I am chicken-sitting for a friend who is on vacation.

The chickens are angry.

When I fed them but did not let them out to roam, they vocalized their displeasure. I have a feeling they will lay non-free-range eggs tonight in retaliation. These eggs of rage should be avoided.

I wonder if they know that if they combined forces against me, they could do significant damage with their sharp beaks and talons. I don’t think they know. I escaped the property unharmed.

My sisters were in town all last week along with my cute niece, feeding me, cleaning the house, taking care of the kids, playing games, initiating crafts, giving hugs and in all other ways reminding Laylee and Magoo what it’s like to have a fully functional mom and reminding me what it’s like to have family close by. Then they got in their car and drove 14 hours back home. Darn those ship-abandoning do-gooders.

They even kept the kids overnight so Dan and I could get away to the Salish Lodge for some posh relaxation time. I loved having them, the giggling, the love and care, the female energy in the house right at a time when Dan is working crazy hours and my pregnancy sickness is having a regrettable resurgence.

I really needed them. I miss them so much already. I want my girls back!

I’m sure many of you have heard about blogger Stephanie Nielson’s plane crash in August. She and her husband were critically injured and she has been undergoing surgeries and procedures for months in order to heal and get back to loving her 4 beautiful children.

Stephanie’s blog was popular for her obvious love of motherhood and the joy she found in the small moments in life. I didn’t personally come across it until after the accident but reading through the archives, it’s easy to see why she’s loved by so many people.

Since the accident, friends and readers have rallied to raise money to help pay for the family’s staggering medical bills. Most recently Sue from Navel Gazing at Its Finest has put together a book of funny posts written by some very talented writers and me.

Please consider supporting Sue and her efforts to help the Nielson family by buying a book or 12. You’ll get an enjoyable read and they’ll get a bit closer to having the financial portion of their troubles taken care of.

Guess who swam across a lake at 7:00 this morning and now has algae-looking stuff in unmentionable places? Not naming names. Follow my eyes.

I’ve been casually training for a triathlon I’m not going to compete in because my ladies are doing it and I’m nothing if not a follower. Last Saturday and then again this morning we worked on our open water swimming. There are many signs that we are taking this athletic challenge of athleticism in a very seriously serious manner, which include but are not limited to:

-Giggling like wee girls.

-Squealing as we stand at the edge of the frigid drink and then eventually needing to be pushed in (This will go over well on race day, I imagine. The shotgun goes off. There’s a flurry of splashtastic activity. One lone spaztard in my heat stands with her arms folded, dancing from one foot to the other, “OOOoooooo… but it’s so COOOOLDD. Tee-hee-hee.” Grin. “I hope I win.”).

-Doing the back stroke most of the way, even though one woman warned us that when she switched to backstroke in her last race, the medi-kayak was deployed to see what was wrong with her.

-Periodically swimming up next to another athletic athlete and saying, “Shark Week,” in a most menacing way.

I’ll be going out of town when the other ladies take the plunge, ½ mile swim followed by an 18 mile bike ride followed by a 3.5 mile run and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was just a teeny bit glad in the smallest corner of my heart to have a good excuse for my athletic truancy.

But it’s fun to train with them. Mostly. In the middle part. For a couple of minutes. After my body is numb and before my brain is filled with green water.

There was even one sublime moment during Saturday’s swim when a duck swam past me in a not creepy, we’re-all-part-of-the-great-circle-of-life, kind of way and then a bald eagle swooped down and grabbed a fish right out of the water and glided off to munch on it’s still beating heart.

If I were Native American or even had a Native American name like Pocahontas or John Smith, I think that moment would have moved me into postponing my trip so I could complete the race, a mystical sign from my animal brothers that I had raw fish left to clutch or races to eat or something.

Alas, I am the whitest white person I know so what it actually did after the initial “WOW” wore off was remind me that lakes contain things, living things, things that are cold, wet, slimy and potentially man-eating. If a fish were to bump into me while I was swimming, I feel fairly certain that I would make no sound as my heart stopped and I slipped ignominiously to Davy Jones’ locker.

