I’m all-or-nothing. It’s either blog daily about the state of my navel lint, or wait so long that I’ve got multiple topics that require a great deal of attention. Today’s the latter.

First, I’ve decided my dogs need a pair of matching knit helmets.  I’m telling you, this could be the knit pattern that solves every problem in my life! Because right now my primary problem involves those stupid morons I saved from certain euthanization attempting to tunnel under our fence into the neighbor’s yard to eat squirrels. Thin layer of foil at the base of the fence. Magnet glued into the top of the helmet. That’ll keep ‘em in place.

Although I can’t really call them morons, because they’re actually captains of industrial engineering. While Murphy, with her little mountain goat feet, frantically digs, Chloe the Basset lays on her side, using all four of her giant paddle-feet to clear the spent dirt. That’s pretty smart, for a couple of beings with absolutely no good sense whatsoever.

With absolutely no segue at all, today is Clara Jane’s last day in Mother’s Day Out. That’s the “school” she’s been attending since she was 18 months old, minus a summer and semester after we moved. Next month, she gets one step closer to real school when she starts the pre-K program at our public school. While MDO has served us well, I must say that I’m thrilled to be finished with the program. I think we’re all ready for the change. And yes, there’s a bit of bitterness. For one thing, what the hell am I going to do with her in school four days a week instead of two? It’ll be a challenge to spend that much time at the coffeehouse, but I think I’m up to it. Although I should probably use one of those days a week to maybe clean my house or, I don’t know, write a damn book or knit helmets or something.

I almost feel a little bit like my full-time job for the past four and a half years is being downsized to part-time.

Anyway, speaking of school, this week I’ve been sucked into a rather impromptu high school class reunion, thanks to Facebook.

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Damn. I didn’t actually mean  I was quitting quitting. I managed to be busy having fun over the weekend and, as is so often the case when I’m having fun, I couldn’t be bothered to update.

On Thursday I ran some errands to a few of my favorite Prettytown retailers. Andria, the button-cute owner at Circa, told me that she had a customer from Detroit or Minnesota who learned about her store through my blog. It was making us both nuts trying to figure out who it was. Was it you?

Also on Thursday, Clara Jane and I fetched my dear friend Kate from Union Station. She’s in town from Chicago for over a week.  She went right to spoiling my kid, as is the job of all my kid’s surrogate aunts. First it was a handful of pennies to toss into the fountain at the station. Then it was Clara Jane’s first Cardinals ballcap, which she promptly held out and used to ask people for change. It’s about time she started earning her keep.

Friday, we did dinner with Kate, then ditched the spouse and kid for a big yarn sale on the opposite end of the St. Louis area. Was it worth it? Oh yes! During this time, Morrissey followed us. We heard him at dinner, and later at Starbucks. While this sent Kate into spasms of bliss, it made me cry a little.

Speaking of bad singing, we ditched Morrissey and came home for a few hours of Rock Band.

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• Since I missed a few days and no one seems to be reading anyway, NaBloPoMo is officially over. I’m done. I quit. Phooey.
• Today’s the token chilly day in July, which is usually one of my favorite days. I’m in far too foul of a mood to enjoy it. Probably doesn’t help that I’m sitting at the wobbly table by the air conditioner at the coffeehouse, and therefore freezing my ass off. Literally. My right cheek is positioned directly over the vent and I feel nothing. Perhaps I need an Americano and some turkey veggie soup.
• By happenstance I spent most of yesterday with OtherRobin, which was most excellent. It wouldn’t have happened had I not been running around my yard in inappropriate shorts and no bra with unbrushed teeth right after rolling out of bed. When I put my dogs in the yard for their morning constitutional, I decided to view their latest masterpiece – the giant hole they dug under the fence to escape into the neighbors’ yard, where they will most certainly be killed by his pack of misfit, cross-eyed cats. What I don’t get is how stupid little Murphy is terrified of walking through a door that’s not completely open, and yet she has no qualms when it comes to cramming her lard under the three inches of available space between the fence and the hole. Anyway, I saw Robin and her kiddo walking past our house when I was going back to the house. My usual policy when I see other human beings when I’m in the yard in inappropriate shorts and no bra with unbrushed teeth is to hide behind the nearest large object. Like trees. But I forwent that rule yesterday and I’m glad I did. Clara Jane and Gryffin were so thrilled to see each other, and Robin and I wound up talking for an hour or so. They invited us to come over in the afternoon, which lead to our husbands (they’re hetero life partners, after all) joining us for pizza, beer, and some Wii-ing. And glory be, I even got Robin to join me for knit night! It was all pretty awesome. There’s been some social awkwardness over the past few months, and some much-needed shifts and changes. We’re shifting and changing and I’m feeling better about a lot of things than I have in quite awhile.
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This is the first time I’ve left my house in two days. I’m at the coffeehouse, pondering a second Americano to go, as today I return to being a responsible adult. And by responsible I mean, I’m picking up my kid and returning to that wife/mother business. Not as in “Who’s responsible for this travesty?”

I really should be on the road, as I’m driving all the way to Columbia, and I’d like to hit the yarn shop before I meet with my parents and Clara Jane forces me to ride the merry-go-round and vomit a lot of espresso.

My parking meter has expired. I’ve been cut off from the library because I owe fines in excess of their $2.00 limit. Yep, definitely time to behave like a 35-year-old for a bit.

I’ve obviously gotten off-track with NaBloPoMo. The thing about it is, sometimes I’d prefer to live some life instead of gazing at my navel about finding words to describe the experience.

Last night my pal Julie and I went to see The Apples in Stereo to celebrate her birthday, and much fun was had. Good opening acts, too, for once: Big Fish from Lexington, Kentucky, and The Poison Control Center of Ames, Iowa.

