Hi.

I figured I would use my new and faster phone to pop in and say hi to any of the crickets still left out there who might check this. I have mo computer to myself these days, nor would I have much time to blog on one if I did. And the previous phone was so slow that in my sessions of holding a sleeping baby, I still couldn't update anything successfully from it.

So here I am with my new phone and so far it's pretty easy. I just wish I could update with photos from the phone. Come on, blogger. Get with it. What is that? It's silly, that's what. Especially for those of us mom-types who are on the run! Or is it "on the go"? On the go, yes. Not running from the law, currently.

Re-cap:
October was busy, November was busy, and add to that the good ole trip to Arlington, WA for Thanksgiving. Cut to December, where running the studio became the mist challenging it has ever been. People sick, gone on vacation, moving away, etc. But with the help of my staffers, we made it! January was my much more manageable, but the germs of Winter viruses invaded our space and we all took turns being sick. I guess we think that's pretty cool, because we keep doing it.

One common thread through all of this, however, is we have remained so happy! I love these darlings of mine so much, and in between all the nutty busy times, which I also relish, we have been having a blast.

Lyrics Police

Oliver's second favorite song is Poker Face by Lady Gaga. I was singing it absentmindedly today...

"Can't read my, can't read my, no he can't read my pooooker faaaaaace."

Oliver tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Mom, it's 'carry ma'". "What?" I said. He replied by singing...

"Carry ma, carry ma, no he can't read ma Pooooker FACE!"

"Ahhhh," I said. "I had no idea I was doing it wrong."

I have internets again.

We are no longer pilfering our neighbor's wireless signal - we chose to go with Clear Wireless and save a few bucks. However, while it is once again easier to use my computer, Her Majesty Sparkles doesn't always deem it pertinent for me to do so.

I am stealing a few minutes while she slumbers in the other room to sneak on here and say hello!

I have not forgotten that I need to begin New York Part Two. It's coming. I think Jessica is working on her own version, too.

Amongst things that have been keeping me busy are:
-Her Majesty Sparkles
-His Majesty Lego Batman
-Preschool
-Work: we were Portland's deal of the day on Groupon on Tuesday!

So now I am off to work to help out the front desk staff in case a bunch of Groupony types stroll through the door and need assistance. I have to load the kids up in the car now. Sparkles is going to be pissed.

Interim

I have not been able to continue the saga of my trip yet, largely in part to Roxy Girl being a major Klingon, and annoyingly in part to the fact that I am currently pilfering my Internet connection from some unsuspecting old lady who has to pay her bill from the jangling nickels in her Victorian cross-stitched coinpurse. The connection seems to be set to "hobbling slowly and awkwardly with a walker while attempting to shop for groceries" level.

This entry is being posted from my phone while my needy sweetheart is catching some z's in my arms. Also time consuming.

Poor Roxinator seems to be eyeballing me with suspicion every time I set her down. Don't you dare leave me again, MOM, or I will wreak havoc on your time and personal space like no other. God help me, you will rue the day you ever left me to drink that vile feces-from-a-can out of a false plastic breast! Did you really think I could be tricked? Think again! And feed me the good stuff now or I will never sleep again.

Oh, I rue, Roxy. I rue.

Really though, it is quite pitiful how attached she is to me this week and I feel so sorry for her that I am happy to oblige. I'm not getting anything done, but it will still be there later. In the meantime, I will allow myself to feel flattered by her love and absorb as much as I can of her.

New York City Epicness. Part One.

(The following is the story of my trip as documented by my iPhone photos. The real camera photos will come later.)

Well, hello, dear handful of friend-readers! I think you know that I recently flew (read: popped Xanax, clutched the arms of the seat, and passed out) on a JetBlue airplane to New York City. Most of you know that I don't care to fly in the air, or otherwise. I also still have a breastfeeding baby at home who has demonstrated nothing but disdain for drinking out of a bottle. I mean, how uncivilized. We may as well just give her a can of Diet Coke and a Twinkie and call it a gourmet meal, as long we're offering her crap. So there was just a wee bit of anxiety as the dates of my departure drew near. Joe helped push me out of the nest assured me that everyone would survive.

I was invited by this person:

I am not sure if this is her favorite photo of herself, but I think it's so feminine and pretty and sweet. Like her. This is Jessica, in case you don't already know. She's famous. She lives with her cute husband, Cyrus, and her sweet baby Walter.

I arrived at JFK at around 7am on Friday morning, and hopped in a cab to Jessica's house. She lives in the West Village, which, until I was actually in Manhattan, meant literally nothing to me. I get it now. It's so old fashioned and cool and darling and quaint and still everything is so vast at the same time. The streets intertwine and curve around, and directionally, I was stupefied. So I just followed Jessica around and didn't really pay attention to the street names, like when I am the passenger in a car.

I got to her building, buzzed her apartment, and then jammed up to the 6th floor (all stairs. Feel the burn.)and knocked on her door. She has been living NOT in my city for several years now (four! Gross!) and in New York for two of them and the only times I have seen her are in Seattle or when she visits Portland. I do get to see her frequently, but actually knocking on HER door in New York City was really cool.