Not thinking of my neurotic aquatic terror, following the first race in which I had gotten a tiny piece of water in my eye, I went to Tarzhay and purchased a pair of goggles so that I could see WHILE SWIMMING. IN THE LAKE. WHERE THE FISH AND DEAD BODIES LIVE.

I’ve always been scared of dead bodies under dark water but after watching that one scary movie where Harrison Ford plays a villain and you spend the whole movie asking “Han Solo, why’s it gotta go down like this Homey?” I now know that dead bodies under water are true.

So today as I swam along, I kept catching glimpses of my paler than death, whiter than normal white people arm flashing by as I swam. At which time I would die just a little, thus partially self-fulfilling prophecy, and scream under water, sure I had seen the floating remains of some poor victim of Mr. Solo. This would result in the inhalation of said water and in a fervent vow to never ever EVER again open my eyes in those way-too-clear goggles of terror. Then I would swim with eyes closed way off course until my compatriots yelled my name and pointed back to shore. I repeated this zig-zag pattern all over the lake, getting worked up to the point where I was sure that the skirt on my tankini was really a giant strand of semi-sentient sea weed tangled around my legs and bent on my most hideous destruction.

One of my friends told me after the swim that she was only in it to get an athletic body like the other triathletes she knows. I thought about this and I realized that hers is an unrealistic goal for someone like me.

People who eat cheese will never have triathlete bodies. I mean, they can sample cheese betimes at cheese tasting events. But I’m fairly sure that people who EAT cheese will never look like that.

That’s why I’m in it for the glory.

I have been thinking about it for a while now and have come to the conclusion that Facebook = one of the best things ever.

This afternoon I had lunch with a friend of mine from junior high band. She lives in Canada with her husband. We haven’t spoken for 15 years. We found each other on Facebook, she happened to be coming to Seattle on vacation and voila, there I was in a gelato shop downtown with my whiny kids, telling junior high band stories.

For some reason my kids thought the stories were boring and for some reason Laylee resented being toted all over town with an ear infection. After 10 days of home-bound sickness, 3 doctor’s visits and the start of a second round of antibiotics, I decided that we just had to all become portable again. Not sure it was the wisest decision but it was so good to see my friend again and meet her awesome husband.

There are people you were sure would do great things with their lives and it’s so much fun to find out that they actually did. It’s especially fun when your 3-year-old son falls in love with your friend’s husband and refuses to let go of his hand while your normally gregarious daughter spends the whole time you’re together scowling and refusing to talk to anyone unless it’s to tell them how boring they are.

On Sunday I found myself talking on the phone with one of my best friends from high school who I hadn’t heard from in years. Where did I find out he was still alive? That’s right. Facebook.

I’ve also used it to hook up with friends from film school, 6th grade frenemies who have miraculously turned into unbeastly adult-type people who will talk to me now even if I don’t have an ESPRIT school bag, and old coworkers.

It’s like an online matchmaking service for your past, a high school reunion without the awkward moments, bad dancing or drunkishness.

What’s the most unlikely relationship you’ve resurrected on Facebook?

Kathryn’s back is “out”. Not “out” as in “un-cool”; “out” as in “out of commission”. (I find her back very cool.) So she asked I post a little something to let you all know that she has not, in fact, passed away, but is merely immobilized for the time being.

Because staying on her back is crucial to her recovery, today was a unique Father’s day–I got to really be a dad, full-bore, the whole day. It was tiring, but I love my family and it was great to be able to run the whole show for them.

Thank you so much to those who have been aware of Kathryn’s sidelined state and have been so kind. Your encouraging words and especially your helpful hands (thanks for the dinners!) have really cheered us and helped us along.

One such friend, whom I will call Brandy, went so far as to take Laylee shopping to get a Father’s Day present for me. Laylee had decided (on her own) that I needed new “work shoes”. Not your everyday Father’s Day gift idea, for sure. I guess my current pair are starting to deteriorate a bit. So Kathryn sent her to get me a new pair like my old ones:

Instead, here is what she came home with:

Apparently, the trip to pick them out was quite fun, too; Brandy sent us an email afterwards to detail their exploits together, from which I quote:

“Laylee was so adorable today =) She made Roberto and I laugh the entire time! I’m going to try and remember the funny things she said and share them with you.

