Some of you may remember early last spring when I was freaking out over signing up to climb the Columbia Tower in Seattle as part of a fitness event. I plan to do that same climb in March, but in the meantime I somehow managed to volunteer to join a team from my gym this Thursday for another stair climb. It’s 56 floors, and this time instead of walking it with the main goal of surviving, I’ll be racing it for time. I guess the idea is that competing teams will have their group’s total time added up and the fastest teams wins and gets a bronzed barf bucket or something.

I informed the team captain that while I’m willing to join the group, there is no way in hell I will actually contribute in any meaningful way to a winning time, unless of course all the other teams are made up of elderly stump-legged basset hounds or something. (Hope hope!) I just want to challenge myself and do something intimidating, and goddamn if trying to run up a motherfucking skyscraper doesn’t meet those requirements.

Anyway, I don’t usually mention fundraising stuff, but I thought I would for this one, even though it’s a hard time of year for most of us moneywise. Proceeds go to the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation, and if you’d like to sponsor me I’d be humbled and grateful. You can do this by clicking on Sponsor Participant on the left sidebar on this page, then typing in “Linda” for the first name and “S.” for the last name.

I already paid the minimum $80 donation, so I don’t need anything further to participate, but I wanted to do my part and let you know.

Anyway, wish me luck! I was briefly relieved to hear JB will be out of town on Thursday because I thought that was my excuse for bagging the event, but unfortunately our babysitter is available. Stupid dependable wonderful family resource.


JB plans to give Riley a skateboard for Christmas. I kind of think this is nuts because this is the same child who came home with two—TWO!—Injury Incident Reports the other day, for 1) slipping in water and crashing headfirst into the bathroom door, and then later 2) walking into the doorjamb of an entirely different door. I’m just saying, hand-eye coordination has not historically been his forte:

Aside from padding and helmets and giant protective plastic hamster balls, is there anything I can add to the skateboard mix to make it less deadly? Do they make a preschool version with extra wheels or airbags or some shit? I’d like to keep his smarmy little face in one piece, is all.


Speaking of potentially insane, ill-advised holiday presents, I’m thinking of getting this thing for Dylan. Because I’m just not hearing enough “Horse? Horse? Horse? Horse. Horse. HORSE! HORSE!” already, you know?

Every Sunday night I feel a great exhaustion hit me like a wave of I’m so tired I can’t even finish this stupid metaphor, but man, tonight in particular I am so, so ready to switch over to the weekday routine. Which of course is a chaotic, draining grind all on its own, but at least it’s . . . well, shit, I don’t even know where I’m going with this. I’m ready to do something other than bark at children to BE CAREFUL and STOP JUMPING ON THE COUCH DON’T MAKE ME SAY IT AGAIN and CEASE AND DESIST WITH THAT HORRIBLE, BRAIN-RENDING SCREAMING BEFORE MOMMY’S HEAD FUCKING EXPLODES while simultaneously shoveling butter-drenched leftovers in my nag-hole, I guess.

I can really tell a major difference in how I feel after several days of eating so much junk. For one thing, I took a slobbering nap today—or at least tried, before Dylan magically sensed I was starting to fall into that wonderful state of complete restfulness and immediately began blatting from his crib—and I never need to nap. In addition to the lagging energy, there’s the general crabbiness, impatience, feelings of Woe, and the sensation of being painfully inflated like a bicycle tire complete with occasional gunshot off-gassing.

It’s so pathological, because while I’m able to recognize how crappy I’m feeling from sugar-binging, I still found myself baking “one last batch” of cookies earlier. Because Monday is a new day, so I may as well go out with a bang! Literally!

Well, ANYWAY, speaking of food, our Thanksgiving meal was a rousing success even though I technically didn’t quite get everything out of the oven at the exact same moment because I am not a space-time altering ninja. The children naturally refused everything with the exception of a small piece of dry turkey which Riley tolerated before joining his brother in front of that old holiday television classic, “Baby Einstein: Shut Your Goddamned Whining”, but everyone else professed to enjoy the meal in its entirety, even that Jello salad you’re so afraid of.


I hope you guys all had a great holiday. I’m thankful for sleeping children, fresh starts, and you.




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