Watching Brownie, eating beans, sending emails, sneezing

a full day today
tossing out widest of nets
must hook some big fish

Somehow, by accident, the wee-er one has discovered Barney. And even though she calls him Brownie (maybe she's trying to endear me to him?) it still makes me want to stab my ears with a railroad spike.

But she really likes good ol' Brownie, and it gives me time to work and eat real brownies, so who am I to complain?

I've spent a lot of time today getting in touch with former co-workers and bosses, trying to help my husband find a new job. It's a kind of melange of networking, desperation and howdy-do's. Strangely, it's kind of fun.

The desperation part is not so awesome, but it's fun to talk to people I haven't talked to in a while. It's interesting to catch up, and it makes me wonder what things would be like if I hadn't left the Fancy Working World to stay home and write and gripe and mommy (is it weird to use "mommy" as a verb?).

I know I made the right decision for me and for our family, and I love being home with the kids and writing books and freelancing. But every now and then I think about what it be like to wear those Ann Taylor suits again, and lunch with the muckity mucks. (Note to muckity mucks: this is a term of endearment, of course. And all my suits were donated long ago, so never fear.)

WILL BROWNIE NEVER END?

Really.

What is worse? Boxed lunches at a day-long meeting or Barney on an endless loop?

Well, now the wee-er one is dancing to the Brownie songs (in her Elmo underpants). I have to give her the edge here. A dizzy two-year-old singing "I love you," wins over Jason's Deli egg salad anyday.

And in a complete non-sequitor (this whole post, really, is scattered, isn't it?), here's an interview with me over on Haiku By Two. There is no talk of layoffs or hospitals or Barney. Thank goodness!

OK. Off to find more people, send more emails, eat more beans, grovel a little, and hunt down some real brownies. Brownies that don't make me want to stab my face.

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