People near me may have noticed a bit of irritability lately. People not near me, if they could hear what was going on inside my car, might have wondered why I drove to work yesterday yelling "I hate you people!" to every vehicle that got anywhere near mine on the way. (In my defense, they WERE driving like dumb asses.) There are a few factors that may have contributed to this bit of a funk. The rain. The failure of not one but two medical facilities to be competent. But mostly, I think I was on the brink of a complete breakdown at the thought that everything on this here blog might possibly have vanished. Permanently.

First, an error message appeared on my admin page. Before I could contact my web host, my login information stopped working, which meant I couldn't post here anymore. A day or two after I started corresponding with my web host, the page, its design, and its contents disappeared completely.

Because the support folks are apparently on the other side of the world, and I've had a hectic schedule with work and family engagements, I averaged about one email a day with them. And the lack of fluency in the English language may have slowed things down a bit too, since some of my emails were used up asking "WTF did you just say?"

At one point, my web host told me they could get the website back up and running, but they'd have to recreate my account and therefore scrap everything I've put into it for the past year and a half. They told me I could ask my site design folks what they could do. I did and, although they were a little slow in getting back to me and I have no idea what they said to me in any of the messages they sent, my shit is back!

So, about that little family vacation... Coming up. Thank God.

I owe a post or two about our First Family Vacation, and it's going to come. But there are more important things afoot. My niece's baby daddy was horribly sick recentlly with sepsis (a blood infection). It was pretty scary there for a while. He's doing better but still in a lot of pain and will be out of commission for some time. The little family could use all the help they can get, so if you're in the greater Alaska area, make an appearance. Good times will be had by all.

BEN-efit for Ben

Beer, food, music, and silent auction

1-8 p.m. Saturday, August 14

Burkeshore Marina, Big Lake, Alaska

$5 suggested donation

How can you resist this little puddin' pop's pleas?

                      Help my daddy!

OK, look. This summer has been crap. It started out pretty fabulous: 80 degrees on Memorial weekend in Alaska? Unheard of. I was all "Yaaaaay! This is going to be the best summer EVAR!" But I was wrong. Rain, rain, and more rain.

And when you suffer through nine months of winter for the sole purpose of experiencing some of the very best and most beautiful summer weather in the world, as I do, and then that weather never comes? Insanity ensues.

First, you try to stay positive. "A little rain will just make everything greener and more fabulous and happy happy happy!" Then you think you'll just try to enjoy these couple weeks of wet weather, because any day now it's going to be scorching. Helps keep the wildfires at bay. But pretty soon after that, when the rain has stretched on through July and you know damn well that any real "summer" weather in August is unlikely... Then you start getting a little desperate. Panicky, even.

So a few weeks ago, when it was a little drizzly and Matt was off being an Alaska man in the woods somewhere, Lillia and I sat around reading stories. Then we ate. Then we watched a Strawberry Shortcake movie. Then we ate some more. Read more stories. By the time she went down for her nap - and left me all alone with my boredom - I was on the verge of institutionalization.

So when she woke up, I gave her a snack, put on her coat and shoes, and we drove over to the little local annual festival down the street. She rode a pony named Fireball. She went on a carousel. She went on the big slide. Three times. She won a little stuffed penguin at a fishing game booth and named it Gloria. She ate cotton candy. Then she started throwing fits so I knew it was time to go home.

      

But. Weeks later, she is still telling people about the "Fegetable" and Fireball and the big slide. And the fact that the sun wasn't shining doesn't seem to have made one bit of difference to her. The festival helped calm me down for a while, made me feel like we had some fun this summer.

But that was weeks ago. And it's STILL RAINING.

In order to escape the monotony this time, we are taking it to a new level. We leave for Idaho next Tuesday morning. It may not be a tropical vacation, but it's sunny and hot. And that is fan-freaking-tastic.

One morning a few weeks ago, I woke to Matt getting up early - really early. Apparently the beagle was whining to go outside before our alarms went off. I heard the sliding glass door open, and then I heard what sounded like a death cry. Over and over again.

In case you haven't heard, this particular beagle eats everything. Including fishhooks and screws. So when I heard that hellacious noise, I thought he was shitting something horrible. "Wow," I thought. "He's dying for sure this time."

I stared at the ceiling until Matt came back and climbed into bed. "What was wrong with him?" I asked.

"I guess he had to pee," Matt said.

