9 years!

look where we are now
less freedom but more freedom
just like we like it

Nine years. Two kids. A Wednesday night. No big anniversary plans here – surprise!

I’ve had fun scanning in some pictures this morning, though. I usually don’t post things like this, so forgive me… I just can’t get over how fresh-faced and young we were! I feel so… weathered… now.




Dear Asshole, Redux

no spendy, spendy
evil bastards make me save
should I say thank-you?

Not only is my debit card down for the count, my credit card is, too. We just noticed fraudulent charges yesterday and had that one canceled, as well.

"Shut it down," I told the lady at the bank, doing my best gravelly Jack Donaghy impression. "Shut them all down." So our last beacon of hope for groceries this week is my husband’s debit card, which has a different number than mine. I kind of think we should cancel that, too, just for good measure. We can dust off the checkbook or rely on the emergency credit card while we wait the 7-10 days for everything to get replaced.

Ugh. I spent last night flagging our credit reports and panicking about identity theft, but so far those are all fine.

Things are always lively at the Haiku of the Day household, aren’t they? Stay tuned for the story of The Wee-er One Falling Down The Stairs As I Almost Dislocate My Knee Trying To Save Her. That one’s a hoot.

Want! Want!

Just finished watching last night’s Project Runway, and you guys? Did you see Jillian’s dress? Not the one she designed, but the red and white striped one she was wearing while she worked?





The TiVo is paused so I can walk in the room and bite my fist every time I see it.

Would I look as adorable as she does in it? Probably not, but you know what? If it fit me as well as it fits her I would feel adorable, and that’s all a girl really wants.

Love it. Want it. Must find it. Now.

Happy Thousand Times Day*

*I totally stole this from a child. Beck, I owe you a royalty payment.

wearing red skull shirt
not really punk rock, not hearts
it’s a perfect blend

Last night, the wee one was crying because he was over tired and pissed at trying to tape little packages of M&Ms to his valentines.

"Why are you crying?" I asked.

"Because every time I see the color red it makes me think of Valentine’s Day and that makes me angry and frustrated."

I think I can say with some certainty he is not alone in that sentiment. Though this morning he was very excited to go to school to see what kind of haul he’s going to get.

You know, nowadays your kid has to bring a valentine to every kid in the class or none of the valentines can get passed out. When I was little, I would labor over a list of kids in my class, deciding who was worthy of the messily ripped pieces of paper that said things like "Strawberry Shortcake Loves You and I do, too!" Then, after class, everyone would dump out their paper bags of Valentines and see who got the most (not me, though I was always safely in the middle ground).

I am going to go make a key lime pie now.

Ever since seeing the movie Waitress I can’t shake the compulsion to make and eat pie.

This pie that I’m about to attempt is going to be called the "It’s Not Really A Valentine’s Day Pie But Rather An I Amazingly Have All The Ingredients And I Love You Key Lime Pie." And I’m going to try to make whipped cream with whole milk because I don’t have any whipping cream and I am too lazy to go to the store. Is that going to work? I’ll let you know.

In other confectionery news, check out this kick ass tart I made for my friend. It’s called the "I’m Glad You’re My Friend And Don’t Think I’m A Stalker Vanilla Berry Tart"


Four and a half years

nursing and writing
crawling, walking, and writing
now he’s writing, too

Four and half years ago I sat at my desk, the wee one on my lap, and I made it past page 33 of a story I’d started a few months earlier. I wrote and I wrote. He nursed and slept and nursed some more and I wrote. And a few months later it happened… for the first time in my life I had written an entire book – with an actual plot and a beginning middle and end.

I found an agent.

He helped me edit and rewrite and tighten. And while I was doing all of that, I surprisingly managed to publish Haiku Mama. It went through the editing process and the publicity process and the promotion process and all the while I was still working on my first book. Editing, perfecting, editing some more. The wee one had moved on from nursing and toddling to potty-training and Star Wars.

Then I was pregnant and promoting Haiku Mama, and the first book sold! The editing and rewriting began anew. The wee one became a big brother, the wee-er one joined us all and made everything crazy and wonderful.

And still: edit, edit, tighten, change.

Now here we are. The wee one is in school, writing his own fairy tales. The wee-er one is older than he was when I started writing the book in the first place. And I have just emailed the final edits to my editor at Random House.

So much has happened since those first words went on the page. So much.

Four and half years. Really, longer, if I count the original few chapters that are history now, but that introduced the main character.

The wee one was a tiny babe when this all began, and now I just finished telling his Kindergarten class about why being a writer is fun and how brainstorming means you can never be wrong.

Shoot. I need a Kleenex.

shaking in my boots

they are all so cute
with staring, unblinking eyes
sweet children of corn

I am on my way to talk to 21 Kindergartners about writing books. This is scarier than any other public speaking I’ve ever done.

I’m bringing the wee-er one, too, just to make things even more interesting.

We are going to rock the house.