But first you should know that Laylee picked out the shoes for Dan all by herself-—she didn’t want to get him tennis shoes-—she wanted to get him ”˜work’ shoes. She was so cute-—very particular about which shoes he’d like. So, yeah — I hope you like them, or rather Dan likes them!

Laylee was very proud of herself. I pointed out many Skechers and Laylee would say ”˜those actually look like Bobsled shoes’ if the soles had bumps on them—-which most of the Skechers had. She said that about 3 pairs of Skechers. It was hilarious—-like when have you ever been shopping for Bobsled shoes before and how does she know what those would look like?!

She liked the fact that the shoes she chose would look good with “jeans… and even sweats”—-she’s so funny. I tried to steer her towards running shoes like you described or other Skechers that you had to tie up and had some design on them-—like two-toned or stripes, but she was set on black as he already had a brown pair of shoes. I had Laylee try on the shoes for comfort testing—-it was cute—-she tried on one pair and said they had ”˜bumps’ on the sides, so they wouldn’t work. She really thought the ones we ended up getting were comfy!

Laylee told us she made a Father’s Day card and said ”˜I wrote a Father’s Day card and put “To Dad” and other Father’s Day stuff’ =) It was funnier the way she said it because it sounded like ”˜To Dad’ was a Father’s Day saying or something.

Laylee said ”˜I am a good example in my family because I always have to remind my mom and dad to not say bad words’. Which after we laughed, I told Roberto it is probably words like ”˜hate (I hate peas) or stupid’ etc. But it sounds so funny coming from a child — as though you used swear words <ed.: We used to sometimes, in extreme situations, say “gosh”. I guess we still do, since Laylee has to remind us not too. >

I told Laylee she could pick out Dan’s favorite candy bar — so we were looking at all the choices and she picks the Hershey Bar and says ”˜I’ve seen him eat one of these before, so it must be his favorite’. Ahhhhh, too funny.

Laylee told us she was going to keep Dan’s present a secret, so it’s like ”˜keeping the beans’ instead of ‘spilling the beans’–too clever! =)

We bought Laylee bubble gum and she said as she chewed some ”˜it makes me smile because it is so delicious.’ She then stated ”˜when people are sad, they should eat food because then it would make them smile and be happy’—-she has no idea that it’s called emotional eating-—LoL.

So, it was entertaining and enjoyable to spend time with Laylee-—she’s great Kathryn!”

Thanks for “keeping the beans”, Laylee. It was a great Father’s Day surprise.

P.S. I wore the shoes to church today, and they were comfy and looked great.

Bunkbeds at Costco were ripe for the picking and who am I to argue with purchasing furniture when it’s in season? About a year ago they had them in stock and I wasn’t QUITE quick enough snatching one up. When I went back they were gone and we haven’t found a set as nice for as reasonable a price since so I’ve been laying in wait, checking back every week or so for the past 12 months, comforting myself for the fruitless trips by purchasing books and artichoke dip.

Dan brought home the impossibly large boxes and stashed them in the garage while I made the rounds of every store in the known universe looking for twin mattresses. I settled on some basic foam mattresses from IKEA because I’d like to keep our retirement savings intact and also eat Swedish meatballs at least once a year. I could not BELIEVE how much most stores were charging for basic twin mattresses. In this case “basic” means spring mattresses where you can practically see the springs poking through the thin layer of foam and plastic on top. You can certainly feel them if you make the mistake of laying down on one of those torture devices. For that price I could get two comfortable, if less than durable, foam mattresses and several meatballs WITH SAUCE at IKEA! The “spring” mattresses at ye olde mattress warehouse may have been durable but I’m pretty sure the kids would be praying for them to self destruct after the first five minutes so I decided to go with my “durable crap is still crap” philosophy and purchase the less durable, less crappy crap.

They’re actually quite comfortable.