"Well what the hell was that sound?"

"That was Pecker." One of the roosters. Apparently roosters go through a "voice change" as adolescents just like boys do. And a pubescent rooster crow is like something out of a slasher film. And loud. I'm surprised the neighbors weren't all screaming at us out their bedroom windows.

So the next day, Matt found Pecker a new home (one that may have featured some seasoning and a side of potatoes - one can never tell). And all was well.

Until 5 O'clock this morning. Our remaining rooster, a big white guy named Cockasian, has found his cock-a-doodle-doo. And, much like when 13-year-old female humans hit puberty, we will all suffer.

Any takers?

I have once again spotted the crazy bitch I mentioned here and here. As I was walking into my office building, I caught the maroon Impala out of the corner of my eye.

"No way," I thought to myself.

I turned to look and, sure enough: License plate number MS B.

And then? She parked. You guys, she works in the same building as me!

Luckily, I wasn't in the crosswalk as she arrived because I'm certain I wouldn't have been walking fast enough for her and she probably would have mowed me down. But I stood in the lobby waiting to see if I would recognize her when she walked in. I like to be aware of any psychos with whom I am in contact on a daily basis.

I couldn't make an entirely positive ID, but there was one strong possibility. Sans sunglasses this time! (Applause.) Not only does she work in my building, but she works for the same company that I do.

I guess I will be circling the parking lot before I leave work each day to make sure this chick is either long gone or far, far behind me. Or maybe she could just hurry up and get arrested for reckless driving so the rest of Anchorage could be safe on the roads.

Last weekend, a bunch of us girls got together to celebrate our friend Cristina's upcoming wedding. First we gathered around a table to sip champagne and present Cristina with some necessities for any good wife.

After we'd eaten and sampled the cake, we got dressed up for a night on the town.

                                         Go number 3! Woo hoo!

It was pretty tame.

We sipped on some cocktails.

We did a little dancing.

We played games.

  

It was all very quaint. And at the end of the night, when Cristina stumbled out the door of the last bar and said "I looooove you guys! This was awesome! Sommpbbt lenewr!" we knew the party had been successful.

About nine years ago, at a point in my life where I was - for once - enjoying being single, some cute boy walked into the music store at which I was working and asked for a Blink 182 CD. After he bought it, I clocked off and walked out to my car. He followed me, asked for my phone number, and very shortly afterward, I didn't want to be single anymore.

Seven years ago today, I married that cute boy. As with any marriage, there have been ups and downs. But the truth is, those downs have never been that far down, and some of our ups have been to the moon.

Thank you husband, for being constant. I have known for a while now that you're in this thing. I do my best to make this a smooth ride with a steady pace. But whenever we hit a bump in the road, rather than bail, you are always there to carry us over it.

I know what people mean now when they call their significant other a 'partner.' We are creating this life together, merging our individual ideas of how it should be to form something even more powerful and beautiful than either of us had hoped for. Another analogy: My canvas wouldn't be nearly as interesting if you hadn't splashed your paint all over it.

I still like you, and I love you bigger than the sky.

Dudes, remember the crazy driver who caused me to relapse into Road Rage a couple of weeks ago? I saw her taking ownership of the highway again last week!

I did not interact with her on this occasion - luckily, because I'm pretty sure the more I come into contact with this chick, the more likely I am to be run off the road. Or to run her off the road. Either way.

This time I was a lane over and a few cars back at a stop light, and almost thought maybe someone else was driving the car (which I recognized by its license plate) because she actually STARTED GOING when the light turned green.

A few seconds later, however, I knew this was my girl because when the car in front of her turned on its blinker and then slowed to make a right-hand turn, she layed on the horn. When that car got out of her Highness's way, she proceeded to tailgate the next car in front of her. When that one tried moving into another lane - TO GET OUT OF HER WAY - it had to slow down as well to wait for room. HONK! HOOOOONNNKKK!

A warning for all who drive anywhere between Anchorage and Wasilla: Maroon Impala. 18- to 22-year-old female driver who wears sunglasses on rainy days. License plate MS B. Dangerous. Do not approach. Bitch probably bites.

After all the desperate preparation leading up to my sister-in-law's baby shower, it turned out to be a rather easy-going event. People came, ate, gave gifts, chatted, and left. When all but family had gone, Kaili and her baby daddy fired up the grill and we all gathered around the fire pit for a game of dangle balls.

