This Week in the End of Denial, Folk Music, and Fight Club

My son has a lot of band concerts as we come to the end of the year. There are regional competitions he has to participate in; the cumulation of so many god damn hours before school and after school and on the weekends, and his band is kicking major ass through them all. 

He has to wear a tux top, black slacks, and black shoes, which makes him look awkwardly like his father (only really awkward for me, for obvious reasons I'd rather not say and make real *shudder*).

He's been wearing his dad's pants and shoes, which has allowed me to imagine him tiny, playing dress up in dad's old work outfits, and has kept reality at a lovely little bay. 

But now the band shows are coming hard and heavy, and so we took him out to get his own black dress shoes and slacks. Oh, hai, reality, your baby actually *did* grow up and no, that foot wearing a shoe one full size larger than mine now will never again fit inside my mouth. 

Matthew 13:42. That's all I'm saying about that. 

And while his father and he were busy fucking my entire imaginary life, this gongshow happened. 

    We can just go right ahead and file that under "Shit That Was Not in the Original Contract."

He sat on my knee and looked at me with those gorgeous green eyes and he promised me he'd stay little forever and I looked it up - staying little forever does not include doing Movember with all his friends next year.

The good news is that I got to have a lime and a coconut and a sleepover with my Texas bestie, which, contrary to the song, is exactly what the doctor ordered.  

I was also interviewed on ABC News about letting my kids practice MMA, which while not exactly an extreme sport by my definition, is extremely awesome and hopefully maybe a few other people will realize that.

This is me, trying to save the world - one bloody nose and molestache at a time. 

Last Week in Everything But That One Thing

And then I didn't say one single word about rehab for two whole weeks straight, because I suck. I'm getting to it, I swear.

Fact you may not know about me: I'm an athiest with something of a thing for churches. So, naturally, this happened while I was in Montreal...this being proof that I will never be a real Canadian like some people because I made the mistake of calling it the Basilique Notre-Dame de Montréal and not, OOOO! The place where Celine Dion got married! 

And then I had some Canadian meat and then I came home. 

And between then and now I haven't been able to figure out how to talk about everything that has happened, and everything that hasn't, so instead I've been talking about other things in other places. 

Like the fact that Voices of the Year closes at 5pm PST today, so if you want to nominate a post, you better click here, like, rightfreakingnow. 

Or like the fact that my 12 year old can make onion rings and so I will be keeping him chained to the radiator forever. 

Or that I can write a post about eating vegetables and find a correlation to skanky cheerleaders. Which, when I write it out like that, isn't all that impressive. Shit.

Or that I'm going to BlogHer Food for the first time ever and I'm kind of totally excited about it and stuff.

And eventually, I'm going to get to the rest. 

Cookie Assassin

My inability to bake a common cookies has been fairly well-documented on this blog. My business cards and email signature all brandish the label, "Cookie Assassin." I am trying to own my failures as a baker and a mother, but then tonight my kids bit into cookies that I had managed to make somewhat edible, but by the grace of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, they were honestly befuddled by the warmth and the softness of the entire event.

I think it's time to ask for help.

So I did exactly that, over at my foodish blog on Babble.  Or, if not help, commiseratory confessions will do just fine.

Nothing tastes as good as regular feels

In my quest to eat more for my blood-type and hopefully shake the "Everything Is Bigger In Texas" curse off my gigantic ass, I'm trying to cut out carbs. Again. There's more on that on my food-story blog at Babble Voices, naturally following up a long post about my deep and abiding love of macaroni and cheese.

The carbs...they're freaking *everywhere.*