tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91308752012-01-26T21:12:50.728-06:00Keeping it all in the family . . . or thereabouts.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.comBlogger2201100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-54758491643383377592009-03-29T07:57:00.005-05:002009-04-15T09:11:43.564-05:00

"Lasterday" is no more.Finn retired his neologism--meaning the day before yesterday, or really any day that came before today--some weeks ago. And I know, I know. I should have told you this early, but I've been trying to cope with this reality on my own. Not the wisest decision. It is a big burden to bear. And I also know, as I'm sure you'll remind me, that you could've lent some wisdom or

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-21900143522286881252009-02-11T10:48:00.005-06:002009-02-11T11:03:30.230-06:00

I think I may be emitting abnormal levels of electromagnetic resonance.Not a scientific finding. There were no doctors' visits or lab tests. I'm just going by the empirical data, my people. And the facts are these: my mail won't send, I crashed my backup hard drive (and lost all the "letters" I'd been saving since e-mail was born because I forgot to backup my mailchives). I can't log onto the

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-70249922123873482872009-02-06T08:59:00.006-06:002009-02-06T12:08:21.654-06:00

We had some friends over to the house a few nights ago, just for beer and banter.(Yes, drinking. In the middle of the week. Decadence.)We discussed her love of writers, my irrational fear of poets, his trip to Sundance, Bear's project in Syracuse. All over Boulevard, killer salsa from Los Alamos, precociously delightful drawings, and some delicious snuggles from both Finn and Eddie.Then I put

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-51848128016604166362009-02-03T08:56:00.003-06:002009-02-06T08:58:35.005-06:00

Last week, Finn and I decided we needed to go back for another look at the dogs. After about an hour, we walked out with Edwidge, our new cairpoo puppy.Yes, we ambushed Bear.But it had to be done. See, Eddie--as we call her--has one of those sweet faces and a wiry, scraggly coat that needs serious loving (and brushing). I saw her the first day we visited. As I walked by her kennel, she looked at

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-53121807147868810882009-01-26T18:04:00.002-06:002009-01-26T10:46:01.492-06:00

We looked at puppies yesterday. Yes, on purpose.The Dog Discussion has been in the works for a while now. Finn wants one--that's no surprise--and we've been stalling.The prereqs have been varied--and admittedly random: Finn had to prove he could take care of a smaller animal (two Beta fish, the second committed suicide), Finn had to wait until we moved, until we weren't traveling as much, until

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-68832727251873706722009-01-25T09:42:00.003-06:002009-01-25T09:45:26.832-06:00

We bought this ginormous can of tomatoes at The Costco. Read it and weep, baby: 160 ounces of San Marzano romas, peeled and bathing in tomato puree. Scrumpdiliocious.The only problem: now that the romas are freed from their tinny prison, we have to eat them. And I figure, unless you tell me otherwise, that we have a week to do it. Two, if we dose them with citrus.So forthwithit, we begin the

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-29041148581857659272009-01-24T11:43:00.007-06:002009-01-24T12:42:17.465-06:00

I've been keeping stuff from you. Secrets. Secrets that, had they any juice to begin with, are now dried up on the top shelf of clandestiny. You don't know about the failed diets, my trip to China, my all-nighters, my ill-conceived theories on the fifth Cyclon, and the struggles I have endured to cook, clean, and unpack those boxes that still haunt our hallway and now attic and closets . . . as

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-32817094690239174782009-01-23T07:30:00.000-06:002009-01-23T10:37:42.814-06:00

Yeah, I know it's been a long time since I posted anything here. Just shy of six months. And I honestly thought I might get away with just sneaking back in, dropping a post, and scooching out quietly .Then Carie, that dutiful yet lovely blogger of good hair, outed me.So here I am, 'splaining myself. I really have you to blame. You, and your contagious obsession with Facebook.See, after I sent

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-21267080236725578362009-01-22T09:36:00.007-06:002009-01-23T08:20:52.272-06:00

(and the music and the Pulitzer-prize winning article . . .)My aunt sent this to me--one of those forwarded e-mails that I often, often, often, delete. This one, though, I stopped and listened to. I like to think that, occasionally, I'm the type of person who would."Only then do you see it: He is the one who is real. They are the ghosts."Violinist in the MetroA man entered a metro station in

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-92204058970631819092009-01-20T07:00:00.003-06:002009-01-20T07:14:47.403-06:00

I, too, sing America.I am the darker brother.They send me to eat in the kitchenWhen company comes,But I laugh,And eat well,And grow strong.Tomorrow,I'll be at the tableWhen company comes.Nobody'll dareSay to me,"Eat in the kitchen,"Then.Besides,They'll see how beautiful I amAnd be ashamed--I, too, am America.by Langston Hughes

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-78743411690034309762009-01-19T21:06:00.006-06:002009-01-20T14:09:48.676-06:00

