I Speak With the Tongue of a Thousand White-Hot Lies!

Not much going on here. Back to the day job, which went fine. It has started raining in the afternoons, so I haven't had to water my plants. I do need to go out and clean the bird baths, though.

I left a reasonably cleaned house yesterday, and came home five hours later to ... a not reasonably clean house. And the air mattress blown up in the boy's room, with a contraption known as a "bed tent" over it. Apparently Scott was going for the Coolest Dad Ever Award. The mattress and bed tent only lasted an hour, though, and will probably become known as the most epic scheme to stall bedtime, ever, in the annals of Zweeble history.

Today I'm kicking Scott out of the house to run some errands, and then I'm cleaning the house up. Tomorrow we pack for North Carolina!

... and the fact that I'm a big ball of brooding and obsessiveness. It's another 30 Day meme! Which means it'll take me six weeks, even if I double up on days when all I do is snark at a topic!

But what the heck. It'll be fun. Or "fun."

Day 01 - Your current relationship. If single, discuss how single life is.

Okay, I don't think anyone needs the full-on blow-by-blow of the 19 years that are the Laura and Scott saga, but our relationship is ... well, sometimes it's the most awesome thing ever and we are totally in sync, having fun and reading each others' thoughts, cracking one another up. And then sometimes it's not all that great and we're misunderstanding each other all over the place, rolling eyes at each other and arguing.

It's, you know, a marriage (when I talk about my marriage, I'm including the years we weren't actually married, by the way. I know, I know, but it's my brain). What are you going to do? I like the guy. He likes me. We've been through one hell of a lot of stuff together, good and bad and sometimes ugly, and yet here we are watching Torchwood and snarking at it. We made a Zweeble. And if you think being together for sixteen years before you have a baby together means you can predict what sort of parenting style your partner will have ... well, think again, my friend. New aspects of our personalities abound nowadays.

He's still my favorite person to hang out with. He's a good kisser. Making him laugh always makes my day; I never expect to, and then I'll say something and that hilarious giggle bursts forth and for a moment, I am a god. :)

I like my relationship. It's my foundation.

( next time, on Laura's Journal ... )

I have not had many solo Thanksgivings ...

The first one was my sophomore year of college. I was going to spend the spring semester in England, and then the summer in Florida, so Scott and I decided to skip the family Thanksgiving (I wasn't going to go home, but otherwise we'd have gone to his family's) and have Turkey Day at his apartment. Of course, that meant his roommate was also having Thanksgiving dinner with us, but whatever.

That was the year Scott didn't get the bag of giblets out of the turkey, so when Curtis sliced the bird, this white plastic bag was revealed, containing perfectly steamed ... well, things. Which Scott wanted to eat, but we wouldn't allow. He's still bitter. ("Yes, I am," he says.)

That was also the year where I made hockey-puck buscuits. Note to self: buscuits don't rise that much. Roll the dough out thick.

There were at least two solo Thanksgivings in Louisiana.* The first one was the time we cooked a regular, meant-for-ten-or-fifteen-people turkey for the two of us because, well, we didn't know any better. A 19-pound turkey is what you buy, right? So we did.

We threw the last of the leftovers away the following March. (It was grad school. He worked overnights. We were lazy. And poor.)

I also remember going to the video store that night, and being suprised that it was open.

And the other Thanksgiving, Scott cooked a duck. Because, 1. We didn't care about tradition, and 2. It was a hell of a lot smaller than a turkey. I recall it tasting fine but being really greasy.

This year we added the boy, and had Scott's new assistant and her little boy, but we did the meal ourselves (though my mom did a good chunk of the prep work and sent her portion of the supplies to us) and it was nice, overall. I missed my family, both blood-and-not related. I was sad that doggiesushi wasn't here to try Scott's mushroom pie, because he's the person who'd probably enjoy it. But I liked the quiet of the house before the meal, and I liked watching Scott work his kitchen mojo without anyone else there to hinder or help.

