My temp job ended today, and no new job is in sight. That’s OK. I type for a living, remember? I just get paid in love bucks. I’ve started hunting for an agent again, in earnest. Wish me luck. I have a completed fiction manuscript, this blog (I think it would make a nifty parenting manual and/or memoir), a children’s story (in English and Spanish!) and a few essays. And my left kidney. Something will sell.

So, for now, goodbye work. Goodbye desk and my own coffee mug and a paycheck every other week. Goodbye, vending machines. Goodbye loud, funny, amazing co-workers who said things like, “Great shoes!” and “I like that skirt,” and “Wow, you type really fast! I wish I typed fast like that…” without even knowing how much it would mean to me.

These recipes are both from Zip, who always comes through:

Cheese Straws
Makes at least 10 servings

1/2 pound cheddar or other hard, flavorful cheese
1/3 pound parmesan cheese
2 cups all-purpose flour
Pinch cayenne pepper
1/2 cup chilled butter (1 stick), cut into chunks, plus a little more for greasing the baking sheet
Few drops ice water, if necessary
Coarse salt (optional)

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Grate cheese by hand or in food processor and place in bowl. Pulse flour and cayenne in food processor. Add butter and process until butter and flour are combined. Pulse in cheese.

Turn dough out onto counter or cutting board and knead by hand, adding a few drops of ice water if necessary. (You may wrap in plastic and refrigerate for 2 days, taking it out for about a half hour before proceeding.)

Roll out into a rectangle about 1/4 inch thick on a lightly floured surface or between 2 sheets of plastic wrap, then cut into 1/2-inch-wide strips as long as you like. Place on a lightly greased baking sheet and sprinkle with salt, if using. Bake until golden brown, 5 to 8 minutes. Serve hot, warm or at room temperature.

Crockpot Vegan Chili

1 can vegetable broth
2 cans kidney beans, drained, rinsed
1 can garbanzo beans, drained
2 cans chopped tomatoes in puree
1 can whole kernel corn, drained
1 onion, chopped
1 bell pepper, chopped
2 stalks celery, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, chopped
1 tablespoon chili powder
1 tablespoon basil
1 tablespoon oregano

Combine ingredients in crockpot, heat on high to start, then low for at least 2 hours.

Dear World Wide Web,

I’m tired. I’m working full-time the next two weeks, still waiting to hear on permanent jobs, the kids are getting out of school for the summer soon, we have swim lessons ending and starting right up again, a house torn apart from our awesome painter (no you can’t have his number, I’m keeping him just for us)… weeds to pull, laundry to hang out, fifty more dollars’ worth of gas for the car? Sure thing!

God. I remember having two measly bucks, coasting my Dodge Dart into the gas station for a drink, and praying the attendant would take pity on me and give me an extra buck’s worth. I am that old.

Speaking of — my birthday is coming up. I will be 43. My mother assures me this is not old at all and to please shut up.

A brief round-up, and then I am off to do more laundry and try to figure out where my purse is. (I mean it when I say the house is torn apart. I saw my purse yesterday and haven’t seen it since.) Also, the floors? Trashed. Cooking? Not happening. Dishes? Piled up. So what do you do when you can’t deal with your own house? Go look at the homes of Others. Others Who Can Afford Gardeners and Maids.

My mom and I went on a great tour of gardens this afternoon. My new loves: Baggesen’s Gold shrub honeysuckle, California incense cedar, honey locust, climbing hydrangea, verbena, hostas, candy hearts, clematis… I got so many ideas from the three places where we stopped, I do not know where to start. Perhaps with art. My favorite garden was stuffed full of tiny and big sculptures, pieces of blown glass, decorative stepping stones, everything. It was delightful and a little kooky. But in a genuinely kooky way, not a “Look at me, I’m so kooky!” way. I do not like the “deliberate kook” she is not my style. Wacky Girl went with us and fell in love with the bus stop-sized outdoor hangout that had benches, pillows and shade and everything she’s ever dreamed of, and was just the right size for an almost-8-year-old.

I liked the greenhouse next to it. Ahhhh…

And… in lieu of a real review… next to the DVD player and and next to the nightstand at Wacky House we have:

Punk Rock Dad, by Jim Lindberg (Pennywise lead singer) — totally hilarious read. I’ll give it a full review soon (with help from the Pink-Haired Housewife, I’m hoping) but in the meantime — go pick up a copy. Pick up two and give the extra to a friend. Perfect baby shower gift, anniversary gift or birthday present for the dads (and moms) out there. He’s such a good writer, and so funny.