(So, for those of you who tripped into this blog looking for the son of Noah and the father of Canaan, keep surfing. The "ham" I'm talking about belongs to the unapologetically undignified and hypertheatrical Five, which, in loose Biblical interpretation and delightful analogy, could be just what you're looking for after all.)Five has taken to impersonating . . . somebody. We don't know exactly

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-50819775267389764092008-08-18T09:52:00.010-05:002008-08-18T11:13:06.414-05:00

About two hours ago, I abandoned you in your kindergarten classroom. I walked you to your room and eased you into the classroom filled to fire hazard with five-year-olds, their parents, and more cameras--video, digital, cell phone--than an AARP tour group on a whale watching cruise. Then I blew you a kiss, swallowed yours, and booked it out the door so you wouldn't see my inevitable and

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-83731032245346183632008-08-12T03:11:00.007-05:002008-08-12T03:40:02.515-05:00

So instead . . .I check my Facebook account.I shop the Van's Web site for new kicks for Finn.I read every single comment to the newest, and quite funny post, on finslippy.I think about the time I vowed to never go to a mommy's group again, when I had just recovered from my hysterectomy and some mom commented about me being lucky to only have one kid.I check my Facebook account. Again.I listen to

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-27346625436052228302008-07-30T14:18:00.006-05:002008-08-12T03:11:50.081-05:00

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-28157142593092032952008-07-29T01:00:00.004-05:002008-08-12T03:32:20.724-05:00

Dear 1988,I'm sorry I missed you last Friday. I'd like to say it couldn't be avoided--that I live too far away or I had a previous commitment or I'm buried in work or that I'm too cheap to book a flight back to my hometown. But those wouldn't be the truth (although the third is nearly literal and the fourth is a close approximation, except for those burgeoning frequent flier miles I have).The

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-46497241789678987512008-07-09T13:33:00.006-05:002008-07-09T13:46:35.881-05:00

So. I just took a peeksie at my analytics, the data about my Web site--who visits, how they get here, where they're from, how quickly they flee to some other site--and I thought it might be interesting to share with you a sampling o' keywords that have actually led the people to my blog.Just as a Thursday afternoon treat.(Except for the fact that it's Wednesday.)"his bra"--in quotesbuttpenis--

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-15486770912257739182008-07-08T09:41:00.007-05:002008-07-08T10:07:07.710-05:00

A couple of months ago--whenever it was that it came out in that blur of house fixing, cleaning, packing, staging, selling, packing again, and moving--we bought MarioKart, the Wii's racing game. It comes with a wheel--authentic gaming experience!--and the game itself offers a mess load of fun race tracks.Now, I must insert here, before I go much further in my story, that I notoriously suck at

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-17715727820202090462008-07-05T10:17:00.002-05:002008-07-06T11:51:08.406-05:00

When I grew up, the Fourth of July meant slurping homemade peach ice cream and hanging out at the neighbors' pool until one of them got too drunk and threatened to throw my mom into the deep end, which was our signal to pack it up and head home. (When I think back, I seem to also remember a bowl of keys? I wonder . . . )Of particular note: no sparklers, no flaming pagodas, no conical sprays of

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-28053145167754036452008-07-04T17:09:00.003-05:002008-07-04T17:24:55.323-05:00

We moved. Ergo, the silent treatment and mysterious blogposts.We've spent the past two week or so frantically packing, frantically panicking, and relocating all our crap (oh my, we have so much STUFF) to Kansas.Yes, we crossed the stateline, abandoned Missouri to all those who are much more enthusiastic about than we could ever be, and booked it to Dorothyland.And we love it. Love it. Love, love,

Barrynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-91286937714165185682008-06-20T22:08:00.003-05:002008-06-20T22:18:54.267-05:00

Okay. So I may have caused a mini panic in my two readers by my last couple of enigmatic posts. Some have you have trolled my archives and wonder if the Event of Which I Must Not Speak is somehow related to things that start with the letter C. I just want to let you know that my reticence to share things has nothing to do with my health--which, as far as I know, is good and golden for two years

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-71347405366261076292008-06-19T22:14:00.003-05:002008-06-19T22:38:35.357-05:00

Okay, okay. I'll write a post. But it won't be about "The Thing." Because we've vowed not to talk about The Thing until It has been committed to paper and signed and sealed with blood other than ours.So you'll just have to settle for subthings. And I really don't know what those are quite yet because The Thing has been consuming our lives for so long now that I really don't know if other things

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-8891137239345484522008-06-16T20:24:00.002-05:002008-06-16T20:29:36.633-05:00

From the bathroom: Thump. Thump, thump . . . thump.Me: You okay?Finn: Yeah.Finn: . . .Finn: But the toothpaste isn't.

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-73479201383945344882008-06-10T08:15:00.003-05:002008-06-10T08:20:42.727-05:00

Oo. That stung a little bit.Okay, so give me a sec here to peel myself off the floor , wipe off, and let my, One Glorious Reader!, know that I have a new article up at the Kansas City Star.And someone read it. There's a comment . . . there . . .

