Saddle 'em up men. We're movin' out.

I started writing a new post a couple of days ago and I am just getting around to finishing it up. Life. It really gets in the way of my blogging habit. So here are a couple of updates to what’s below: Client concepts were presented yesterday and were very well received (yes!). We watched Charlotte’s Web last night and Miss 6 cried when she died (my heart!). Nanners came over for a play date after school and when her dad come to pick her up Miss 6 told him that she had taken her home already. In her car. And, thanks to my mom, I am now obsessed with Topo Ranch. I just ordered a red hooded sweatshirt with a winged topo on front. Just what I needed, right? AND I had coffee with Girl Friday yesterday which lead to my obsession with her necklace from Angie Starr. (I hope she doesn’t mind that I nicknamed her already ☺.)

So now that I have waxed not-so-poetically about my shameless fixation on material possessions, does this make me a grupster? And if I call myself one, does that mean I’m not cool enough to actually be one? I heard about them on the Today Show (wait for the opening ad) this week and while I take exception to the selfish component of this latest parenting label, I do agree that it’s okay to have an identity AND be a parent. And there’s nothing wrong with applying a little fashion sense and real music to both…so there.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled program:

Excerpts from a Thursday night
I may have just been called a dictator. By two members of my household. And you can probably guess which two. (All Beanie does these days is smile and laugh with that two-fangled mouthie. Her four teeth consist of the two front bottom ones and the top two fangs. Quite a sight.)

In my defense, things tend to come unglued around here when a deadline looms. Be it school, ballet or bedtime — deadlines send us all hurtling into chaos. Tonight was no exception. Miss 6 thinks “bed time” means “time to dance.” And proceeds to cavort around the house. Trying to squeeze in a boogie down before she beds down. Then it’s a quick attempt to color — which gets the mom kibosh. I decide to give her a toe pinch to send the point home. She responds by thrashing around and hitting her hand on the table. Big crocodile tears. Complete with watching herself cry in the mirror for full effect. Five minutes later we are able to determine that her hand has NOT been severed and that it is STILL time for bed. I say, “Take your clothes and put them in the hamper. Get your socks from the living room too.” To hubby, “Can you PLEASE brush her teeth?” (Note: I DID say please.) Next thing I know, Miss 6 is standing in braced attention and hubby is saying, “Jeesh, who’s the drill sergeant?” Translated: Someone’s on her throne again. Well. I say to Miss 6, “Good job, soldier. Dismissed.” She salutes and is off to bed. To hubby, “Don’t make me kick your ass.”

I hiked today. The knee came too. The b-partner and I decided that we needed nature’s inspiration to conduct our brainstorming session. When she left, she said, “We should do this more often. I guess winter got in the way.” “But it hasn’t been winter for THREE SOLID YEARS.” “No, I guess not.” Here’s to the next three (and some) being full of hikes and inspiration on the dusty (or muddy!) trail. We got three great concepts ready to present tomorrow. So there.

Did I mention that left hand turn client took a swift exit? I artfully composed an e-mail and that was the end of that. Wow. They took it rather well and we haven’t heard word one since. I think: learning experience. But haven’t I learned enough by now? Really.

Miss 6 came home this week regaling me with stories of a bully on the playground. I thought: What? In kindergarten? Apparently so. Two first grade boys told her and her friends that they were playing in THEIR area. So I asked, “What’d you do?” “I handled it Mom.” Well okay then.

Hubby makes pizza dough while I write. Girlies tucked in. Grey’s tonight. Even though the wind is a’ blowin’ outside, all is right with the world. And so it is.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Blower’s Daughter. Damien Rice. We’ll both forget the breeze. Most of the time.