I love watching Scott cook. It's his thing. Food equals love. If Scott is willing to cook for you, if he offers and makes you something you like, if he piles on the pancakes when you come over, well, you're someone he cares about. I found a stuffing recipe I thought sounded good, and probably the nicest moment for me was when he made it and said it was also the sort of stuffing he'd wanted to try making for a long time. And as much as I adore my grandmother and my mother, when all three of them are bustling around the kitchen, I don't get much chance to just go in and watch Scott cooking.

So cooking=love for Scott, and today cleaning the kitchen=love for me, because I wanted him to have a clean, cleared space to work in, so every so often I went in and cleaned up, washed dishes, tossed peels and stuff. The man can cook in a three-inch block of counter space with one burner on the stove, but come on. The stove was on from 5:30am until about 2:00pm, and the dishwasher had gone through three loads today. :)

The highlight this year was both of us working in the kitchen together last night, just talking and having a meandering conversation. And then the pie crust dough--watching Scott roll it out and then attempting to peel it up ... and it came up in gooey clumps. Baking is not his thing. On the other hand, I made pecan caramel bars with a pseudo-shortbread crust, and that worked out quite well. It's not perfect--I don't have the shortbread crust figured out yet--but it's good. I always find it a thrill when I make something for the first time and it comes together, and you can tell it's going to work.

So, yeah, that was Thanksgiving this year. Oh, well, and the two boys running around the house, one 3 and one nearly 2, and ... well, it was fine, but whenever I have more than one kid in my house at a time, my conviction that one child is more than enough for me is re-cemented. Whew.


*We spent one of those Thanksgivings in Ohio; the last time we were up we found a bunch of pictures from that trip and the ones from when we were in college, and in every bunch there was a shot of me with a notebook, library book, or textbook, sitting and doing work. And it hasn't changed.

Took the boy to the monthly Art Walk.

Dinner beforehand was annoying on a number of levels, since the restaurant was ungodly slow and we wound up with about an hour to actually go look at stuff.

BUT.

Well, wait. An aside. Scott and I actually like to go to those city art shows that primarily consist (down here, anyway) of paintings of herons, beach sunsets, and hibiscus blossoms in extreme close-up a la Georgia O'Keefe. We like this because, tucked in here and there, you find people who do funky sculpture, or bizarre photo montage, or steampunky paintings of circus performers made from gears (except that was a few years before anyone heard of steampunk), or people who make beautiful wooden toys with signs that say "DO NOT BUY THE TOYS IF YOU DO NOT PLAN TO PLAY WITH THEM."

We like art. Scott responds to the visual quite a lot for someone who works so much with the auditory.

So it's important to us that the Zweeble be exposed to art. All kinds of art, really, but we've got music and books down, I think, so when a friend's SO was having his first exhibition, I said we'd all three be there.

(I sort of figured we'd take turns going inside while the other parent kept the kid entertained, really. That's what we did through our long-ass dinner.)

Okay, back to:

BUT.

The Zweeble, when told about the Art Walk, was intrigued. "I wonder what the artists will color?" he said.

At the exhibit, he looked and discussed and described. The name of the show was Leviathan Rising, and it was a lot of metalwork sculpture--tentacles, squid-esque stuff, some sketches. It looked really cool (and heavy. Holy cats, one of the pieces on the wall weighed 300 lbs. My house would collapse if I hung it). Z. said we were looking at "hair monsters." He dug it. He also found the monster toys they had round the back of the gallery, and we got him one that he named "El Button-o," much to the gallery owners' delight.*

We then hit the Howl Gallery/Tattoo, which I knew as soon as I saw it would be the place to take my husband. Pop culture! Comics! Funky art, not all comics-related! Huge wooden statues of a man and a dog! Life-sized statue of Yoda looking bad-ass! Tiny little Asian figures that Z. fell in love with and had to have one of! (Ant-Zilla is now El Button-o's buddy. I am a pushover.)

And, again, Z. looked at the art and checked it out, and talked about it. Yoda made the biggest impression; the dog and then man came next.

