Poor Genevieve has been sick as a toy poodle for days now, and yesterday spiked a scary (to me) fever of 101.5. She is better today but still not eating well and keeping us (okay, mostly me) up aaaaallll night long with her sad snorting and snuffling and gagging on snot, etc. Too much information, I know. But my brain is short-circuiting from too many consecutive days of crazy housebound baby-wrangling, and I'm pretty sure my sweet, single, medically-trained sister in law, visiting us from exotic south Asia, just had the SAHM version of a 'cultural immersion experience,'
Claire, I'm so sorry, and God love you for all that Curious George you read Joey. He is currently waving a sippy cup in my face and berating me for serving him "old" milk, so feel free to come back any time. Or right now, really.
|Do you see that liquid? It turns out you cannot leave an unattended keg of beer in the company of men of any age. "Beer fight, Mommy!" |
Don't even ask why we had a keg in our garage, but know that it was Fat Tire.
So there you have it, delivered to you fresh from the land of stretchy gym pants and unmade faces. I've been sustaining myself on this gem of a book my sweet husband brought home for me last week and came across this cool lady, who saw housework as a form of temporal punishment for sin and oh MY GOODNESS YES. Amen. And alleluia.
If you'll excuse me, my penitential load of dishes awaits me.
On a warmer note, now that the embargo has been lifted, I am beyond thrilled to invite you to come share a pint poolside on a glam rooftop in the humid heart of Austin, Texas this summer with Jen, Hallie, and a whole slew of other queens of the internets who will be speaking at the Edel Gathering.
You best believe when J + H emailed me a month or so ago to ask if I would emcee this fantastic creation of theirs that I simultaneously started doing labor breathing and trying to craft a somewhat cool and casual reply of "Oh hell yes" a very reserved 11.2 seconds after the email hit my inbox.
So if you wanna come hang with the creme de la creme (them, not me) of the mommy hood, I hope you'll start dropping hints to your husbands about what a fabulous St. Valentine's gift a weekend away of this caliber would be. Come on, a rooftop pool. Starbucks. Multiple bars in the hotel. Quiet, sanitized bathrooms with ample hot water. I'm sorry, I just fainted from the anticipation of a 25 minute shower followed by an enormous glass of red wine.
Join us. You know it to be your destiny.
(I'm really, embarrassingly sleep deprived. Luke Skywalker called and confirmed it for me.)