She greeted me, we hugged, I took off my shoes in accordance with the row of shoes lined up next to the front door (they so brilliantly realized that walking around the apartment in their shoes was getting "New York on the floor". Good point.) and we had coffee. I even got to hear her operatic neighbor warming up her vocal chords for the day and it really does sound like Snow White hailing woodland creatures and birdies.

After a shower and an outfit selection, we hit the 'hood for some lunch at Mary's Fish Camp. We had lobster rolls, which is basically a whole lobster tail, some mayonnaise, a bun, and some fancy greens perched atop. It was the most delicious thing I have ever eaten.


After lunch, we went to a few shoe stores. One of them had the cutest ever, and I hate myself for not buying them. Feck.


After shoes, came the bigguns: H&M, Top Shop, All Saints (I curse that store for having everything I want and nothing I could afford).

We had big plans to go to a hip hop class at Broadway Dance Center, but the shopping and my non-sleep got the better of us so we skipped it in favor of drinking and eating.

After a pit stop back on Charles Street to let Walter out and pick up Cyrus, we headed to hmmm. Uh oh. Where? Oh yes! We actually did NOT pick up Cyrus. We freshened up and went to a little bar called Orient Express. As in "MURDER ON THE...". Except in this case, the bar wasn't at all murder-y. It was just shaped like the inside of a train car and decorated like one, with old timey luggage and racks, and the drinks on the menu had Christie-esque names. My kinda joint.

Whilst enjoying our cocktails and chatting, in walks the famous Amy Collingwood, or A-Coll, as she is lovingly referred to by her fans. Not to be outdone by A-Coll's magnetic and flashy appearance, her boots held a competition with her face. Of course, the face won, but the boots. Oh, those boots. Cowgirl kind with Swarovski crystals practically pouring out of them all over the place. She's lucky she's so pretty, because those boots were vying for attention in a serious way.

Back to us, we drank another cocktail (except Amy, who had inconveniently for opted for teetotaling during the month of September) and then made our way to dinner, where we DID meet Cyrus! It was pizza. It. Was. Pizza. Holy God.

After The Pizza (and bottle of wine), Cyrus left us to our own girlie devices and we sauntered to The Bar Where Everyone Sings Show Tunes While Some Guy Plays the Piano. I don't know the name of it, but our server was Barry or Gary or Larry. He was delightful and funny and brought us beers. It was small, it was underground, and it was so heartfelt and fun and sincere in the way that everyone was having fun singing to their favorite Broadway shows. We stayed for a million songs and then headed to another sing some songs bar, but that was way more 80's in an awesomely bad way. More beers. (I would love to insert a photo here of me punching Jess in the face, but I have not uploaded those onto my computer yet.)

In between those places, however, we were serenaded by a homelessy type man in a sombrero who made us laugh and laugh. He had one more to sing us, but couldn't remember it so he told us to hold on while he thought of it. 15 minutes later, it was still a mystery.

After the Awesomely Bad 80's Keyboard Singing Place, we parted ways with A-Coll and enjoyed a mini-break on a stoop before walking home. Upon the ground was a silver treaure. We actually picked it up and took it home for further deliberation on what to do with it. More on that later.

I somehow remember crawling onto my bed with Mr. Walter, and waking up to a quiet house... Day Two's journey was about to begin...

The Ice Cream Man

Earlier today, Oliver wanted to play on my bed with Roxy and me. I shuffled us all in there and crawled up on the bed with Roxy, while Oliver stood on the floor at the foot of the bed and declared that he was the ice cream man.

I asked him what kind of ice cream he had to offer and he told me that there were all different kinds.

Great! What kinds?

Vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry, he said. He demonstrated the flavors by doing a Vanna White flourish on my wall next to each imaginary dispenser.

Naturally, I asked for strawberry.

He asked if I like it on a cone, and I told him that I did. He gave me my invisible ice cream cone and I devoured it with glee. Next up was Roxy's ice cream cone. She chose vanilla.

Oliver walked her cone around to the side of the bed, but before he handed it to her, he farted on it.

And that's how ice cream cones get sprinkles.

I'm not even lying.

I live and breathe...

Also known as: I am still figuring out how to have two kids and make sure that my house and business don't fall apart. Plus, my computer doesn't live with me anymore do my blogging is mostly limited to being done via my phone.

Things in the Grahamily are quite delightful, though, and we are gearing up for a busy Autumn filled with preschool, dancing, winterizing the house, much baby snuggling and occasionally giving Joe a high five as we pass each other.

Oliver is the king of pooping every day (for the time being) since he learned that we let him do things based on whether or not he has pooped yet that day.

Miss Roxy Violet continues to crush life. She is stealing hearts taking names, that one. We are best friends.

I will try to post more often now that I have finally broken the seal and posted from my phone. A bit cumbersome, but I miss talking to you.