He talked about the art on the way home. Mostly it seemed to be something he needed to create stories about, maybe to explain it, or maybe not. But he really liked it, and he wants to go again. And it makes me really happy.

I want him to have the concept of the working artist. I want him to know that you can create things no matter who you are or what else you may do--that art is not exclusively for Picasso or Rembrandt; I don't want it to be, for him, something that other people do, or that you can only do in a large city, or that you can only do if you're rich. Or dead. :)

Basically, I want him to know that there are levels of success in art, and that it is available to him if he wants it. And if he doesn't want to make art, I want him to enjoy seeing it.

So I think that last night was a good start. Ant-Zilla agrees. :)

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*I was a little worried that a three year old at the Art Walk, and in the gallieries, would result in a lot of hipster scorn. But it was cold and he was wearing his Spider-Man knit hat, which--combined with his Darth Vader Lives skate punk shirt and glow in the dark shoes--got him a lot of comments from the other patrons. It restored my faith in hipster-dom. :) of course, he was very well-behaved (long nap), so that helped, too.

On vacation. Have hit the hermit mode of vacation. (I am an only child with a relatively small family, so the enormity of the family I have married into sometimes overwhelms me and I need to be Alone. I'm not actually physically alone at the moment, but the younger generation of men is downstairs playing Magic and calling each other various forms of "douchebag," and I have the parents-in-law mesmerized by Hard Day's Night on VH1 Classic, so it all amounts to the same thing.)

Today I bought a mockingjay keychain at Borders. And if you don't know what that is, well, read The Hunger Games. And then you will recognize the ultra-coolness that is my keys. Or will be, once I have them on the thing.

We also saw Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, which I freaking adored and don't want to hear a bad thing about because I liked it just that much, it made me happy, so keep yer criticisms to yourself, dammit. I didn't even get annoyed at Michael Cera at all, and I always tend to start out liking him and wanting to smack him and his cute elliptical line-readings around a little to get them to man up by the end of the movie.

Kieran Culkin for the win, though. Just sayin'. If Robert Downey, Jr. implodes again, just hire Kieran Culkin instead.

I bought volume one of the graphic novel, and I don't think this is the start of an obsessive reading jag like seeing and then getting volume one of Sin City was, though the two experiences have certain similarities. But I think the art may be too cute for me.

And this vacation has been movie-heavy, as we've seen the new Clash of the Titans (yawn) and The Hangover. The Hangover was not as godawful guy-movie as I expected, but was also not as funny as the hype would have had me believe. That said, I did enjoy a lot of it. I did not see the trunk thing coming.

But. Not as make-me-cry funny as 40 Year Old Virgin.

Now I just have to see if my father will take me to see Inception, as my husband swears to god he will not see this movie. Oh, here, this was our conversation:

L: I want to see Inception.

S: Why?

L: It looks really cool--you love super-visual movies, why wouldn't you want to see it?

S: It's the guy who made Memento! I hated Memento! I swore never to see another movie that guy makes, ever!

L: The guy who made Memento also made Insomnia, Batman Begins, and Dark Knight.

S: ...

L: In fact, so far he's only made one movie that we haven't seen.

S: (muttered swearing) I am still not going to see Inception.

So, yeah. Have to talk Dad into it. I owe him a movie for mowing my lawn.

All right. I think I'm going to go do some more of my Doctor Who meme, now.

My husband has been playing Super Mario for Wii for the past week. I would call it his mistress, but I was under the impression that it was the *wife* that made you frustrated and miserable in an affair, thus driving you to the arms of your more accomodating other woman.

Plus there's a whole snow level, so Mario has the frigidity part of the cliche covered, too.

WHY AREN'T WE WATCHING DOCTOR WHO?!?!?!

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Okay, seriously. I give my husband this piece of pure awesome, and he responds with Cerebus and Bea Arthur.

We are perfect for each other.

So back in, like, October, when we started sort of vaguely thinking about Christmas gifts, Scott told me that if anyone was looking for a cheap gift for him, this Hawkman figure they had at Target would be cool because he's never had a Hawkman figure, and he digs Hawkman.