Lillia really liked carrying a set of "jingle balls" around with her.

My father-in-law Stan, a horseshoes champion, found this game to be right up his alley and took it all very seriously.

Kaili's belly did not stop her from scoring a few points for the team.

And someone even managed to get a photo of me in there somehow. There is a mom in this family, after all.

It was the start of a short, four-day breather for me before I go all Type A again in preparation for a dear old friend's bridal shower/bachelorette party next weekend.

After that, I will be photographing her wedding, which is, like, insanely stressful and also super exciting. By the end of the year methinks I shall have a pretty substantial portfolio.

And when that's all over and done with, you can be sure I'll have another creative project on my plate. It's already in the works. Details (possibly) coming soon.

And no, family, I'm not pregnant.

Let me preface my forthcoming rant by acknowledging that yes, I have suffered from the debilitating disease that is known as Road Rage. I came out about that here. However, even at the height of my sickness, not once did I ever display the serious symptoms and unjustified frustration of this madness as I witnessed Monday when I left my office.

Having lived through and often still struggling with the disorder myself, I recognized the symptoms right away; Two cars back, a maroon Impala tailgating someone right up to the RED light - as if getting to the red light faster would somehow get the driver to her destination more quickly. The headlights had an intense look about them, and it occurred to me that perhaps one's emotions can be transferred to one's vehicle. This driver was going to get where she needed to be and nothing was going to stop her. Not even rush hour traffic.

By the time the light turned green, I had stopped paying attention to the anxious car and its owner. But once I made my turn, the two cars between us moved to another lane and that left nothing but a few yards between me and crazy eyes. Then a few feet. Then a few inches.

In my past life, I would have brake-checked the shit out of this chick. But I abstained. I just continued on at an appropriate speed. When she had a chance to do so, the probably-not-older-than-18-years-old girl who was driving, at whom I glanced (and that is all, I SWEAR) when she passed me, got in the other lane, sped by me, and then pulled back in front of me. At which point she reached a red light. Again. Now I am behind her. And that is when she sticks her arm out her window and as high up as it will go and flips me the bird.

I didn't believe the gesture was directed at me at first. I actually looked around to see if there there was another, more obvious recipient. When I realized I must be the target, I gave her a WTF? look, which I doubt she saw through her sunglasses (NOT a sunny day, BTW) and tinted windows.

Starting to feel that familiar feeling of blood boiling and adrenaline pumping, I immediately began implementing my Road Rage Anonymous (RRA) calming techniques: Give her the benefit of the doubt. She WAS on her cell phone. Maybe there's an emergency. Perhaps she is on her way to the hospital or something. I have been in a hurry myself a time or two.

This theory, however, was quashed when, 10 seconds after the light turned green, the girl was still sitting there, refusing to move her car in the interest of pissing me off.

RELAPSE.

I honked my horn and still she did not move. Reminder: This was at 5 o'clock. Peak rush hour. Other cars wanted to get through that intersection. This time I layed on my horn. She started moving forward and so then did I. But then she slammed on her brakes - hard enough that the back end of her car bounced. This little shit was trying to get me to rear end her.

Finally she moved but, of course, took the same entrance ramp that I did a few hundred yards down the road. Before she turned, she made sure to slam on the brakes again. Luckily (or so I thought) she took the ramp to the highway while I diverted off on the frontage road. (It was actually a momentary victory for me, as traffic was moving pretty slowly on the highway and I blew kisses as I coasted past her on the empty frontage.)

Sadly, she exited on the same street that I was headed to and ended up right next to me. We both pulled into the roundabout at the same time and once again, she cut me off.

I was shaking mad. But I know better than to chase people down in their cars and ram them with my vehicle. (Lesson learned.) Those are the kinds of situations where the law gets involved. And then it hit me.

"911, what is the location of your emergency?"

I was able to give a full description of the driver and her vehicle, including the license plate: MS B. You know, 'B' as in BITCH!

My Mother's Day post, which had hardly a word about my daughter, to whom I give full credit for making me a mother, was admittedly a little strange. Not your typical Mother's Day post. But it wasn't a typical Mother's Day. It was more of a party. One that happened to fall on Mother's Day.

