Happy Summer!







Why, yes! I AM married! A Play in One Act

Act I, Scene I


Evening. Front lawn of home.  Stage Center: sweaty and disheveled with random hairs getting caught in mouth, Michele holds camera, engaged in taking desultory photos of garden and kitties. Stage Right, kitties sit irritated, being taken pictures of.


We are barely tolerating this.



Enter Stage Right. Male, 52 years of age. Bearded. 



Exit kitties.


Michele, Bearded Man engage in random conversation regarding cameras.  Light Conversational Music.




Bearded Man (out of the blue): Well, you ain’t married?


Michele (surprised): Why, yes I am…


BM:  Coz yoor not wearing a wedding ring.


Michele: Oh. Yes. No. I’m…not…?


BM: Yoor a pretty lady and I was gonna ask you out for dinner.


Michele (nervously tittering): Oh! Hee, hee!  Thanks!


BM:  Well, so you don’t know nuthin’ about cameras, huh?


Michele: No, no not really. Sorry.


BM:  Well, that’s all right. It was nice meetin’ ya.


Michele: Ok, take care.


Bearded Man, exit Stage Right. Michele, Exit Stage Rear, running.  Music crescendos and fades.


Act I, Scene II


Busy morning street. Michele, sweaty and disheveled after brisk exercise, pushes stroller Stage Center.


Traffic music.


Enter Stage Left, green four-door sedan at stoplight. Driver: male, 30-ish, also bearded.


Michele ushers car to make a right turn as she waits to cross street.


Driver: mumblemumblemumblemumble


Michele: Go ahead. I’m waiting for the light to change.


Driver:  Don’t you want a walking partner?


Michele (bemused but chipper):  Um. No…?


Driver: Are you married?


Michele (firmly): Yes, yes I’m married.


Exit car, Stage Right. 


The End.


Music Swells and Curtain Closes.


The End.

Weekend Edition, Konglish Style



Boop oop a doop!


It’s thrilling.  But probably not licensed.

Mrs. Grumpy Crankypants Loses Her Mind. Again.

This is Mrs. Grumpy Crankypants’ brain.



Cracked. But still whole.




This is Mrs. Grumpy Crankypants’ brain at 1:33 a.m. after being up since 11:03 trying in vain to get young Master Fussy Crankypants back to sleep.









Mrs. G. C. woke from a sound hour’s sleep to a fussying F. C. and despite all the wine in the world interventions did not herself get back to sleep until 1:33 a.m., at which point MR. G.C. was called in to take over.


Mrs. G.C. tried nursing. Mrs. G.C. tried patting. And shushing. And Hairdryer.  And, for a little while, Master F.C. returned to the Land of Morpheus, however fitfully. But finally Mrs. G.C.  thought that perhaps Master F.C.’s teeth were hurting him so she dosed him with some wine Tylenol.  But at this point (precisely: 12:17 a.m.), Master F.C. was UP.  He also expected Mrs. G.C. to be UP (precisely: to be UP walking the Young Master while he farted looked around the very dark room in which there was nothing to see but don’t let that stop you oh, no.). 


Mrs. G.C. tried walking. She tried making the Young Master F.C. go night-night in his bed. She tried putting the Young Master in his bed with a wide variety of his wine toys whilst she got some zzz’s.  She tried crying. A lot.


But all, all was in vain.


And as Mrs. G.C. walked the Young Master and cried, Mrs. G.C.’s thighs seemed to double in size and her belly seemed even more floppy and she sobbed that she would never again get to exercise because she lacks the energy to do anything more strenuous than lift a glass of wine shovel chocolate into her mouth type on her blog during her down-times throughout the day. And Mrs. G.C. remembered all the skinny people at the wedding last weekend and she vividly remembered how not-skinny she looked in some of the photos.


And she cried some more.


And Mrs. G.C. also thought about how tired she was and how for 10 months she has been Very Very Tired. And little rivulets of tears meandered down her cheeks.


And finally Mrs. G.C. got her brain in gear and went and drank some wine called in the back-up reinforcements of Mr. G.C., who continued to walk with the Young Master UP for another hour while Mrs. G.C. downed another quart of wine got some shut eye for a few hours before the Young Master wanted to drink wine eat again.