Despite the fun and bouncing and good time and good company, I would like to register a complaint. Nay, a lesson in etiquette to concert-goers. I guess having made amends with the last concert-goers I pissed off with my complaints, it’s time to alienate an all-new batch of folks.

1. It’s kind of okay if you push your way to the stage because you’re really excited about the music and want to connect with the artists and the tunes. It’s another entirely if you push your way to the stage so you can talk, text, or make trip after trip and trip to the bar.
2. Do not pretend the people are around you are invisible. If you do this, be prepared for that person to pretend you are invisible. If that means stomping on your strappy-sandaled feet with my One Stars, well, I didn’t see you there. Just like you didn’t see me. Right?
3. If you are a member of one of the opening acts. Say, The Poison Control Center from Ames, Iowa, I understand that perhaps you’re not in a position to hire someone to inform you how to act right, particularly when it comes to winning fans and selling CDs. Let me give you some free advice: don’t fucking pretend a member of the audience who thoroughly enjoyed your set isn’t there when you shove her out of the way to make your way to the front of the stage to chat up the chick who will have bruised feet before the night is through. I understand that perhaps the two free beers from the venue and the pussy may, indeed, got you dizzay. However, that’s not an excuse for being shitty to the people who could perhaps help your career proceed. Those of us who buy a lot of music and go to a hell of a lot of shows. Can’t say your band is one I care to see again, after having seen the back of the lead singer’s head through a portion of the act I paid to see.

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I’m at a coffeehouse in Clarksville, Tennessee, that appears to be of the fundamentalist Christian variety. I’m waiting to receive a massive electrical shock the first time I type the word “fuck” on their Wifi.

Hey. Didn’t happen. I’m slightly disappointed.

I should be driving to get back to St. Louis right now, since I’ve only made it an hour past Nashville. I needed to stop and get my head in order, though. The past few days have been such a whirlwind of crazy fun that thinking about it was starting to affect my driving ability. So I figured I’d get it out of my system while getting a coffee and some soul-saving, apparently.

Tuesday night – My friend Maggie arrived from upstate New York. She’s an English professor, and she’s spending her summer vacation trying to catch as many Nels Cline Singers shows as humanly possible.  I coerced her into driving 14 hours to come with Brian and me to see them in Columbia, Missouri.

Wednesday – Columbia. Deposited child with my parents. Went to the show at one of my favorite clubs. A whopping 37 people showed up. Still, the band played like they were at a huge jazz festival. Mind-blowing. Noisy. Incredible. After the show, while Maggie was being admonished by Nels for buying a ticket instead of letting them put her on The List, I encountered someone I’d had a spat with on the Wilco geek board regarding her behavior at one of the St. Louis shows. It’s in the blog archives if you care to dig it up. I don’t, because it’s water under … something. She recognized me, apologized, I think I apologized, and then we proceeded to talk for so long that I eventually lost my voice. Which is probably why Maggie coerced me into going to Nashville with me. Because a road trip with me when I can’t talk is actually bearable.

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The Nels Cline Singers show in Columbia tonight? Amazing and fantastic. How much so? Tomorrow I’m going to Nashville to see them. Perhaps I’ll tell you about it later. Maybe. If you’re interested.

It’s still Tuesday to me, as I’m still in my clothes.

Last time I did NaBloPoMo, on day fifteen The Cuz and I went to my favorite bar. Tonight, my friend Maggie and I went to the same bar. Now, lest you think I’m a barfly, I don’t get to go to my favorite bar very often. Nothing’s changed. The cooler’s still dead and they’re serving beer out of picnic coolers. Fine with me. Because when you’ve got an evening with a friend who’s driven 14 hours to hang out and go to a concert, bottles of PBR from a picnic cooler, a jukebox loaded with classic Stones, a mutt named Ruby, and a bunch of good ol’ boys watching “Sex and the City” you know you’re going to have a great time.

Tomorrow night, we stalk guitar gods.

That’s right. I updated the foodie blog! Food and canning were the only things I had to write about, and I felt guilty writing about them here when there hasn’t been an update in nearly two months over there. I figure since I’m on a two-week roll here, I should spread the love.

Clara Jane seems to be mostly over being sick. No puke in well over 24 hours! We ventured out briefly today for a cheese quesadilla. She had two bites and was ready to go home, which was fine. I’m glad I didn’t let her talk me into going to the Niki exhibit at the Missouri Botanical Gardens. She tried, but I pulled mom rank and told her it was too hot and too soon after she’d been sick.  Thing is, she was trying to talk me into taking her to something she knows nothing about. Oh, we’ll go, once everyone’s healthy and it’s not 200 degrees outside. Of course, the Missouri Botanical Gardens will probably be  purchased by foreign interests by then.

What ails Clara Jane? Her stomach. She woke up at 6:30 AM, which is unlike her. She was in a good mood and content to return to her room and loudly read I Will Never Not Ever Eat a Tomatoto herself. Or, rather, to the entire house. I had earplugs so it didn’t matter much. It would have been cute and thrilling, hearing her taking on the voice I use for Lola while extolling about orange twiglets from Jupiter*, were it not so early in the morning.

A few hours later, Brian informed me that Clara Jane had puked up the orange twiglets from Jupiter she had before bed.

She’s fine, but had a blah, sicky kind of day. There were several more vomiting spells, but it’s been quite a few hours since the last incident. She’s managed to hold down a purple popsicle, some milk, two bites of rice, and three wheat crackers. She has also taken to crying at, well, everything. But she took two naps today, and was in bed shortly after 8 PM. I hope we’ve seen the last of the orange twiglets from Jupiter on repeat.

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