diptyque = I heart you

Clearly my mother loves me. Look what she brought back from her recent trip to Paris:

Oh and two beautiful sarongs from Simrane, a bottle of Fragonard perfume, some chocolate mustard from Maille, a whole mess of Barbapapa and other French books and CDs for Jack, some Petit Prince colored pencils I will save until he can appreciate them (like when he's 30), and a partridge in a pear tree. It was ALMOST like I got to go to Paris too. Merci Maman!

I borrowed this picture from right here

Oh, and did I mention this morning she played with Jack so I could go to Anthropologie and try on 300 hundred dresses, then when I got home, she took him to a toy store and a malt shop, and god nows where else to pump him full of sugar and presents, so I could you know, dye my hair two shades lighter, try my new dresses on in front of my home mirror, do some laundry, put some toys away, and stare at into space for 15 solid minutes... Cher maman, merci, merci, merci! If it wasn't mothers (and mother in laws) there'd be a lot more standing on chairs telling everyone to just "shut it" (gasp) going on around here. 

Audrey, Reva (my grandma), great grandma, Madalene, and Beth (who just passed) 

My mom's in town for just two days, because her aunt Beth passed away at 90 last week. She was the last of 4 sisters, who all passed way before their time, my mom's mom dying at 60 when I was just 4. I can't imagine what that was like losing her parents with two young kids. She and my dad were both working full time, and in school getting, respectively a law degree, and a PhD. My grandmother was sick for a long time with breast cancer. In the last few months, my mother and I went and lived with her in her farm house. She stayed in a hospital bed in the living room. We painted her toenails, and dyed her hair. She fed me and her dalmatian "Romeo" black jelly beans, "One for you, TWO for me!". She used rose milk lotion, and to this day is I smell that chalky rose smell it takes me back to that time. So I appreciate very much Jack having his 3 (count em) grandmas, that can bake cookies, laugh at all his jokes, and spoil him rotten. Oh, and give me time to stare into space. You can't do that on babysitter time. 

making rag dolls in the loony bin

Ok, so I have to admit that I've been letting the stress get to me. I need to get a grip. I'm not curing cancer over here. Nobody's life is at stake. I told Sadie that I feel like I'm shouting at myself  "I WANT THE TRUTH" and then myself is yelling back at me "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!!!" Dude, chill. 

Yesterday I was at the gym doing a guilt workout so that I could say that I had lost at least a half a pound for the biggest loser dealie (I did!). I was also trying to blow off some steam because when I woke up, I couldn't turn my head from side to side, after doing our first dance rehearsal, which made me feel old and craggy. Just about everything everyone says to me makes me want to unhinge my jaw and shout "I'm all full thanks, leave your card by the door". 

Today instead of buying a HDMI to mini HDMI cable, painting fiber board lightning bolts, and learning what it means to transcode, I went into the pink man cave and ironed. That's right. I said it. I IRONED. I got out some of my old sarongs that Nip and I bought at Simrane in Paris before Jack was born. I bought tons of them, but the pink ones I wore the most (obv) and they've gotten so worn, that they're pretty faded, and some have ripped. I ironed them, and then cut them into strips so that I can make a quilt. I thought I'd mix in some of Heather Ross Mendocino fabric too. Yeah, no, I don't know how to quilt, but why should that stop me? I don't know how to act, or shoot music videos, or write songs, or take pictures, or make cakes, or be a mom, or really do much of anything at all. But the idea of doing all those things keeps me interested. SO I ironed and I felt better. 

SO back to the day before at the gym. I was on the treadmill, and because I felt like I needed to maximize the use of my time, I decided to practice my Lady Gaga dance moves (at least the arm movements) on the treadmill. Yeah, that's right, I don't give a damn what kind of crazy I look like, I'm a MOM. SO I'm there, happily walking, watching the tutorial on my iphone propped up on the magazine rack on the treadmill. I've got my headphones on, I'm pop and locking, and as I bring my arms down in front of me, I get them caught up in the headphone wires. The earbuds jerk out of my ears, and the phone tumbles to the ground. The moving sidewalk underneath me, I fumble to grab the headphone, or phone, anything, and as I do, I KICK the phone. KICK it, like I was Pelé, and lucky me, the treadmill is located on the balcony overlooking the weight room, and over it goes. In slow motion I watch my 2nd iphone set sail, and as I'm on a treadmill, it takes me a second to smash the stop button, jump off, race to the banister, and see, is it dead?  There it is, on the ground. I look around, did anyone see that? On top of being the psycho loser doing bad dance moves on the treadmill, I am now the psycho loser asking some meathead to keep an eye on my phone, until I can come down and retrieve it. This guy, whose neck is at least as wide as my waist, grunts enough of an acknowledgment. I grab my bag, and run down the stairs, pick the phone off the floor. It's still playing the Lady Gaga tutorial, and besides having some serious gym rat cooties, it's fine. Hoorah! AND...scene. Please tip your waiter on the way out.