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-77273666838618486992008-06-06T01:21:00.004-05:002008-06-06T01:28:13.029-05:00

So, I'm going to do this thing. I'm going to enter one of my blog posts in a contest.Yes, I am. Are too. Are too. Are too. Are too infinity.I could be crazy. (Already confirmed.) Or just delusion, but I thought maybe it was just about time to bust this audience open to more than just you. And you. Back there. Hiding. Yes, I know you're there. Even though you never say anything and you just peek

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-693749897986100452008-05-31T15:09:00.002-05:002008-05-31T15:11:33.441-05:00

Finn: "Okay . . . that was bad. Papi! We need some more toilet paper."

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-40123186860663448912008-05-31T11:16:00.005-05:002008-06-02T23:11:07.445-05:00

Today is my nephew's graduation. Last week my other nephew turned 21. And I'm not there.I feel like crap. (Leave it to me to take two moments of celebration and turn them into my personal boofest.)I know, I know, they don't really care if I'm there or not. I'm painfully aware of that. I'd just like to say that I wish I could be there.I wish I could buy 21 his "first drink." I wish I could give

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-15826916440797216632008-05-30T21:57:00.001-05:002008-05-31T10:30:19.598-05:00

Dear Five,Welcome to our home. You'll find everything you need here--provided that what you need is similar to what Four needed: the spontaneous appearance of cupcakes, freezer-burned waffles, and the occasional eggs in shell; a teeming vat of Transformers; and the ability to pause Super Why or Ben 10 Alien Force when you find that rare Something Better to Do than watch four hours of

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-751288314066278842008-05-25T10:33:00.006-05:002008-05-25T13:47:05.124-05:00

We took Finn to his first concert festival yesterday. They called it Jiggle Jam, and it's a weekend full of seedy booth wares and bouncers, miniature hookahs that blow nonstop bubbles, face painting that made every kid look like an extra from Apocalypse Now, the unrated version (joke provided by Dennis!), a water fountain of nymphic decadence (and rather unfortunately, I mean that a little more

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-85842466707842496732008-05-22T12:21:00.003-05:002008-05-22T12:39:19.085-05:00

Bear and the KC in LA show got a minireview in LA Weekly. Shout it out for my Midwees!

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-73500479780242924972008-05-18T17:58:00.002-05:002008-05-18T18:01:23.822-05:00

New art review in the Kansas City Star, my people. Check it out. You know, if you want to.

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-85693966861778922442008-05-12T21:26:00.004-05:002008-05-13T09:28:20.551-05:00

I woke up yesterday thinking this year's mother's day would generally follow the direction set out over the previous four installments: I wake up (even though I don't want to), breakfast near bed, receive a homemade something something, and then lay out my trail of incessant and uncompromising desires that have finally broken ground after a full of year of tantrums and whining have beaten them to

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-42224513337207196532008-05-04T01:45:00.005-05:002008-05-04T01:49:51.028-05:00

Yesterday was freakishly cold. I had to pull the winter coat that I had intended for Good Will (but hadn't yet delivered) out of the trunk and button it up full neck.Which makes me ask--yet again--did anyone let on to the weather gods that it's, like, May? And if you haven't, could you send the memo for me? And be sure to use exclamation points, impassioned expletives (with more exclamation

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-41634965867753630702008-05-02T13:36:00.001-05:002008-05-05T13:14:33.762-05:00

But, someday, I will blog again, and I will fill those few seconds of your day that you may spend here before you bounce somewhere much more interesting with visions of colonoscopies, the madness of preschool, and flashes of my uneventful and boring dreams (which always seem to revolve around not having enough time to make my copies before I start my morning class at the junior high where I used

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-31553410344161283482008-04-14T20:42:00.004-05:002008-04-14T20:58:44.472-05:00

I don't know about you, but I'm caught in some kind of worm hole. I'm having a hard time believing it's already April, an even harder time believing that just three days and not three weeks has passed since my last blog entry, and I'm absolutely bewildered by the fact that Finn will turn five this year, that some of my former students are turning 25 (SHUT UP!), and that my nephew is graduating

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-44595979231238421392008-04-11T23:36:00.006-05:002008-04-11T23:53:42.486-05:00

I think I just saw flurries outside our window. Because the Lordie Lord knows, I'm not actually going to go out and inspect that myself.What up, April? I mean, you're April, for God's sake. The month of showers, not snow and hail storms. You are supposed to beget May flowers. But if you insist on this line of action, you will--and rather are--freeze off all the precious buds we have going. And

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-35411850696789379142008-04-07T01:47:00.002-05:002008-04-07T02:10:34.018-05:00

For the third year running, we're inflicting soccer on Finn. Or inflicting Finn on soccer. And for the third year running, Finn, as new player on new team, has earned himself yet another new soccer ball and yet another new soccer jersey.The world of sports and overindulgent wardrobing. The excess of it!We do, however, have higher hopes this year. This year, unlike last year or the year before for

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-84036829917236115222008-04-02T07:37:00.002-05:002008-04-02T07:38:04.701-05:00

Bear is friends with David Lynch on Facebook. I am still not friends with Jonathan Safran Foer.Whence the snoot?

