It's nearly midnight...and I'm watching trendy vampire trash

It's remarkably enjoyable, for being so brainless. So...predictable.

I don't think it's the movie that so good...it's the company. This tall, reed like woman-child, sitting, captivated next to me, alternating between chattering constantly and dead silence, mouth open at the screen, still in awe of her early Christmas gift.

Somehow, she manages to be so old and so young at the same time. Still here with me, but so far away...pushing every day just to be a little bit farther, and then, without warning, she lands in my lap like a child of three.

I'm slightly ambivalent about the Twilight series, but I will watch every movie, read every book, learn every make up trick in an effort to extend her childhood just one more hour, to  have one more thing to discuss with her...or should I say listen to her discuss. Remarkably, she has more to say than I do.

It's even more remarkable that she's eleven. Eleven. I have an eleven year old child.

Funny, I don't feel much older than that most days. Life is very strange.

I guess I'm old, but I'd rather be baking.

So, the big party last night was largely a success. Fun was had by all, there was the requisite bar drama, I got to dance in my shiny new red shoes, and I saw three am stone cold sober.

 That in itself is worth mentioning. I haven't stayed up till three am since prior to the birth of my second child. And really not ever without being somewhat lubricated by a plethora of alcoholic beverages.
 
I don't remember clubs being so pushy-touchy-feely.

But there I was, in time for last call being knocked around by a bunch of really inebriated men fumbling all over themselves to manage to get a) beer, and b) someone to sleep with them in the next twelve minutes.

 The bouncers were four square against me observing from the balcony. Now that would have been fun. No, instead, it was rather like a grown up version of the ball pit at McDonald's...smelly, slimy, filled with questionable objects, and quasi-violent.

 Sober clubbing is rather awkward. Don't get me wrong, it was fun, and I'll probably be ready to do it again when my friend has a birthday again...next year.

 Give me a pub with a deep fryer and a large selection of beer for my husband to go nuts over. Give me a jazz club with a selection of wine that I can't pronounce. I'll point at the menu and pretend I know what you are talking about when you say, "hints of berry and chocolate."  Give me the blues club that used to hang out at my old bar. Those people knew how to party...and no one EVER copped a feel on the way through.

Give me a big bowl of bread dough to work with while my kids play happily within earshot.

 So I woke up old. Old and happy. I don't miss my club days...I like a place where I can have a conversation.  I like to have my husband with me so I feel safe. I like..my life, just the way it is.

So, Bethlehem, thanks for the entertainment, the bruising, and the reminder that my life is perfect, just the way it is. Grown up and everything.

Talk about Crazy... the internet makes the world small...

This blogger thing is pretty cool.

I can sit down and pour some random nonsense onto a page, feel better afterward, or at least have a good laugh at how my life resembles an 80's sitcom... house constantly in a state of controlled chaos, children perched on various objects where no human should reasonably be, dog scrambling madly about the house in search of infant produced bodily fluids for a midnight snack or a light lunch.
 
I'm fairly sure my life is a family version of Seinfeld. A show about nothing. But a damn good show.

Every once in a while, I think about giving this up, this little bit of bloggy sanity that I've actually managed to convince my children is work, because it's a slow start and well, who's really reading it anyway?

Evidently, people in Singapore. Who knew? And someone in Russia...there's a map that I hadn't noticed before. This is pretty darn cool. I like it. I like it a lot. So, I'll still tell my children I'm working when I need a minute to process the fact that they've just emptied four toy boxes onto the floor of my living room, and then go ahead and force them to clean up at least six pieces of it. (It's only right!)

 Wow, Singapore.
I like this internet thing. Hope it sticks around.

I honestly didn't know I could still bend like that....

Last night we put a deposit of someone else's money on a new-ish refrigerator. It's a beauty... Much taller than me and wider than a Biggest Loser contestant week one, before Jillian Michaels makes them throw up forty or fifty times. Payment should be completed later today, and it really is a beauty.

 I'm so excited.

 My old refrigerator must sense its impending trip to the landfill, because today, it struck back.

Hard.

As I was preparing our morning meal, and Mr. Lovinangels lunch, I lifted the door, balanced myself on one hand, and pulled it up and open. It's my very own personal door opening ritual- the refrigerator door sits slightly at an angle, with screws of four or five different sizes holding the slab of metal in a precarious position.

The hinge let go as I gently let go of the freezer and reached for the milk. Without warning, the piece of the hinge that was unaided by extra screws let go with a snap, the refrigerator door hit me in the face, and I managed my first back bend  since 1999 in a valiant attempt to keep the door  (and my olives) from hitting the floor and exploding everywhere.

This thing needs to last till Tuesday.

 As I called for help, stretching my back in a way I didn't think possible, everyone BUT the person I needed arrived. First the eleven year old, who stood frozen in horror for what seemed like a year, until I snapped, "go get your dad."

Oh, right.
 And of course he wanted an explanation as to why his morning regime was being disturbed. Long before help of any kind arrived, I managed to lift both myself and the refrigerator door, while blocking two inquisitive toddlers with one flailing leg.

 I even managed to reassemble the hinge with one hand, while holding the door in place with other and kicking like a Rockette with one leg, to the amusement of my small children.

 In not the nick of time, my husband arrived, wrapped in a towel and shivering, to save the day.

 My next blog post should be, how to cook dinner without opening a vengeful refrigerator.

A routine is slowly emerging from the chaos...

There are many wonderful things about this house.

It's quiet. Not the "I hear every noise in the house kind of quiet" but the "I'm safe here" kind of quiet.

MissAngelPreschooler ADORES her purple room. She even goes upstairs ON HER OWN to nap in the afternoon. No bribery or nap warden required. At the old house, naps involved me standing outside her room trying to get a work out in the eight foot square hallway that also contained a dresser, a shoe rack that wouldn't fit any where else, a brass coat rack, a large quantity of toys, and a shelving system that was rigged in a vain attempt to give MissAngelPreteen a sense of normalcy. I spent the afternoons shouting "go to sleep!" while tripping on mass quantities of crap.

It was lovely.

The space here is nice.

The extra bathrooms is wonderful. I don't even mind that we have to do a potty tour twelve times a day. Seriously, I've even seen the child pee in the downstairs toilet, only to announce that she was going to poo in the upstairs toilet. All I've got to say is, the kids got serious control.

The washer and dryer are heaven. Sheer heaven.

And I've been cooking. So much cooking.

We've also had company, for the first time in four years. I even had coffee at the table with my mother.

Yeah, that was awkward. But I got to see my beautiful little sister, which made up for it.

Still, there is a mountain of boxes to my right. A pile of crap the size of Mt. Rushmore in my garage. A living room, hallway, two bathrooms, and a front bedroom. that needs to be painted. My baby is still half naked, and we really should rename the dog Sybil. A mountain of laundry in my basement.

Life is good. Now I have to go clean up from last night's dinner.

ah, the joy they bring.

The lights are off.

It's TEN FORTY.

The birthday girl went to bed willingly. One child is dozing on the bed she made for her sister. The sister who stands tall, curly head rocking back and forth, shape not unlike a sumo wrestler in her diaper. It's too hot for clothes. At least it is if you are one, and make gorgeous cooing sounds when people stare at you.

The living room is stacked with boxes, bags of yard sales offerings stuffed into the corners.

The big move is two weeks from today.

And all I can do is stare at this beautiful child, and wonder how it is she's mine.
Life is so good.