After we got the beds up, visions of blissful childish room sharing danced in my head and I couldn’t help letting them try sleeping in them together the first night. We told Magoo that if he got out of bed, he’d have to go back to the crib in his room. Five minutes went by before we heard footsteps running down the hall. We found him spinning in circles around the living room with his head thrown back in the heady winds of freedom, a maniacal laugh escaping his lips. The laughing stopped when we tossed him back in the brig.

The second night he kept mumbling to himself about, “I no get out of m’bunk bed. I stay in m’bunk bed.” And he did. For hours he laid in bed talking to himself. We eventually found him sound asleep with Laylee spooning up next to him, a blanket covering them both. My heart nearly exploded. There’s nothing I love more than to see my kids be sweet to each other.

When I asked her about it in the morning, Laylee said that it was lonely way up there on the top bunk and each night this week she’s waited for Magoo to drift off before sneaking down the ladder, adjusting his blankets so he’ll be warm enough and climbing in for a snuggly sleep. This is why I became a mom.

Of course they’ve also been waking up earlier than usual and when one wakes up, they both get up and wreak havoc. Dan found them yesterday morning camped out on the kitchen floor with spray whip cream, chocolate chips and a whole package of sandwich cookies from which the frosting had mysteriously been licked. Some of the frosting was found on Dan’s computer and the doll house was full of chocolate chips. The two of them argued over which kid had thought of which little bit of naughtiness and luckily Dan got mad at them so I didn’t have to. I could focus my energy on the sweetness of their bonding.

I told him how much I love that they’re becoming best friends. “They do everything together now,” I grinned.

“Yes,” Dan smiled dryly, “Sort of like a gang.”

Do you have your very own marine biologist to change your Betta fish’s water? I do. I pay her with leftover enchiladas and stories about all the crazy people I’ve known in my life. She likes the stories and I like that when she leaves my house, it’s always cleaner than when she came and I always feel better about my life.

She does a good job hiding the fact that she may be judging me because I don’t eat organic biodegradable recycled soy milk or use free-range toilet paper. When I feed her and tell her not to ask what’s in the Mexican food, she doesn’t ask what’s in the Mexican food.

Tonight I invited her over to share some reheated culinary loveliness if she promised to close her eyes to the abundant evidence that I’d had several friends and their precious spawn in and out of my house all day, and hosted and cooked for a birthday luncheon. The main floor of my house was covered in a thick blanket of playdate sputum and I was seriously contemplating waiting 24 hours to remember what I wrote earlier this week and get my act together.

So while I rattled around in the kitchen, popping the pan of enchiladas back in the oven and nuking the other leftovers, she asked what she could do to help. Like any embarrassed woman would do, I told her not to worry about it and for heck’s sake to keep her shoes on when walking on my crusty kitchen floor.

She went into the family room and started picking up toys with unnatural speed. She picked up books, cars, blocks and spit-soaked Spiderman-flavored cheese crackers. She put away toys the kids thought they were still using and said, “Out of sight, out of mind.” In 20 minutes she managed to tidy up my entire main floor, the main floor that had looked like a tornado-ravaged Value Village. Then she joined me in the kitchen where I was ineffectually shuffling the dishes who were waiting for their turn in the magical automatic dish washing shower stall. In my house, dishes who are capable of washing themselves are never subjected to hand washing. It just wouldn’t be right.

She stepped to the sink and started rinsing the waiting dishes. She separated them according to shape, size and possibly color. As she went to dump some plastic silverware in an opaque pitcher of water to soak, she noticed something moving in the water and jumped, “AH! I almost dumped these dirty dishes in with your fish!”

I apologized for keeping JackAgain in a dish so near the drain board. He’d been there for 4 days because I was “cleaning his fishbowl.” In a miraculously non-judgmental tone, that somehow communicated “I want to save the dolphins but I still like you,” she insisted that he be moved back to his bowl immediately before he had a heart attack from the stress of his current living arrangements.

So she cleared out one side of the sink and brought his nasty stinky bowl of old ishy water over to wash. What happened next is a blur but there was a loud crash, Laylee had appeared out of nowhere, was now smiling up at me too innocently to really be innocent and the floor was covered in blech.