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-32293485734486076672008-04-02T07:32:00.002-05:002008-04-02T07:36:33.107-05:00

I name this week in honor of Battlestar Galactica. Crisp Apple Streudel. All. Week. Long.

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-36304137356964973482008-03-28T07:07:00.003-05:002008-03-31T19:27:03.223-05:00

Jonathan Safran Foer has not accepted my friend request on Facebook.

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-57294527556649130602008-03-28T06:47:00.002-05:002008-03-28T07:06:16.473-05:00

As I'm about to write about Finn's newest passion, I'm concerned. Not about sharing this with you. No. Because you know by now that I'll share just about anything. Want to hear about my boobs? Done. Want the inside scoop on my colonoscopy or other invasive tests? I am your source. Want to hear about the consistency of baby feces? Oh, well, you should really speak up, then.No, what concerns me are

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-83578505770291121412008-03-25T22:08:00.001-05:002008-03-26T00:27:22.611-05:00

Bear, Finn, Sarah, and I (two Sarahs, and yes that is just as confusing as you would imagine) spent Easter afternoon in the bitter cold Missouri crosswinds, hunting for eggs (easy pickins) and milking cows (not so easy pickins) at Shatto Dairy Farm.(Finn literally milked a cow. It may have been the one that gives rootbeer milk. I'd advise you ask if he has washed his hands before you shake. He's

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-71643981379730053072008-03-24T23:57:00.000-05:002008-03-29T08:20:08.508-05:00

How annoying--I'm just going to send you another link. Pshaw!My third post is up at Art Motel Radio: Check out the project Bear and I worked on.

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-38124119523733590512008-03-23T21:56:00.006-05:002008-03-23T22:24:10.953-05:00

Bear and I spent a good portion of Finn's nonwaking hours playing Super Mario Galaxy.Well, of course, you say. A perfectly acceptable and, dare I say, obvious choice. I mean, what else is there that one would want to spend his/her time doing except trolling through Super Mario Galaxy?We could have been, uh, you know, like, cleaning. Because it's spring and I've heard tell that people do cleaning

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-41561352779536931972008-03-20T11:49:00.001-05:002008-03-20T11:50:58.344-05:00

Finn: Mama, was there a time when I didn't want you to go away?Me: . . .

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-18232150488195312152008-03-18T13:09:00.003-05:002008-03-18T13:13:27.566-05:00

Childhood toys and their drama revisited--with the help of Spike Lee.

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-17035757914313066652008-03-10T15:03:00.005-05:002008-03-10T15:24:36.221-05:00

Yesterday, Finn decided he wanted to cook. So we pulled out some bowls, spoons, measuring cups, candied sprinkles, glitter, and food coloring and cleared a chunk of real estate on the kitchen floor. And then he stirred sprinkled, and poured for, really, hours. (Or maybe it was just a long series of minutes. But they were consecutively occupied by the brewing.)He was so involved that I went into

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-25672710521202370462008-03-06T11:16:00.004-06:002008-03-06T11:22:44.423-06:00

"He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter, Now my sworn friend and then mine enemy, My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all: He makes a July's day short as December, And with his varying childness cures in me Thoughts that would thick my blood."--William Shakespeare, A Winter's Tale

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-13185022582058319662008-03-05T22:09:00.002-06:002008-03-06T11:16:22.552-06:00

Cupcakes!Bear brought home a four-pack of cupcakes from Baby Cakes. My ration: one lemon cupcake with lemon buttercream icing. (Keyword: buttercream. We don't go in for fluffy icing.)It feels good to be among the food again. Yes, those five hours did me irreparable harm that I will have to make up with a parade of good eats for the next several days, proving yet again the unhealthy relationship I

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-82844146637998852512008-03-04T20:40:00.003-06:002008-03-04T20:53:02.960-06:00

I got memed. By my sister. All complaints should be directed accordingly.Four jobs I have had in my life:1. Floor pimp at Chess King2. Teacher3. All-purpose Girl Everyday to family business4. BookclerkFour movies I would watch over and over:1. Cinema Paradiso (and I cry every time)2. Harry Potter3. Star Wars4. Lava Girl and Shark Boy (not my choice. Sorry, Mr. Rodriguez)Four places that I have

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-17675927952123762102008-03-03T20:16:00.004-06:002008-03-04T20:39:58.559-06:00

I started the Master Cleanse today, also known in more gentle circles as the Lemonade Diet.You've heard tell: for 10 days you live on laxative tea, brackish water (if the name doesn't sell it . . .), and a maple-syrup-lemon-juice-cayenne-pepper-water concoction. What's supposed to happen: a cleansing (as the title implies), complete with hot eliminations that results in one squeaky clean colon,

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-38266082399450015762008-03-01T09:29:00.003-06:002008-03-01T09:33:02.411-06:00

Me: "Well, goals are things you want to do. Like write a book or build a treehouse. Or a goal could be something you want to be when you grow up. What do you want to be when you grow up?"Finn: "A player."

