Cat Stevens and Jesus Mouse

Since I started my writing class, I have less time for the blog.  Heck, I have less time for showers.  It's been three days now, people.

Perhaps I'm in over my head with this writing class.  I'm in there with "real" writers who have done a "publish."  My teacher's former job was literary critic for the Seattle P.I.  My writing assignments are returned with red marks all over them.  I'm pretty sure it's my teacher's pen, though I like to think he was just eating Twizzlers and got sloppy.

My assignment essays, strictly bound by a 300-word limit, have me awake in the middle of the night, writing in fits of sleepy inspiration.  I'm quite proud of my most recent essay and look forward to reading it aloud to a roomful of critics who will have no idea what I'm talking about.

Spring has sprung in Seattle and not a moment too soon.  Winters in the Pacific Northwest, as most people know, are chilly gray and dreary.  But in the past week of warm sunny days, we've come out of hibernation.  Everyone's back outside, stretching and squinting up at the mysterious yellowish circle in the sky. 

My favorite runner is back, running through our neighborhood for hours at a time.  He's my favorite because, while most runners look straight ahead and pound the hell out of the pavement, he gets more vertical with his strides and looks around the whole time.  It gives him the appearance of bouncing, near skipping, down the sidewalk.  He looks thrilled to be running, which is a strange concept to me.

I was sitting on the front porch when I saw him again.  I ran inside to yell to Al, "Ole Bouncy Black Pants is back!  Ole Bouncy Black Pants is back!"  I probably should have been taking a shower instead of sitting on the front porch watching the passersby but we all make questionable decisions sometimes.

The days when all the mountain ranges are out -- Olympics to the west and Cascades to the east -- and Mount Rainier is standing crisp and clear to the south, those are the days we Seattleites live for.  On those days, we are all convinced we live in the most beautiful place on Earth and feel smugly satisfied with our life choices.

photo www.seattlecenter.org 

 

We're now facing another string of cold gray days but last week was enough to give us all more patience.

Coco had a nightmare last night that woke her (and me) at 4:00 a.m.  She was bolt upright and crazy-eyed, screaming that something was in her bed. As I tried to calm her, she seemed to catch sight of something out of the corner of her eye.  Her eyes widened and she screamed again, then bolted to the end of her bed.

She convinced me.  I nearly yelled,  "Holy sh*t, girl, there IS something in your bed!" and hightailed it out of her room.  Instead I gathered my wits, pulled all her blankets off the bed, shook them out, and quickly became hopelessly entangled in the middle of them.  Lucien woke up and said sleepily, "Mommy, are you doing an April Fools joke?"

There was absolutely nothing in Coco's bed but don't bother trying to convince her of that, it's wasted breath and time.  She came back to bed with me where she spent the rest of the night kicking Alex and I in the kidneys.

As usual, for those of us with no family nearby, friends were family for Easter.  We gathered on the Street of Dreams for an egg hunt and mimosas (one was for kids, one for adults, you decide).  The kids watched in horror as Seattle Mom and Dad's cat attacked and nearly killed a mouse in the backyard.  Seattle Dad had to put the mouse out of its misery because there was much suffering.  Happy Easter, kids, and no worries, maybe that mouse will resurrect just like Jesus.

Then there was a ton of food including homemade cinnamon rolls and a psycho jello mold --

Want some candy, little kid?

It was a beautiful day so we headed down the street to an empty parking lot to ride bikes --

"Daddy, why doesn't my bike work anymore?"

When we got back to Seattle Mom and Dad's house, the jumping began --

 

It's not Easter until someone jumps over my head, scares me and makes me spill my mimosa. 

This one's for the ladies

There was some singing involved in our Easter celebration, which reminded me of a classic Alex tale.  When I first met him, Al loved Cat Stevens and sang his songs regularly and loudly.  His favorite song was "Peace Train."  But instead of understanding the chorus for what it was -- "Ride on the Peace Train" -- Alex misunderstood (it's hard to decipher foreign language song lyrics!) and sang, "I love to be straight." 

I love my foreigner.

I was flipping through a catalog full of useless items recently when I saw this --

How is this better than a dog pooping in your yard?  Instead of an occasional left-behind pile of poo, you're going to stare at a fake dog in full poo position, with fake poo coming out of its behind, every time you step out your front door?  Catalog people, go home, you're drunk!