When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts, a Spike Lee Joint, Pick up a copy of this one, too. And please do not forget, when you’re thinking about Darfur and orphans abroad and the movie stars who love them — New Orleans and the South still desperately need our help. Do what you can and do it now.

Sunshine State, directed by John Sayles

Strictly Ballroom, directed by Baz Luhrmann

Onions in the Stew, by Betty MacDonald

Blood Diamond, directed by Edward Zwick

(Yeah, try to figure out how my brain works based on that list.)

Love,

WM

Working, not working, interviewing, not interviewing — trying to figure it all out is always a puzzle over here. So I said to myself, Self, this is not going to work. I know you had your heart set on this Getting the Career Going Again thing and all, but give up.

The time, sister, is not right.

So I called the nice man who sent me the nice letter, requesting that I apply for this job, and I gave my regrets. He said he understood, and he was awfully sorry. Then the next day I called back and said, Any chance I can change my mind on that? And he said he understood, and fit me right in.

The interview was this morning. I got there 15 minutes early, dressed all spiffy, checked in with the receptionist, who gave me a list of Five Extremely Tricky Questions. I spent the next 15 minutes writing and revising my answers. Then I waited. And waited some more.

The problem was… while the receptionist had my name on her list, the supervisors who were supposed to interview me did not have my name on their list. So they interviewed the person right before me and left me sitting. And sitting. And sitting. Until finally the receptionist, who was just a sweetie, said, “Oh! You’re still here!” and was nice enough to call up the supervisors.

Who had left for lunch.

So she fit me into a later slot, and told me to come back at 1. (My original appointment was for 11:30.)

Have you guessed it yet? It’s a government job. So I went and grabbed lunch, came back, nailed the interview, called the temp job (also a government job) to tell them sorry, I would not be in for the afternoon, picked up the kids and came home.

We filled up the wading pool. I hung out the laundry and felt content. I may have had a glass of pinot grigio. Knowing that week after next (fast, by government standards) I will know whether or not I have a brand new job. Wish me luck, would you?

“Rhodsie said, ‘Well, you’ve got the world by the tail now. You’re all healthy and Betty’s got a job with the Government. Government jobs are awful good for women. You get sick leave and annual leave and you can cash your checks anywhere.'”

— from “Anybody Can Do Anything”
Betty MacDonald

Thirteeners! It’s still Thursday, if my calendar is right. I am not too late to post. I am short on time, however, as my husband just left for a baseball game with his buddy, leaving me in charge of bedtime for two small children.

It’s a shocker, really, having to put my own kids to bed. But since I’ve started back to work (it feels so weird to type that), he’s been totally responsible for getting them out the door in the morning. So it’s only fair.

Here ya go: 13 Things I’d Blog About Right Now if I Could Grab a Minute (or Ten). (And no links, cuz no time. Sorry.)

1) My love for General Hospital and Land of the Lost and their weird correlation in my head.

2) A treatise on the magic of duct tape.

3) Teen Parenthood: Why It’s a Great Idea, as written by frazzled 42-year-old housewife. Oops, working outside of the home wife.

4) My new schedule and why it rocks! (Except for mid-afternoon, when I can barely keep my eyes open cuz I get up so early now. And once we get home, when I survey the chaos around me. Don’t forget the immortal words of Erma Bombeck: It takes wet laundry three days to mold.) How in spite of all this… I love working. I love earning my own money. I love getting a break. I love being around people who don’t chant SPONGEBOB SQUARE PANTS spongebob square pants SPONGE BOB! SQUARE PANTS! all. frickin’. day. long.

5) Dress codes. My office has one and the kids’ school does not. Q&A with myself.

6) Potatoes! Corn! Hollyhocks! And all the wonders of my garden and yard. A photo essay.

7) How I bit my tongue and didn’t scream, “TAKE HER BACK TO THE POUND! QUICK! NOW!!!! BEFORE YOU GET MORE ATTACHED TO HER!” when my co-worker described her sweet lil black Lab pup. Aren’t Labs the best? So well-behaved! Except for when she tore out her stitches after surgery. And destroyed the flower bed. And how she keeps them up all night, because she’s lonely. I just showed her a picture of Wacky Dog and smiled.

8) My husband’s beloved Buffalo Sabres. Will they bite the dust in the series?

9) My intrigue with the book “The Feminine Mistake,” by Leslie Bennetts. Can I blog about it without stoking the fires of the Mommy Wars? Yes, I believe I can.

10) Lice. Are we shut of them for good, pray tell?

11) Kids. Why I’m Thrilled I Have Two and Not More. Would include a sidebar: Must every conversation include one of the following: Butts, underwear (their own and other people’s), people’s butts being set on fire, people who can set other people’s butts on fire, poop, pee, farting, booties, how they are Lords of the Buttfire? (I just read that paragraph aloud to them and they literally crashed onto the floor laughing.)