I woke up Sunday morning and immediately got in the shower so I could start getting ready for the enormous amount of people who would converge on my backyard later that day. Lillia's Mother's Day gift to me was her sleeping in a little late so I had time to do so without the "No, you can't play with Q-tips," the "Please stop touching the toilet," and the "Yes, you can have my blush brush, as long as you get OUT OF THE BATHROOM!" She also made me a pretty picture and a magnet with her pretty face on it. I opened it over a breakfast of French toast that my hot husband whipped up.

When I got home from grocery shopping, it was Lillia's nap time. By the time she woke up, our whole family had started arriving, including lots and lots of little children who are much more fun for Lillia than her mommy. I may have stopped her from eating the frosting off a few pieces of cake once or twice, and snagged an entire bag of Doritos from her a time or two. But other than that, all I saw of my kid for the rest of the evening was a streak as she ran by to catch someone else's kid.

That's real motherhood.

But Saturday was our special day. Saturday was my time with my baby girl, with whom I have now spent three Mother's Days.

It was sunny and warm - warmer than the average early May day in Alaska. Matt worked on his chicken coop while I cleaned dead leaves out of the flower beds. Together, we finished raking the yard and carried the multiple piles of debris into one inconspicuous location. While we worked, Lillia weaved her way around the swingset, ventured into the trees, jumped in the leaf piles, looked at a ladybug, chased the chickens, got dirty. I'd stand up to stretch my back and she'd wander by, so I'd pick her up and spin her around and she'd laugh and laugh. She'd kick a ball in Matt's direction and he would take a break from sawing and nailing to kick it back.

After her nap, she came back outside for more. We spent the whole day in our yard Saturday. Together. All three of us. And that is the reason we bought a house outside the city. A house with some land around it. Our land. For last Saturday. For the Saturdays to come.

And for all the Mother's Days we will celebrate here.

For the first time ever, I will have my very own yard (one larger than a half-bathroom, that is) to tend to this summer. I've done a little gardening research (but really just planned to wing it) and figured out what to do with tulips, lilies, and other favorites. Not necessarily because I think I will love digging in the dirt and weeding, but because I like pretty things. Things like tulips and lilies.

So imagine my joy when the snow melted this weekend (like seriously, there was a foot and then there was none) and I discovered the woman who lived here before me had already done some of the work. This Lilac bush is planted in the backyard near the swingset and already starting to bud.

There are a few raspberry bushes back there, too, and a variety of shrubs and perennials out front. (Look at me! I know about perennials!) So basically all I have to do this summer is a little vegetable garden and a lot of sunbathing. Fabulous.

Here's something you should know about my family, especially if you work anywhere in, near, or around a hospital maternity ward or birthing center: When somebody is about to have a baby, we drop everything and party it up. In the waiting room. With our rambunctious children.

  

 

We'll try not to get in the way, but we will fail. And you will get annoyed, so we'll make fun of you when you walk away after shushing us.

But please try to understand: We do this all out of love.

Consider yourself warned.

So, someone in Russia broke into my Gmail account last night. Everyone I've ever emailed received a link to a Viagra or Cialis ad from me this morning and, although I think some of those people were pleasantly surprised about getting hold of such precious information, the rest were probably somewhat annoyed.

I, however, was slightly above "somewhat annoyed" at finding about 50 replies from friends who wanted to know what the hell I was inferring, and several delivery fail messages from Craigslist addresses that have expired since I inquired about the futon or table or HOUSE their owners were selling.

Also annoying: My web host helpdesk is on my contact list and so, for every spam message they received, a helpdesk ticket was opened. And then when I sent an email to my entire contacts list informing them of the break in, my web host replied with a disjointed, clearly-written-by-someone-whose-first-language-is-something-other-than-English message about how I can fix my website once it's been hacked. (Psst! It wasn't my website that was hacked, sir.)

An exampe: The remaining reason this caused by the party website script that is vulnerable and having security hole.

Oooooooh! Now I get it!

And: I've been trying for two days to post a Flickr video to my blog and still can't figure it out. I don't even know who to contact to ask the question "How?" Web host? Administration suite? Site Builder? Flickr? Bill Gates?

In concluson, does anyone know of a web host that is easy to use? And works with AdBrite? And to which I can import my archives? And will attract tens of thousands of readers a day? And has an English-speaking helpdesk? Please advise.

Most of my time here in Kentucky has been spent oogling, drooling, and cooing over a particularly perfect little baby boy. It's exactly what I wanted it to be. But today, my bestest friend took me on a mini-tour of Bowling Green so I could take pictures - the next best thing to baby-eating. My little vacay is complete.