Leaving On A Jet Plane

7:21 a.m.
Claire and I are flying to SoCal tonight, leaving Bodie to fend for himself until he joins us in a few days.

Me. Claire. In the confines of a commuter jet. For an hour. Twice. With a layover in LAX.

Do I start drinking now, or do I wait until it really is five o'clock somewhere?


1/13/08 UPDATE
I never want to be that parent. You know, that parent who lets their child throw a tantrum in a nice restaurant, or kick the back of an airplane seat, or feeds their child Flamin' Hot Cheetos and Hawaiian Punch for breakfast (and yes, I have encountered parents who really do that). So I was quite worried that I might completely cave and suspend all rules and procedures in the Claire's Manual for Orderly Living in order to avoid being that parent during our trip.

What the hell was I so worried about? Claire took the entire experience like a champ, from going through security in Arcata to waiting in the San Diego airport until midnight for our bags to arrive. She completely charmed every passenger within five rows, all of the flight attendants, and had her Papa and Uncle Aaron wrapped around her little finger as soon as we walked through the gate.

Dude, sometimes Mama just needs to chill.

The Week in Review

I was on a bit of a roll this week and left my first ever comments on other people's blogs. Although, come to think of it, I don't know if dooce and Smart Bitches count as blogs or websites. Bodie says "they're blogs", so I'll take his word for it.

I am also full of blog envy because Bodie's blog is very polished and fabulous looking. This is why I reset the background image on his desktop to a full-color picture of David Hasselhoff in bikini underwear circa 1980-something (thank you Smart Bitches!). It is no less than he deserves for getting so much more accomplished than me.

As for work...it's an interesting time of year in public schools. Most years I am happy to relax my academic scheduling for a week while we ease into the winter vacation, but this year I find that I am too confined by other teacher's schedules to be able to give myself and my kids a break. Super lame. I think this stress is directly contributing to my rate of baking this week. Which leads me to...

The mixer. The lovely KitchenAid mixer that has had to sit in a box, cold and lonely, for the better part of two years because the first year I was puking too much to want to consider making delicious treats and the second year we didn't have enough space in our apartment kitchen for anything but the essentials. It has been worth the wait. This bad boy creams shortening and sugar like you wouldn't believe. I can't wait to get some yeast and crank that baby up to Speed 6 with the dough hook. So far I have confined myself to sugar cookies and banana bread. Wine cake is on the schedule for tomorrow and, if anyone were to actually read this blog and want any of these recipes, I am happy to share the recipes.

Mama's Night Out

I had my first solo evening out recently and it was exhilarating! Sure, I was only gone for two hours, but I made those two hours count. Maybe I even made them count a little too much as I ended up leaving my car where it was and getting a ride home from a friend. Nevertheless, I was in fine smarty pants form that evening as I presented the "Gordon's Wife" award to a nice young man named Atticus.

The costume: Agent Jones' alternate universe

The award: Asparagus, because to keep a husband happy you either have to make him dinner or suck his *@$!, and with asparagus you can practice both. (Thanks to Katie's mom for that bit of sage advice)

The beer: Great White

Strange but true: It turns out that Atticus is acquainted with a girl who used to date my little brother three years ago. Given that she grew up in a small town and is now a nurse in the brain surgery department at a large southern California hospital this seems like a bizarre twist of the cosmos to bring together two people hovering at the edge of my circle of friends.

Bonus Score: The finest Mardi Gras beads that China can make...without having to show my tits.