I muttered something about how much it stunk as I ran upstairs to get some towels. “It’s okay,” my neighbor called from the kitchen. “At least it doesn’t smell as bad as a dead whale.” She’s a marine biologist. She’s seen and smelled things I hope never to experience in my lifetime. She cleaned my house and saved the whales living in it. She ate my not-from-Whole-Foods food and asked for my recipes. She kept me company on another long lonely night and she told me I was a good mom.

I want to be that kind of friend. I know I’m grateful to have a few.

Note to self: When meeting the new people next door, say something innocuous like, “Welcome” or “Cute kid you got there.”

Do not compliment them in detail on their bold new kitchen décor… in their kitchen you cannot see from the front door… in their house that you’ve never set foot in.

When speaking to a stranger you hope to become friends with, it’s never a good idea to begin a sentence with the words, “Not that I was looking in your windows, but when I was looking in your windows I noticed…”

Awkward.

Sometimes they get hungry together and then you’d better watch out. This weekend I met up with some bloggy friends new and old for a lunch at Ivars in downtown Seattle.

I like Ivars because you can smell fish guts both outside and inside the restaurant, only they smell more appetizing inside and if you stand outside long enough seagulls will poop on you. They also have great food and this weekend they were thoughtful enough to give us over an hour to chat from the time we ordered our food until it arrived.

Jenny

Sometimes, if you ask for them to open the rolling blinds on the skylight above your table, they will do it, even though they didn’t even know there were blinds above your table until you pointed them out. One of your friends might suggest that it’s not such a bright idea since opening the forgotten blinds may cause bugs or possibly dead birds to rain down on your table.

Your friend would be wrong. Only large flakes of grey and white dust would rain down on your table. But it would be okay because you would have gotten your food by that time and so there’d be something to cushion the dust’s fall.

Kimberly

The food was delicious and there was some awesome conversating. Only a group of women who narcissistically write about EVERY SINGLE DETAIL of their lives on the internet could make a lunch date last for 4 hours.

Kimberly graciously knitted this awesome scarf for Laylee which Magoo has adopted and likes to wear tied around his head while he does ballet. She also shocked everyone by eliminating the separate checks awkwardness and just picking up the tab like any good Canadian blogger would do in such a situation. I mean, if you’re gonna drive to another country to humor some internet friends who are dying to meet you, the least you can do is pay for EVERYONE to eat lunch. Thanks Kim!

Annie Like the Orphan

Jenny was as fun and adorable as she seems on her blogs and the lovely Colorado sisterhood were all shiney and pretty but hard to talk to from the other end of the table. “HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN BLOGGING?? I SAID BLOGGING!”

Millie and No Cool Story were as awesome as ever. I just wanted to stuff them in my purse and take them home. I actually offered… 2 or 100 times and they politely declined.

Carrot was amazing to come out to this insanity with only a few days until her C-section. She looked great but would rather not have her 10 month pregnant picture plastered all over the internet.

NCS and Carrie

Ordinary Mom and Eve

Then there was Ordinary Mom, far from ordinary (in a good way), super cute and very fun. She lives near-ish and I hope we get together soon.

You should also check out Bella’s blog because she has a gorgeous speaking voice, 7 kids and she looks like a rock star.

At the end of the four hours people tried to head home and I pathetically chained myself to their legs and begged them to come over to my house for a sleepover because, really, having a life is totally overrated. No one took me up on it. “SPAGHETTI! I can make you spaghetti. Dan bleached the countertops and did I tell you all how pretty and sweet smelling you all are? I have a puppy over here in my van. Wanna come see?”

Millie and Bella

No takers. 4 hours of lunch with strangers is apparently enough for some people.

Can you imagine?

Until next time, my fun fishy friends. Oh, and by the way, Eve did come home with me because I was her ride and she just plain rocks and lives approximately 4.35 feet from my back door. As a reward, she got the best waffle cone ever and spaghetti AND as much water as she could handle because my refrigerator door is generous like that.