walk after breakfast and pretty much danced down the street. I’m sure the neighbors are wondering what that was about (just a really great soundtrack to walk to). Red Solo Cup came on the radio and I sang along as I drove, laughing because Snarky Daughter thinks it’s the dumbest song ever, and it is, but try getting it out of your head without singing!

I’m sure the patrons of Wal-Mart thought I was nuts as I goofed off with the kids while we were finding the right wire for the iPod to hook into the new car stereo. Maybe that’s it. For the first time in my life, I have a car that doesn’t have a tape deck!

Whatever it is, today was awesome. Even the cleaning. Even as I sit here and realize that it may be midnight before my comforter is dry enough to use. But when we walked out of the theater, all I could think was, I want a zoo.

OK, not an entire zoo. I get grumpy when it’s my day to empty the cat box. I can’t imagine cleaning up after a tiger, although if I had one, maybe UPS would finally put my packages in the garage… Anyway, after careful consideration for about 10 seconds, I announced that I wanted a pair of lemurs.

Hey, if a guy in Great Britain can have a zoo (and since it’s based on a real story, clearly he can), why can’t I have a couple of lemurs? Snarky Daughter immediately pointed out that she still wanted a ferret. Scout Son, the only sane one in the bunch, didn’t want anything– or maybe he just didn’t feel well since he had Bottle Caps candy for dinner.

Ferrets and lemurs and dogs, oh my! And the cat from hell. The other day I wanted a fish for my desk. Really, this is getting out of hand. But I’m laughing again, so maybe just one lemur?

Kimberly Hope

Writing sexy, sassy contemporary romance novels from coast to coast

Snarky Daughter