The Wrong Week to Quit the Merlot

Well...

Do you want the bad news first, or the good news?

Okay, the bad news: I was working away on writing my radio show when Dad called to say that Mommy had two seizures this morning and had to have a CAT Scan. I asked him if he wants me to get Peter to come home so I can go down to New York, but he said no. I think he's up to here with concerned visitors. The man is overwhelmed.

So, we're waiting.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

I asked Dad if he knows when the doctors will have the results, but nobody has told him anything. I think the worst part of getting sick is not the sickness but having to wait around for the freaking doctors.

The good news is I got a baby sitter for Saturday night. We're going to New York to--wait for it--see the tree, which is pretty amusing for a girl who grew up in New York. I'm in Connecticut now, which I adore, but I never miss an opportunity to go to New York.

We've needed a babysitter for some time. The teenagers aren't available. They'd rather work in Target with their friends, and who can blame them? B. suggested that we hire his daughter's soccer coach's girlfriend, who "really needs the money," but Peter had reservations.

We'd lent the soccer coach our car for several months, and he got drunk and used it as a trampoline, so it has big dents on top. Peter figures that if the girl is stupid enough to go out with a clown who jumps on a car, she can't have the best judgment.

But. We. Need. A. Night. On. Our. Own.

So, I was thinking, maybe we could put an ad up at the Senior Center. Maybe we could get some older woman who actually likes children and would play board games with them, and maybe teach them how to knit or do needlework.

And, magically, our friend's mother, who does not have grandchildren of her own said she'd be delighted to take the little buggers, and isn't Sponge Bob in the theaters right now? I didn't even have to go to the Senior Center!

My head is quite tight for somebody who has shunned caffeine all day, but perhaps that's because I got not one, but two, calls from the school nurse. The first one required me to dash off to the supermarket for Rolaids for Child One, who was suffering from stomach pains after combining apple sauce, pretzels, and water. The second call required me to retrieve Child Two, who feared she was going to throw up after a friend twirled her in the playground.

Once I got her home, the first thing she did was take a running jump on the couch and land in a headstand.

Scammed again.

I did wash the kitchen floor, though. What a blessed relief. Perhaps I won't wake up in a cold sweat tonight.

Saturday is only four days away. A night out in Manhattan with husband and friends! No children in sight (well, not ours, anyway)! Whatever will I wear?

I am a somewhat happy girl.

I'm Not Ready For Christmas

I'm too busy doing the radio show to even mop the kitchen floor these days. That's because I actually read the books the publicists send me before I interview the authors. Not that I mind; God knows I'll use any excuse to stay in and read a good book: Rain, too much sun (the reflections sparking off parked SUVs burn my eyes!), even a little wind.

Still, I haven't revised my short story. I have to query agents about my novel, or the damn thing will never be published, and that would be a shame since it took long enough to write it, and Robert Gover, no less, deemed it entertaining and publishable.

Have to get with it.

It's only November 29th, and people want to know if I've finished my Christmas shopping. Finished? I'm still digesting the highbrow cheese (as opposed to the lowbrow port wine variety I brought along) my brother-in-law put out before Thanksgiving dinner. I haven't even thought of Christmas yet, except to resist an impulse to buy Cathy R. one of the Chia Pets displayed at Stop and Shop this morning.

It's not Christmas season until Cathy makes a derisive comment about said Pets and the people who buy them, which is why I think she deserves to own one. I think the Scooby-Doo model would be an elegant choice.

Watched Desperate Housewives last night, of course. Can (and I'm not proud to admit this) relate to Lynnette's insecurities about being an adequate mother. My little ones have ADD, and let me tell you, it's like living in a monkey cage around here some days. Lynnette's house is awfully sparkly for someone in her situation.

Fortunately, Peter is great about cooking, cleaning, and shopping. He encourages me to go out and have a drinkie or two with friends to alleviate the stress. Don't have to resort to scarfing my kids' Ritalin to get through the day.

Called Mommy at the hospital. She sounds great and her sense of humor is back and fully intact. Since the doctors quit the chemo, her white count is up. She's eating and hydrated. The last few weekends the poor thing was a walking zombie. But when we saw her in ICU Thanksgiving Day, she was herself again, laughing and making jokes. She never complains about anything. Ever.

People tell me she is an amazing person. She is.