And Mrs. G.C. awoke this morning in a puddle of her own milk because she had only been nursing on one side. But since it was 8 o’clock and not 6 as usual, she hardly minded at all.



Don’t cry over spilled milk.

I’m going to go away more often

Because apparently when I go away, I get awarded for doing so.


When I was away over the weekend, Bejewell* over at The Bean had a twelve few too many and decided to share the love by awarding me this:




Pico de Gallo. Or Arte y Pico. Whichever.


I think she either


a) felt sorry for me for being so sleep deprived


b) ran out of people to shout out to


c) was on crack


Anyhey, THANK YOU, Bejewell, because it’s nice to know that at least one person takes pity on me and reads all this tripe with which I clutter up the realms of cyberspace.


And the rules say I have to pass along the Arte Y Pico love to five MORE blogs, which is kind of like a chain letter actually, but we won’t think about that so I’m going to follow up on that one because, even though I could wish that ALL the nice people in the whole world would read my blog and love me it, I actually don’t have time to read as many blogs as I would like to because, you know, the baby:


Wah, wah, wah.


Yada yada yada.  And I often have to clean my house (*snort*).  Plus, several of the blogs I often read have already won this award and is it ok to re-award this award?  Or is kind of like ‘no punch-backs’ kind of thing?


So I will so be back with a list of new awardees upon whom I shall bestow the chain letter award love.



*Bejewell is actually me if I lived in Texas and had a slightly older son and actually wrote all the naughty words that live in my head and make themselves known frequently often occasionally hardly ever (Hi, mom!) when it’s just me and the cats.

I Has a Sister!

Hey, you guys!  I have a sister!  Woohoo!  Well, technically, sister-in-law. And also I have 2 others that I got when I married T but this is just different. And fun. AND Miles did not melt down.


HOWEVER, I took hardly any pictures, which is, I know, hard to believe.  But I felt that even at the best of times, it is kind of annoying to have someone just constantly snapping pictures instead of talking to you and also it is kind of not kosher to take one’s camera up front as part of the wedding party and anyways I didn’t want Rachel and her family to have ANY MORE REASON than they already have to wonder about the sanity and/or propriety of the family she married in to because Lord knows we don’t want them writing to Dear Prudence already.


So I have no pictures for you.


Except for at the bridal shower:



And except for here, when The Bride (my sister) was getting her nails done:



The wedding itself was absolutely wonderful and even though it rained before and after, it was sunny for the ceremony (a fact to which my nicely sunburned shoulders can attest).  I didn’t trip and fall down or pass out or tinkle in my panties or anything embarrassing but oh so it-could-really-happen-to-me. And my brother took FOREVER to get through his vows because he was such a girlie-man that he kept choking up and I thought I would have to hand him my hanky but I didn’t because I needed it myself because I, too, am a girlie-man (or even just a girlie, actually).


And then the reception was awesome. But I have no pictures because I was, you know, in the wedding party/talking to people/taking care of Baby Miles after T had to leave.


Except for this:


Sorry about T’s smile. But doesn’t my hair look nice?


And Baby Miles, despite being up from 2 p.m. after only an hour’s nap in the morning and an hour’s nap in the afternoon, made it through till 8:30 without melting down. And at 8:30 he did this:


One tired baby.

Korea day


Today was a Korea kind of day. Something about the air and the feel of the humidity as it lightly enveloped each measured step. Not the soul-crushing, melt-your-socks-off, leave-you-a-jiggling- puddle-of-gelatinous-goo kind of humidity of deep summer. This was more of a climb-the-mountain kind of humidity or a walk-to-the-coffee-shop kind of humidity.  A Saturday kind of humidity. A day of kids playing in the street and old men playing goh in the park.  A day you felt like you were one of the crowd even though you never were and never could be.


Something in the way the sun shone through the  gentle cover of light cloud. Something about the cicadas whirring and the traffic zipping by. Something in the very smell, some infinitely indefinable and slow, yearning thing.



A climb the mountain kind of humidity

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