an Open Letter to Derek Landy

Dear Mr. Landy,

I need to thank you.  Thank you for writing strong, intelligent, fierce, learning-as-they-go female characters.  Thank you for their mistakes as much as their glory, their losses next to their victories.  Thank you for throwing unbeatable obstacles in their way.  You know why?  Because this is exactly what the world throws at people every day.  And, for some reason, adolescent females get hit pretty hard.  So thank you for throwing in some do-or-die friends in as well.  Not perfect friends.  But the best kind.  The ones that tell you what you need to hear and love you more because of your flaws.  And when you show them that the world will pick up and move on and so must you...you give them a gift.  You are a Class Act Feminist, you are.  And around here we love you for it.

Oh...

...and we especially adore you for inspiring our daughter to rock a Valkyrie Cain vibe for her High School Homecoming dance.

She did not have to kick any ass but she could have.  She had the boots for it.

Much love and many thanks,

-Alpha

Do the rest f you know Derek Landy's Skullduggery Pleasant books?  If you reside on the westerly side of the Atlantic I would not be surprised.  But it would be worth your while to get your hands on a set.  
http://www.skulduggerypleasant.co.uk/

Pop Quiz:

Bit of a puzzle this one.  How many wrong things can you identify in the following:


I am wearing pink.  Going to a High School football game where everyone will be wearing pink.  Including my children.  Thousands of people in pink.

(Hint: I count 5...but more are sure to arise before halftime.)

Dear Tequila,

I could not feel worse about what I have done to you.  The salt.  The watermelon.  The ginger.  Could have worked out, you know?  I still believe it.  But then I went and dumped that San Pellegrino in there just to give it a little sparkle.  (For the photo op if I am honest with myself.)  And, sadly, all I taste is something that smells like the hair of an unwashed, sweaty 8 year old boy.  The color...kinda the torn, pinky edge of a zombie bite with those fleshy-looking melon bits floating in there.  No good.  No good for anyone.  Not even the zombies.

I wish I was shallow enough to blame it on Pinterest.  A pretty picture of a sweating Mason Jar in the sun has moved me to try other odd concoctions.  (Yes.  Gin is the lucky one.  She got rosemary and tonic and it was divine.  Yes, yes prosecco and the lemon sorbet too.)  But this one was all me.  Me and my desire to reinvent a thing that should not have been altered.  You were perfect the way you were.

What I am trying to say is...sorry.  Truly.  I'll stick to Mod Podge and glitter next time I get the urge to get creative.  Maybe the glue gun.  The taste of you straight from the bottle with a little lime and salt, the occasional Margarita, that will be enough for me from now on.  I promise.

Oh, and can I ask you one more thing?  Do you have the number for Vodka?  (I hear she'll mix with anything.)

-Mama

(flinch) reroofing

Little C (who, quite frankly, is not so little anymore) joined me downstairs this morning.  He leaned in and kissed my ear accidentally because I turned my head as another patch of my roof came sliding roughly down in front of my desk window.  I think he was going for my cheek but caught the ear.  Good thing he subscribes to the try, try again philosophy because the next one he landed perfectly on the squishy, chubby part of my face where he gave it a good push of a smooch.  Pretty great way to start the morning.  Except for the part where I am flinching every time another hunk of shingles drops through my periphery.

He proceeded to wave his giant, 9 year old hands in my face and asked me to put something on them because they were itching.  I leaned back a bit so I could focus (which is new for me and yes, yes I know, don't say it aloud).  And what I saw told me instantly why his hands were itchy:

     Mama:  "Interesting.  Before I put anything on them, why don't
     you try washing them."

     Little C:  "But they IIIIIiiiitch!!!"

     Mama:  "It might be because they are FFFFffffffiiiiilllllthy!
     Try removing the dirt and sticky stuff and see if the condition
     does not improve."

     Little C:  (shouted from the bathroom)  "HEY!!  It worked!"

Huh.  (flinch)  Imagine that.  Remedy the thing causing the problem instead of just slapping on another layer of lotion, or shingles, or whatever.  (flinch)

Some Things Never Change

Mama: "You are not wearing that fleece pajama top to school today. You will be too warm. Go brush your teeth and find something with short sleeves and then we are out the door."

(4 minutes pass)

Mama: "Kid, you are not wearing THAT pajama shirt to school today either. Change it."

Little C: "But this one haaaaaas short sleeves!"

Mama: "Are you counting on my stupidity or yours to pull off that argument?"

Little C: "Well can I at least wear pajamas all day tomorrow?"

Mama: "Yes, darling, tomorrow you may. Now change your shirt AND brush your teeth with an actual toothbrush AND toothpaste AND I am going to check how clean they are AND the shirt must be one of the folded ones from the third drawer down on the right."

Little C: "Arghghghghghg....!" (stomp, stomp, stomp)