Surely this didn't end well...



...and cripes, there are 3 people on this bike...

Wrong on so many different levels...

Dear Max,

It really is not necessary, on those mornings when you think I'm sleeping too late, to sit on my pillow, put your face right next to my head, and meow as loudly as you can into my ear. I am sorry I did not fill your food dish before I went to bed, but it was still half full and I just assumed that was sufficient to get you through the night. I did not consider the distress that being able to see one square inch of the bottom of that dish would cause you.

And really, I think I liked it better when you were punching me in the eye in the morning.

Sincerely,
The Woman

Wow...Max really is more popular than I. And I thought he had a big ego before...

You know, I've had brighter ideas than eating a funnel cake purchased at a street fair...

I'm kind of glad I found that long blond hair in it and didn't eat the whole thing, or else I might really be questioning my intelligence.

Wandom Wdnesday

• The book, it is in the editor's hands, hopefully for the last time. While it might blow, it no longer sucks. This, I think, is good.
  
• I'm going to miss the dead guy.
  
• I'm curious how many gallons of Seattle's Best iced tea was consumed in the creation of this book.
  
• It's the coffee shop inside Borders, BTW.
  
• A few of the people who work there have my tea ready for me by the time I get to the counter. One of these days I'm going to order something else and confuzzle them.
  
• Now I can help Max finish his book. He's having a little trouble with the illustrations.
  
• I'd take him to Border's, but I don't think they allow his kind in there.
  
• No writing will be done this week, though, because the Spouse Thingy is off and we are going to Do Stuff.
  
• If the wind would die down, we would ride.
  
• Maybe this weekend.
  
• I need a new book idea.
  
• One that won't take two years to write and only be 60,000 words.
  

My first squealer...

I sat at at table in the Border's coffee shop, pecking away at my laptop, trying hard to decide if I needed to use "who" or "whom" and if I screwed it up, would anyone really notice?

As I mentally hemmed and hawed, a woman walked up to the counter with a little boy in tow. He was impossible to not hear: Mommy! Mommy! Look! Look! Look! Look!

Mommy whispered harshly, "Shhhh."

But look! Looklooklooklooklook!

Through gritted teeth, "Stop."

But it's THUMPER!

As I looked up and wiggled my fingers in a wave to the little guy, she was leaning over reminding him it's not polite to point.

I didn't mind; he's my first munchkin-squealer. It was funny.

I went back to my mental gymnastics, and within a few seconds he was right beside the table. "I can touch it?"

I nodded and said sure, and leaned down a little so he could rub an index finger over my tattoo.

That's when Mom realized he was no longer beside her, and came over to get him, apologizing profusely.

It's Thumper! he told her again.

I'm not sure what her intent was when they first entered the coffee shop, but she got their drinks to go and left, dragging him behind her, listening to "Thumper!" until she was out of earshot.

She seemed embarrassed, but really, the kid made my day.

Overheard...

Little Boy: ...and his brother is very sarcastic. He's not even used to being around normal people.

Mom: What?

Little Boy: He's so sarcastic he can't even go to school.

Mom: What?

Little Boy: He's fun to play with but he doesn't even talk.

Mom: Wait...you mean he's autistic?

Little Boy: Oh. Yeah.

Stealth guacamole in a taco should be illegal.

The Spouse Thingy and I in 40 years...



...except I'll be driving...

Wow...the Boy is 25 years old today. I'd feel old, but you know I was very, very young when I had him...

I doubt we'll even see him today--his friends are taking him to a ball game, and I assume afterwards there will be much drinkage involved (hopefully not as much as last year), and he'll crash on someone's couch. Which is pretty much how it should be on your 25th, having a blast with friends, doing things your parents only wish they could still do.

Happy birthday, kiddo. I hope you remember it.