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-81345208959527240692008-02-28T11:13:00.002-06:002008-02-28T11:14:50.896-06:00

"Dalton Howard stands, sometimes shakily, sometimes with brazen confidence, between the carefully rendered line and the paint drip, between geometry and the doodle."A new art review. Whoop.

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-79187741952958311992008-02-25T11:08:00.001-06:002008-02-25T13:00:15.214-06:00

[I'm stealing this idea, blatantly and with no remorse or apologies whatsoever (although I will cite!), from Notes from the Trenches--and from a writing prompt I used to give my seventh grade students.]I want to remember how you demand oatmeal for breakfast. Followed by Cheerios. Followed by a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that you end up eating in the car on the way to school.I want to

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-24587074428650874562008-02-24T14:49:00.004-06:002008-06-18T11:33:32.635-05:00

I don't know what made me do it or what trip down memory lane I felt I needed to travel, but I googled you yesterday.Is it because I miss you or that I miss the life I had with you (which in my narcissism could amount to pretty much the same thing)? Sure. Is it because I wonder what you're up to and what you've been doing since I left? Sure, that too.I found out, though, that you're much harder

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-43233529398391572572008-02-24T08:17:00.000-06:002008-02-24T15:21:20.015-06:00

Last night, I went in to Finn's room to check on him, restoke his "fire" (re: humidifier), and clear off the 17 books he had collected on his bed while he was "going to sleep." (Yes, I counted.)He was rolled up in his comforter, his mank (re: blankie) tucked under his head. As I restoked and cleared off, he woke up for just a second, to give me, with just one word, yet another peek into his

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-27952327387220079322008-02-23T12:40:00.000-06:002008-02-24T15:17:18.357-06:00

[Joe Jackson should be providing the musical backdrop to this post. I don't know how to so much make that happen, so please furnish your own score, if you would. Thanks. The MNGMT.]I have a new post over at Art Motel and a new review over at the Kansas City Star.Like, finally, dudes.Wanna check them out? Of course you don't. Let me reposition the ask. Check them OOWWWWT!

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-23656715143395118992008-02-22T01:24:00.003-06:002008-02-22T01:28:42.918-06:00

Tonight as I walked by Finn's room on my way to bed, I heard him call out to me. "Mama?""Yes, Finn.""Can I get an extra water bottle because I'm still very dirty.""A water bottle?""Uh huh.""Because you're dirty.""Uh huh.""I'll get right on that."So this is what Four and Half dreams about.

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-69801016990790565312008-02-21T22:16:00.003-06:002008-02-21T22:34:24.675-06:00

Really now, snow. Again? Are the masters of weather unaware that we've already had snow. And lots of it? That snow Has Been Done. A lot. That snow is so very last year?I don't know if I've mentioned it readers, but I'm over it. Winter. As a whole. And I don't believe I'm judging too quickly. I've "done" winter since 1999. A good, wait, let me tease out this calculation, is that eight? Yes. Eight.

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-19631579375640161202008-02-17T21:12:00.004-06:002008-02-21T22:16:33.433-06:00

Finn has found great humor and wonder in the fake burp.He'll bring it out any old time, after we eat, when I'm giving him a bath, after a particularly good story. Somehow, he knows deep down that it's a gesture of appreciation--a job, a moment, a reading well done. I don't know if he's been hanging with ogres or folks from cultures who revere the burp, but Finn has adopted it as his own calling

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-53808331237755594292008-02-16T21:25:00.000-06:002008-02-17T21:35:32.024-06:00

1. Workout every day every week when I feel guilty about not working out like it.2. Blog every day more often. Than I did before.3. Call my sister every Sunday sometime soon.4. Don't work on every weekends.5. Eat more fruits and vegetables chocolate.6. Be kind and generous. Every week. When I feel guilty about being mean. More-ish.