The next time I was in Target (probably two days later--my gift to myself for Xmas is not going into any Target store for at least five days, even if I have to wait in the damned car!) I looked and saw there was only one Hawkman left. So I bought it and hid it away.

November rolled around and Scott and I agreed to hold off on gifts to each other until after Christmas. During which conversation I mentally waffled between gleefully rubbing my hands together and cackling, and rationalizing that I could make it a present from the Zweeble. Or my mom.

Here's the thing--you go to Target with the Zweeble, and he has to go to the toy section. So every trip since, I have looked over the action figures in order to see if they got another Hawkman, because I did not put it past Scott to not buy one himself. (How I would prevent this from happening, I do not know, but that was the thought process.) However, no Hawkman figures showed back up.

Until this past Wednesday.

I seriously thought about hiding it, since Scott was with us. But the last-minute-gift crowd worked in my favor, and we got the heck out of there fast ... and Scott got his Hawkman figure this morning.

(The gleefully rubbing my hands together and cackling side won, btw.)

This thing is pretty durn cool. Huge wingspan for an action figure, really well-made and sculpted. We're not sure why his abs are articulated, but it's not the 5,000 points of articulated mess that is the Zweeble's Beast figure.

---

I got this and this from my mom, who went over our $25 limit ... but I did that to her, too (we drew names this year, and she and I got each other). I also ordered this because ... well, y'all know my weaknesses by now, right? Anyway, I'm calling that Scott's present to me, even though it is not nearly as cool as Hawkman. Probably as many articulation points, though.

---

One thing Santa got Z. that I was dubious about was a small table and chairs set. But he loves it, and used it all day for fingerpainting and playing doctor. So I'm going to have to rearrange my living room (well, just leave it rearranged, as we'll just take the tree down and leave that corner for the table), but I think I can set up a neat little craft/art space for him, which should be cool.

He played a lot today, with pretty much everything he got. And it was all ... well, like a doctor kit, a toy kitchen, a castle--stuff you use to create stories or role play. Imagination toys. Older kid toys. It sort of hit me today that he's not a baby anymore; he's moved onto a whole new phase of kid-dom.

... my husband and I will have been married for the same amount of time as we were together before the wedding.

I like balance and symmetry.

And our relationship will be old enough to vote. :)

Happy Anniversary, Scott. I love you a ton.

So I was reading my Friends List, and read in dealio's recent post:

I have to make an emergency disk for one of our stations -- an emergency disk is an actual cd of songs and imaging that can be played if the main audio program goes kerflewie -- and a song that came out in high school, the only song that I tried to make an "our song" to cement a relationship came up on the play list. I haven't heard it in ages, my god this is a crap song. No, I'm not going to name the song, I'm *really* not.

So of course I immediately called him and asked him what the song was. He refused to tell me until I offered him a bribe, and I swore I'd never tell the name of the song. (Which I won't. I want to, but I won't.)

He said, really fast and kind of mumbled, "It was [Really Cheesy 80s song That Laura Actually Still Kind of Likes] by [But She Digs Cheesy Songs, So That Doesn't Say Much]."

"Oh my god, that was me! You did that on a mix tape for me in college!"**

"Uh ... no, I did that in high school, and I guess I did it for you in college."***

I was, at this point, laughing like a loon. "I was a repeat! You cad!"****

(Now I'm wondering what of his other college moves were originally used in high school.)



**he was so cool, all, "Just listen to the lyrics."

***he really probably doesn't remember. I have the mix tape around somewhere, so I can prove it to him.

****Okay, I don't think I said "cad." I was laughing a lot, so I'm not sure I remember exactly what I said after the repeat thing. But close enough.

---

Oh, and let me take this opportunity to inform the world that on the same mix tape as The Unnamed Song of Shame, Scott included a Sinead O'Connor song and wrote on the liner notes that I was not allowed to tell anyone he had a Sinead O'Connor tape. BUT HE DID.