12) Summer plans. Including a discussion of why I won’t be able to hang out laundry because neighbor’s cherry tree is insane out of control. Includes a brief re-cap of the discussion I had with my tree guy, who advised that we move rather than mess with this tree. Sidebar: Will we ever move? An update.

13) My inability to plan ahead.

Happy Thursday, everyone.

WM

I’d like to say that I got up earlier than usual, just so I could post, but that would be a lie. I’m running late. I haven’t had my coffee. But I know when I go to read my favorite blogs and they haven’t updated, I get grouchy. Grouchy! How lame is that, to let the Information Superhighway dictate your moods? Y’all are great writers and photographers — I need my fix of your art. Oh, yeah — you’re great moms, too. But today, that is third on the list of your accomplishments.

* We’re still planning on moving to Iowa. No job offers yet. In the meantime, maybe I should… (more…)

from Zip:

“The real trouble with reality is that there’s no background music.”
— anon.

(Unless you’re me, then there’s always a Beastie Boys song playing somewhere in the background.)

Homeschooling, Day 8:

(more…)

Our hair has never looked better. No bugs or eggs spotted recently.

On another bright and shiny note — I slept until 7, then woke up for a second and slept until 9:38, then woke up for a fleeting moment and slept until 10:15.

Ah, who’s the dirty slut?

The kids? What kids? Their dad fed one of them breakfast while the other one slept in, too. (That would be my girl, who is Mini-Me in so many ways. Poor thing. She acted exactly like me last night when she had a one-hour freak-out because she. Could. NOT! find her favorite pajama bottoms. They are size 12. They are huge on her. But they are silky and have blue butterflies so HAND THEM OVER! I would, if I could remember where I stashed them.)

After she woke up, at who knows what time because I was sound asleep, she and her brother played quietly while I slept.

My husband went off to work, taking my van with him. Called out something about filling the tank for me. The grocery delivery guy will be here soon. They refuse tips.

Who says dreams can’t come true?

Funny, since there’s no snow, that we should have a two-hour late school opening today. And no morning pre-k for Wacky Boy. There is the teensiest bit of snow — a dusting on the cars, a few flakes (that are already melting) on the lawns. Go talk to PPS about this one, would you?

I’m a slacker, in general. And a stay-at-home mom, to boot. So I don’t mind a mellow schedule. But my kids are hardly ever in school.

“Rarely is the question asked, is our children learning?”
— George W. Bush

Ed. to say: 1 p.m. no snow at all. In fact, we didn’t have any “real snow” over here at all — just gray skies, clear skies, sun and a little bit of a breeze. This being Oregon. I took FOUR BOXES OF STUFF to Goodwill and left a ton of recycling by the curb. We’ve also packed a dozen boxes of stuff we can live without to go into the attic. Less clutter = less crazy. Who the hell knew? (My husband. He’s been begging me for years to get rid of some of my junk. Probably one-third or less is his — the kids and I can claim two-thirds, or possibly more…) Anyone who walks into or near my home is getting a door prize — maybe a plant. Maybe a book. Maybe some recycling, because ALL OF THIS IS NOT GOING TO FIT INTO THE BINS.

I even itemized the Goodwill drop for the tax receipt. (You have to do this to figure out how much you can write off — go here for details.) Plus, the nice man who took the donation (all of it, even the ripped flannel shirts and college textbooks) gave me a dozen boxes when I told him we were moving. I’m getting lots of tips on moving from Iowa Drift — they’re relocating from Iowa to Massachusetts. She writes one of my favorite blogs — I love her style.

Yours in order and precision,

WM

One of my old friends — who is no longer a friend at all, I am sad to report — became a real hotshot. Got the fancy job, moved out of the country, then to another country, then to another country — became a big dog with her company. Married, sooooooooooooooo happy. Allegedly. Has two adorable children. Not allegedly — they’re real.

(Does she read this blog? I think not. Do I care if she figures out this is her I’m kvetching about? No, not really. I’ve told her all this before, in person.)

Am I jealous? No. I hate flying, and she flies constantly. My kids are also adorable. And we’re all allegedly happy. (Joke — we’re for-real happy.) My husband is, you know, a honey. And plays hockey and is a big strapping guy. Wall of Hockey God, I call him. Also, I actually get to hang out with my kids, whereas she works 50-60 hours a week. Yeah, I need to stop going around calling people “asshat” (thank you Snickrsnack Katie for a new list of insults — “asshat,” “asstroll,” pretty much anything with the word “ass” attached heh heh heh).

