confessions of a pie addict

I painted the living room and hallway (mostly) over the break. A warmish creamy color on the walls, milk chocolate for the trim. Ditched a lot of useless stuff – I mean, a lot of useless stuff, including the living room curtains, which were wrecked from last spring's encounter with front-porch paint and a terrified hound. We haven’t decided on a new treatment yet, so the windows are bare. No walking around in the bra, pending clothes decisions in the morning.

I love it – it’s like moving into a new house. The walls are totally bare – all the scuffs and dents and picture holes and unwashable dirt from my previous marriage – gone. Love it, love it, love it. I even managed stolen conversations with two beloved soulsisters, despite the manic, obsessive drive to completion that went with the whole painting project.

I very much enjoyed Dervish’s Spirit album, although if I’d listened to those heartbreaking, soulful Irish lost-love ballads one more time I would have had to shoot myself. (kidding.)

Looks like the den is going to Brian. Which is fine, because the way the living room looks now it will make a lovely yoga practice room when Brian and Duckie are sleeping. At least now it will actually be used for something other than chucking things we can't locate elsewhere.

I didn’t get around to painting the bedroom – which is for the best. I woke up yesterday morning to catch the light on the test wall at an unusual angle and, hey presto – look, mom, a wall of puke! Brian says he’ll use the paint in the den instead.

God, so much else to report, but it all seems to have happened months and months ago. Domestic dispute in our neighbors' house resulted in the two older boys and their dad sleeping on our couch, despite having all the furniture pushed to the middle of the room. And I thought I was nuts. (I mean, I am, but at least my medication is working.)

Spent three hours on Friday night taking care of a two-month-old infant. Tiny, wee fingers, just out of the hospital from RSV, but his mom and the rest of his family were in a wreck and they all had to go to the hospital to get checked out. Everyone's OK, he wasn't in the wreck, but I volunteered to take him for the evening. Poor kid - nasty diaper rash from the antibiotics - I mean, the worst I've ever seen, and Duckie had some vicious ones. Kept wanting to nurse, hungry, but I only had the one pitzy two-ounce bottle that I had to keep washing and sterilizing.

Honestly I don't know how moms with two manage it. It was my "once and for all" moment - if I ever want to get pregnant again, all I have to do is remember those three hours. Not so much because of how hard it was to take care of baby D (which was tons easier simply because of experience and my body's willing cooperation), but for how much I missed spending time with my daughter.

I have to brag on the Christmas pie - remember, the pumpkin pie with the praline top crust? Outrageous. Coupla times I ate slices with my hands for breakfast when I was home alone painting. (Ah, the shame of it! Kiki and SB, if only you’d been there to share it with me it could have been our dirty little secret!)

Day before yesterday, I tried a shortening crust with a bit of whole wheat flour, less sugar than usual, and a pinch of garlic powder, meant for a quiche. The quiche (ham from Christmas and broccoli) was delightful, even though I used skim milk and light cheddar cheese. Does that mean I can eat more of it? Say, three slices instead of one?

Dad and Judy are coming into town this weekend to deliver his latest project, about which he has revealed absolutely nothing. I think it's big, but I could be wrong. I thought it was a kitchen table, but I'm pretty sure I'm wrong about that. I think it's bookshelves, but... I mean, I have nothing to go on. And my stepsister has kindly sent me an email gloating that she's got hers, she knows what it is, I'll love it, but she's not telling me shit, either. Nice.

So I'll have to make a chicken pot pie for them. What a shame, you know? He seems to love it, and it's about the only thing I can muster up that won't cause havoc with someone's digestion.

Two whole practices over the break. Body now screaming for attention. Yesterday’s practice was hard, lots of resting, but at least it was a couple of steps in the right direction. Loose joints from the lack of muscle development over the last few weeks, so the front foot landed much farther in the lunges than usual. Sweetly sore today. We’ll see what happens over the rest of this month as I make desperate efforts to practice every day.

Practice scheduled for this afternoon. I got up at 5 AM to try an hour, but those new yoga pants felt so deliciously comfy and soft that I decided to get back into bed to appreciate them fully. I hope to hell no one needs the conference room this afternoon. I've simply got to find a backup space for practice in the afternoons. Otherwise I'll end up half-assing it at home in the evenings, which will piss off everyone in the house, including the cat.

Happy New Year. Everyone else says it; I might as well, too, even though it doesn’t feel any different. Sure would like to procrastinate a little less at work, but as you see, that isn’t coming along very well.