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-27047721774074481472008-02-15T11:52:00.003-06:002008-02-15T12:01:33.291-06:00

Wow.So much for that blogging every day.Right when the proverbial poopfest hit the fan, I cowered, slinking behind my broken desk chair and just watched the days tick by, without so much as a post or thought or even scribble toward the blogosphere.I do have some pics to backpost, so I'll "cheat" (allowable cheat, by the rules) with some photo documentation of how I spent my days. But if I'm

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-73774728123045248322008-02-14T16:22:00.000-06:002008-02-15T16:24:16.550-06:00

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-29111635446613020032008-02-07T13:13:00.000-06:002008-02-07T13:18:49.845-06:00

Apparently, if you whine really hard on the 'nets, the voice of Blog hears you and makes things happen. I am living testimony to the Power of Blog.Complain that your candidate didn't take your state on SuperTuesday? Whoosh bam. The Power of Blog gives it to your candidate two hours later.Complain that the winter weather is leaving you dry and near despondent? Whoosh bam. You shall be rewarded

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-89171069982172912002008-02-06T01:16:00.000-06:002008-02-06T01:31:46.326-06:00

Missouri is really chapping my butt.One, it's snowing. Again. Okay, maybe that doesn't bother me as much as . . . two, the state was called for not my candidate. Happy camper I am not.Especially since my buttocks and other parts are literally chapped, in that curious scaling that happens when dry heat meets 30something aging skin and cannot escape, but must burrow and ferret and claw its

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-74909533046029163402008-02-05T00:58:00.000-06:002008-02-05T01:19:34.932-06:00

That was my first year in college and the very first year I voted. My options: Bush Senior, Ross Perot, and Dukakis (who is not in spellcheck, by the way).I think.See I'm not sure who the Democrat was. Because I didn't care. About the Democrats.I was voting for Bush.I was a Young Conservative, bordering on Libertarian, steeped in Ayn Rand and objectivist philosophy, and a rather ardent proponent

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-89324902248387344602008-02-04T18:13:00.001-06:002008-02-04T19:39:24.893-06:00

Red meat.All meat but fish.Meat.Caffeine. (Now, who's talking silly.)Sweets. (That would be me. Hello!)Beer.TV.Craziness. In general.Not calling my family. (Which would probably mean more 6, 7, 11, and 12?)Leaving bitchy, whiny comments on people's blogs.Bitching.Whining.Whoring.

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-26281389844598592512008-02-03T12:24:00.000-06:002008-02-05T00:53:05.507-06:00

Have you been to Chuck E. Cheese?No, you haven't. And for a variety of good reasons. Like, it's magnet for thwarted adolescents, suspicious childfree adults, and snotty children (as in actually full of snot, although there's quite a bit of haught dripping from their sweaty heads as well). And the cheese? Maybe a little too chucky.And good for you. You keep on keepin' on. And don't you even pester

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-14977279326101396822008-02-02T07:42:00.000-06:002008-02-04T23:12:51.979-06:00

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-89744238617427633322008-02-01T14:42:00.000-06:002008-02-01T14:44:30.295-06:00

It's nice to see someone get diverse about diversity.

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-3597046119539821332008-01-31T20:28:00.000-06:002008-02-04T19:32:46.355-06:00

The prodigal AutoBot has returned. From where? He's not talking. (He's tight grille-d.)

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-11531089406969861282008-01-30T19:20:00.000-06:002008-02-04T19:24:21.591-06:00

Dear Bumblebee,Why did you leave me? What did I do?Did I lavish too much attention on you? Did my repeated and rather incessant attempts to transform, to master your puzzling intricacies put you off? Minute after minute. Day after day. Week after week--for the very short, yet impassioned, time that we had together? For that, I cannot, I will not, apologize.But did I fumble too much? Was I too

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-70970009859399351862008-01-29T23:43:00.000-06:002008-01-30T01:58:36.360-06:00

It started with an abandoned cardboard frame. (Imagine an unhinged triangle.) I grabbed it and made it into some clamping crab claws. Then Finn grabbed it and made into . . . say it with me now . . . a gun. And we were off.It's a heart.It's a steering wheel.It's a . . . frame?Real creative, mama.(My favorite: Finn bumped the two ends of the frame against each other and gave me this hint.Finn: "

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-76224227869573263222008-01-28T19:43:00.000-06:002008-01-30T01:42:47.684-06:00

I work at home. There is no watercooler to gossip around. The office politics can be vicious and one-sided, but they don't flare up too frequently. And although I'm a dutiful handwasher, possibly bordering on obsessive compulsive, I don't so much have to worry about rubbing up against the germs that cube-mate Sheila's first grader brought home from school and generously gifted to her, her family,

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-44307316570553501232008-01-27T20:42:00.000-06:002008-01-27T23:07:32.522-06:00

I slept through the better part of this weekend. Late morning wake ups, multiple naps, early bedtimes--I sampled liberally from the whole snooze menu.To catch you up, I spent last week helping my mom out. She had surgery and I felt, at the ripe age of 37, that I should jump on down and help out. Yes, it did take me upwards of three decades to figure out that I could actually be helpful in these

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-54536219928668543492008-01-27T09:09:00.000-06:002008-01-27T23:14:08.939-06:00

Finn: "Mama, you're unbrained today."Me: "Sorry, I'm what?"Finn: "You put my milk on your placemat."Me: "So I did."Finn: "And my fork is upside down."Me: "So it is."Finn: "See, you're unbrained."