Everyone jump on the be straight,
MJ

This post is sexy if you think ants are sexy

Thanks for your support of The Loosh and our family, posse.  It sure was a rough week, but we're moving past "the incident" nicely.

The other night Lucien fell asleep on our bed on a pile of newspaper.  When we moved him to his own bed, we saw he had newspaper ads printed all over the side of his face, so we did what any proper parent would do -- we pointed and laughed until he woke up and looked at us with wide, confused eyes.

So yep, it's safe to say the kid gloves are off again, and it's back to business and mockery of the children as usual.  But again, thank you for supporting us when we felt fragile.  We're lucky to have you all.

In much-needed fantastic news, the tacos are back!!!  The taco truck has moved into a corner store in the neighborhood.  It's now serving its delicious tacos across a real counter inside a real store so can never drive away again.  We celebrated by having Seattle Family over and eating hundreds of tacos.  Seattle Family also brought a birthday cake for me because I successfully grew a year older last week.

Alex took me to Restaurant Zoe for my birthday.  We ate seared foie gras.  I'm not sure how the French would feel about that.  The other part of my present was two tickets to Cats.  Cats was the first Broadway musical I saw as a kid, and kicked off my obsessive Broadway musical phase, which was nonstop fun for my whole family. 

I thanked Alex, agreed it would be nice to see Cats again after all these years.  But then Alex told me the second ticket wasn't for him, it was for Lucien.  The warm fuzzy feeling evaporated.  I said, "Wait....you want me to take Lucien to Cats and what's more, you consider it a present?  Are you insane, man?"

The show is in a couple weeks; I will spend the time between now and then begging Alex to go see Cats with me.

I also had a celebratory birthday night out with some of the neighborhood ladies.  We decided to start a book club.  We're not going to read any books, just go out to restaurants and drink wine.  Getting older isn't bad when you make grand plans like ours.

In not-so-great news, our Tiny Cottage is overrun with ants.  I returned from the grocery store one day to find a long line of ants winding across the dining room floor.  I armed myself with a spray bottle and a roll of paper towels and conducted an ant massacre of epic proportions.  I'm now worried their tiny ant ghosts are going to band together and seek revenge from the other side.  Whenever I hear a strange creak in the house, I yell, "Ant ghosts!" and crash through the screen door in my hurry to get the hell outta here.

The ants keep coming, I am powerless to stop them.  They appear to be pointing and laughing at my strategically-placed ant traps.  The only way I can keep them at bay is to regularly spray their entry point, which is directly under my writing desk, with a toxic spray cleaner.  It's possible I'm fuming myself to a dangerous degree, because as I write this, the chocolate Easter bunnies in the kids' baskets are talking to me.  (I should warn you all is not well in chocolate Easter bunny land -- they're planning something sinister according to the smiley one in the yellow bowtie known as "Mr. Pickles.")

We had a good Easter.  I had to return to the grocery store several times because the Cadbury Creme Eggs I bought for the kids' Easter baskets kept disappearing into my mouth.  I'd go back to the store, buy a few more, accidentally eat them again, go back to the store.  It was a vicious cycle, and now all my teeth are falling out.

The neighborhood Easter egg hunt was held in the backyard of The Goddamn House, which is kind of pathetic when you think about it.  We figured it was the best place to have it, on account of it being the biggest yard on the block.  It's also easy to hide eggs there -- it's so overgrown you just toss the eggs a couple inches in front of you and -- voila! -- hidden!

 the kids listening to Al's egg hunt instructions

Supermodel Neighbor uses the covered back porch of The Goddamn House as his carpentry workshop.  This offered more fantastic hiding opportunities -- our silly dumb kids didn't even consider looking in the jaws of the table saw.  It will probably surprise whoever owns the house someday to find our overlooked eggs hidden in piles of sawdust on the back porch.  They will know something happened back there.

We had Easter dinner with a handful of fellow neighbors who, like us, don't have family nearby.  With family far away, friends are family, maybe even slightly better because you get to choose them and don't have to buy them presents at Christmas. (Hugs, family!)

I was responsible for cooking half the Easter meal and it was not a disaster.  That's about as good as it gets when MJ's in charge of food.  I don't know if it's my midwestern upbringing or what, but I was shocked no one had heard of serving cherry sauce with the ham.  What the heck is the point of eating ham if it doesn't have cherries on top of it?  I just don't get people sometimes.

What was that noise?  Ant ghosts!
*runs*
MJ