Where was I? Am I ADD? Possibly. All I know is that most people, when they take Sudafed, get jittery. I get focused and am able to complete tasks in an orderly fashion. Sudafed: Mommy’s Little Ritalin. We were talking, this former friend and I, it’s been ages ago, and she’s all “blah-blah, my exciting life, blah-blah, off to important meeting at the Consulate… What’s your schedule like this week?” It was a Tuesday, and she’d caught me in a Zen-like (probably Sudafed-induced) moment, so I said:

“On Tuesdays I usually bake bread.”

Feeble, so feeble. My daughter and husband love my homemade bread. We have a breadmaker, it’s easy. Takes five minutes to throw the stuff in the bread pan…

1 1/2 cups warm water
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
3 tablespoons honey or sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup oatmeal
2 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1/2 cup + 1/3 cup white flour
2 teaspoons yeast

Put on wholewheat setting, light crust. Takes four hours and 10 minutes until it’s done. If you want to make it the “real way,” follow the instructions on a wholewheat bread recipe for the kneading and rising times. Bon fucking appetit from the little mousy housewife. The little mousewife.

I don’t know what I said to her after that. (No, I didn’t give her the recipe — I just put that there for you.) I probably made something up about manuscripts in the works, a bevy of agents beating on my door, sorry gotta go, who knows. All I know is that I let my own, inane remark make me feel feeble and like “oh what a good lil housewife” for quite some time after.

Then Wacky Girl came along one day and saw that I was trying to find my way blindly through my day. Dishes undone. Laundry in heaps. Dog, kids, cats unfed. Hair? Yeah, a mess. Some days just are a disaster around here. She made me a list:

1 Make brid!!!!!! (She then crossed off the “i” and turned it into a “e”)
2 Wash dishis!!!
3 Take a brak for 8 menet’s
4 Plea’s go to bed

Then she worried for awhile. Would it overwhelm me, The List?

“Mommy, is eight minutes a long time? Because I wanted you to have a long break.”

There is nothing feeble about me, or my life. I taped her list to the cupboard and it makes me smile, everyday.

This is a wonderful life. It’s Wednesday. I baked some bread today. And wrote.

Hello, Internet,

You’re looking very pretty today, I must say. How’s the weather there? It’s supposed to snow here in Portland, Ore. (Ed. twenty minutes later to say: It’s snowing!!!) I’m doing as well as you’d expect, considering I have a throwing-up kid home from school and an eight-foot Christmas tree in the kitchen. And the kid wants to know when we’re decorating the tree, so I guess we’re on the mend.

Let’s all say a big huzza-huzza for that, and for grocery delivery services. If there’s anything worse than a puking kid at home, it’s a puking kid at the grocery store while you’re frantically grabbing crackers, popsicles and 7-up. The price of the groceries, plus ten bucks and a tip and they bring a box of food to you. Damn, I’d spend more than that on Ugly Dolls if I did the shopping myself. (Did I tell you that when we got to Iowa last week, there were two ginormous Ugly Dolls parked in the sunroom? Wacky Grandpa likes Ugly Dolls, too. He has Tray and Ox. Heh heh heh.) (Did I even tell you that we spent Thanksgiving in Iowa City? Where it is 60 degrees and sunny, and the grandparents played ball with the kids out in the yard. No coats, no hats, just Iowa sunshine.)

Hockey God hates the holidays, have I already mentioned that? He doesn’t hate the holidays, per se. He hates the holiday spirit. The pushing, the mass carnage, the hungry shoppers shoving Cinnabites into their pie-holes. I don’t know who un-Grinched him, but he’s ready for the holidays this year. He had fun on Thanksgiving. He is discussing the purchasing of presents, although he is unwilling to commit. It’s a start.

And he came home from running errands yesterday with this monster Douglas fir in the back of his pick-up. The trees had been out in the rain for a week at Fred Meyer, and ours got even more drenched on the short drive home. We put it in the stand (a new, bigger one, after another trip to Fred G. Meyer…) and there it stands, growing bigger and bigger as it dries, in the kitchen. I’m able to get to the dishwasher, just barely, and we can open the basement door so we’re good.

This is the first “real” tree that we’ve had, in the almost ten years we’ve been together. We had a live tree, that we let die, later, on the front porch, and a Norfolk pine that later died on its own; a couple of “Charlie Brown” trees. One year I think we counted the Christmas cactus as a tree, cuz it bloomed in time. About half the time we travel over the holidays so we don’t decorate much at all, those years.

Tonight the tree goes into the living room where the dog will not lift his leg on it.

Also, HG bought four boxes of lights. Red and green.

I have the biggest smile on my face right now.

Love,

WM