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-82331158788580129372008-01-20T17:07:00.001-06:002008-01-20T18:45:22.530-06:00

It started innocently enough: my sister asked if I wanted to see a building implode and I said yes. I mean, who wouldn't? It's all snap, crackle, pop, and tumble. Isn't that really the way you should start any Sunday morning? By blowing everything up and starting new?What she neglected to tell me were the details: the butt crack of dawn (five freakin' a.m., my people!) that we had to greet in

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-80755107408500926972008-01-19T09:19:00.000-06:002008-01-19T09:23:22.614-06:00

Bear: I'm not taking any responsibility whatsoever for you touching the bottom of a hot pan.Me: . . .

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-32093460148659044742008-01-18T12:46:00.000-06:002008-01-18T12:46:42.442-06:00

"Finn, what do you want for dinner: stew or mac-n-cheese?""Not eating.""What do you want for dinner? Stew! Mac-n-cheese!""Not eating.""What do you want for dinner? Stew? Mac-n-cheese?""Not eating.""What do you want to not eat for dinner: stew or mac-n-cheese?""Mac-n-cheese."

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-59376934730386294222008-01-17T11:14:00.000-06:002008-01-17T11:17:01.604-06:00

"You know, Finn, I like hanging out with you.""You can't hang out with me all the time.""Why not?""Because, mama, that's not the way the world works."

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-84335254024037575212008-01-17T10:51:00.000-06:002008-01-17T11:13:41.494-06:00

I used to be a big reader. And by "big," I mean lots, loads, oodles, gobs of input.In undergrad, por ejemplo, I'd read a book a day. In grad school, I wasn't so much with the novels, but I'd easily clear that many pages, and more and sometimes in Spanish, French, and Italian. (And sometimes, drunk! Gotta multitask, my people.)After I left the hallowed halls, what, five years ago?, I kind of left

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-16189880668586444112008-01-16T22:49:00.000-06:002008-01-17T10:51:11.984-06:00

Hot pork roast stew, crusty bread, a glass of Madagascar Vanilla iced tea, and the promise of a snow-filled morning. Nothing better than hanging with my homies and enjoying the end of a long, gruelling, and stressful day.

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-16091650308303337962008-01-15T22:45:00.000-06:002008-01-15T23:23:49.648-06:00

Yes. Writer's block. One writer. One block. And it's mine. And you can't have it. Unless I decide to give it to you. Which I suppose, technically, I could. But then, what would I have? Because I sure as hockey sticks don't have an idea about what to write.(But I may, may, I say, know for whom I will vote!)Decisions are being made over here. Bear and I just finished watching the Nevada debate,

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-46023269675093435122008-01-14T21:35:00.000-06:002008-01-15T07:37:28.798-06:00

"What was the favorite part of your day?""Eating chocolate . . . . going to school."" Yeah . . .""Wait--I have one more. That makes three favorites.""It does. What is it?""Cuddling with you.""Like, right now.""Yeah, now is my favorite.""Me, too."

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-64463183943787283262008-01-13T20:40:00.001-06:002008-01-13T20:58:36.134-06:00

It's about 8:40 p.m. on Sunday night. I've got my PG Tips steeping and I'm about to settle in for a couple (or several) hours of work to get me prepped for Monday morning.I drink too much tea.Bear's about to cue up the DVR because it seems in our full sprint into 2008, we forgot to watch much to any TV. Damn us. (Or, "How committed you are to supporting your fellow writers!") And we had worked so

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-10335006041113978262008-01-12T12:26:00.000-06:002008-01-13T12:37:03.958-06:00

1. Stand in front of art. Gaze with purpose. Chat with purpose. See. Be seen.2. Escape to stairwell with a gaggle of girlfriends. Transform banister into space ship. Explore new worlds.

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-14381690627660947542008-01-11T22:41:00.000-06:002008-01-11T22:48:30.169-06:00

In chronological order, because there really is no other way:1. Got a comment! On a post! From a new reader! And I only had to pull out the caps lock once.2. Finn drew his first house, with a door and windows. (Eyes on the escape route, my friends. The door is small.)3. Bear had an opening at Byron Cohen Gallery. May have sold some shit. Saaaweeeett! (Translation: Excellent work, chap.)4. Finn

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-75981031101500963352008-01-11T15:59:00.000-06:002008-01-11T16:04:34.266-06:00

I've had a request to enable comments on my posts. You'll find that opportunity at the end of each day's (OMG, EACH DAY! This is taking the piss out of me) blogpost. You know, where it says "0 Comments." As in none. As in I don't have any.Yet.(Right?)I'm going out on a limb here, my people. And so help me, if you don't comment and don't comment nicelike, I'll . . . I'll . . . I'll TURN THEM

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-4109895227626977362008-01-10T20:18:00.000-06:002008-01-11T15:59:05.057-06:00

Finn may not be so easy with the dropping off at school, but he's not much into the picking up either. There is no Run for Mama Rescue Hug. Nope. My child does not own that consistency of character. Instead, he takes one look at me, and runs away. He is passionate about not going to school and equally passionate about not leaving it.We've learned to live with that. We've adjusted our expectations

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-84407223347549874052008-01-10T13:53:00.001-06:002008-01-10T13:54:20.543-06:00

You may have seen this. (I'm slow to the 'Tube.) But in case you haven't, allow me to present:

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-59712811816646712282008-01-09T21:29:00.000-06:002008-01-09T21:33:25.753-06:00

"You gonna read my blog. Like, ever again?""I read. I read. I just don't remember where I left off since you write like every damn day."

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-38294687157308755912008-01-08T22:15:00.000-06:002008-01-08T22:26:50.445-06:00

I don't know that I'll vote for Hillary Clinton in the primary, but I'll say this. When I was a little girl and the boys would say they were going to be president when they grew up, I would say I was going to be a teacher or an archaeologist or a soap opera star.Tomorrow, there's some little girl that when her turn comes around, she'll say, Me too, be-atch!

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-68129810483760435502008-01-07T18:45:00.000-06:002008-01-07T18:48:46.802-06:00

Finn started it.He put his hand in the center of the table, Bear and I quickly piled ours on top of his, and we took a family vow to have cracked-pepper ribeyes, pommes frites, and bacon-topped spinach salad every day for the rest of our lives.Okay, maybe every other day.Have I mentioned that my hubbin is the supreme ruler of the cast-iron skillet and, ergo, my tummy? And, uh, well, you know. (

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-49229625746563112362008-01-07T14:18:00.000-06:002008-01-07T18:56:49.887-06:00

I thought we started the morning well. We watched some morning cartoons, Finn had first and second breakfasts (the kid believes in breakfast), we headed off to school, and spent the car ride talking about the humorous implications of farce done well (or, what a thigh-slapper that Willy Wonka is. "'Member the turnover, mama?" "The somersault?" "The sobersalt! Now that was funny!")We got to school,

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-27458635102792116742008-01-06T23:02:00.000-06:002008-01-07T14:11:51.843-06:00

I can't--and I won't! I won't!--say this was a bad day. If you've been reading this blog, you know I've had far worse. This just don't compare.But some days, my people, all the cliches have to come out. And today was one of those pulling-teeth, herding-cats, there-must-be-a-silver-lining-here-somewhere days. It just was. And the drone that was Finn's whining and fussing and just plain being Four

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-17903251469873149642008-01-05T18:16:00.000-06:002008-01-05T18:22:48.367-06:00

It was a sloppy pour, but it was cheap and poured at home. Guinness is on sale at Costco: 20 bucks for an 18-pack.And that's my Daily Streudel, my people. Cheers and check that foamy 'stache.

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-56530729010533732042008-01-05T10:24:00.000-06:002008-01-05T10:44:00.826-06:00

Are you sitting down? I hope you're sitting down. Because if you're not sitting down, you're going to wish you were sitting down and then you'll probably sit down because you're so wanting of the sitting down.(Can you tell we cleared the whole disc of the Best of the Best of the Electric Company? I would you think you could tell. Tell me. Can you tell?)So, because of our binge viewing of EC last

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-85844710442839206162008-01-04T19:24:00.000-06:002008-01-07T14:13:00.490-06:00

Hey you guuuuyyyyssss! Today's daily streudel: The Electric Company. On DVD.And what, as I'm sure you're wondering, did they drop on the disk for the previews? Judd Apatow and Seth Rogen's Undeclared. It's about the beauty of rediscovering something from your childhood and finding that it's being marketed just for you. And it's about finding a kids' show--from 1971--that's way groovier, and

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-56864112186635971922008-01-03T16:47:00.000-06:002008-01-03T23:00:09.075-06:00

"Mama, you were right. Sam turned into my friend again.""I told you. I told you. I told you.""Mama, that is taunting.""But I did. Tell you.""Mama, that is still taunting."

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-9165978342317216452008-01-03T14:27:00.000-06:002008-01-03T15:07:26.657-06:00

Inkey and I have been having a little, uh, discussion about the nature of stockings. The Christmas kind. Those that hang-by-the-chimney-with-care kind.She has rules about stockings and their giving potential, and I suppose, as a good friend, I could let her have her misinformed rules about stockings, their price limits (boundless!), and capacity (infinite!). But I'm too good of friend just to

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130875.post-89419980664778005842008-01-02T19:57:00.000-06:002008-01-03T00:12:47.487-06:00

Listening to Pandora while I worked, discovering the Cold War Kids and old Radiohead, and decidedly NOT catching up with any set of the Halliwell sisters, the New York Missing Persons Squad of the FBI, or the elite Las Vegas surveillance team charged with maintaining the security of one of “Sin City’s” largest resorts and casinos.

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14114593683322349214noreply@blogger.com0