Marlon Brando, Jimmy Dean...

What? You're still reading this blog, even though the book is kaput?

Well, good for you. Because I have something fun to share.

Last year I wrote a funny article for The Parent Paper. I wasn't paid, but I got a lot of props. If I can be bothered, I'll find the post about it and link it here. It was about Patrick being left-handed, and therefore obviously a sporting legend in the making. I was paid in books and DVDs. It was fair.

The PP editor then asked me if I would submit another article for last year's father's day issue. I did, and it was funny. I don't think I even got the books and DVDs this time, but I didn't care.

This year, I was asked to write a lengthier, more substantial piece - and I would be paid with Yankee dollars. Once again, I did so.

Then, last week, I was asked...

TO BE ON THE COVER OF PARENT PAPER, THUS BECOMING THE FACE OF FATHER'S DAY FOR THE WHOLE OF BERGEN COUNTY!

So, yesterday, Patrick, Penelope and I went to a photo shoot and goofed around. Pat and I were wearing the same clothes, right down to the shoes, and we will be on the cover - and throughout the June issue - of the bumper Father's Day edition.

The PP is also interested in more work from me - funny stuff, not stuff about serious medical issues or parenting dilemmas. You know, stuff about Darth Vader being a good role-model for new dads. Yeah, heavy stuff like that.

Now, call me a self-publicist if you will, but: up yours. I couldn't get a book published even after I signed a contract to do so. If this helps me make a living as a writer somewhere down the line, I won't care how it looks to any potential haterz. Fact is, I'm about to be on the cover of a magazine, and you aren't.

And when I get recognized by a stranger at the park and asked to sign her PP, I'll do it. In fact, I'm going to ask for pens for my birthday so I always have one on hand.

Fun, no?

The Fulham Dray RIP

I'm sad to find out one of my favorite pubs, The Fulham Dray in SW6, London, is no more. I'm probably the last person on earth to find this out, as it actually closed its doors in 2002.

Shortly after I was employed by Teletext, The Dray opened right around the corner from my office. It became a favorite spot for our traditional lunch hour drink (and traditional lunch two-hour drink on Fridays) as well as a favorite on the way home. It was only the second pub I can really call a "local" after The Railway in Hatch End, where I drank heavily (in both quantity and frequency - I was there almost every day between the ages of 17 and 20.)

I would walk in and be greeted by the landlord, Ollie, who would pour my usual before I asked for it. We played pool, put the world to rights, and even did some work aided by the Fosters lubrication. The fact it was a Chelsea supporters pub mattered very little to me. On an average weeknight the crowd was a mix of the locals propping up the bar, the Teletext louts, a bunch of teachers (who taught at the school Tony Blair sent his kids to) and some postal workers who had probably been there since their shift finished. It was always friendly (apart from one night when... well, I wasn't involved but it all got a bit nasty in the street outside) and I have many, many fond memories of the old place.

The writing was on the wall shortly after the unpleasantness that one Friday night, and Ollie (wholly unrelated to it) moved on to take charge of another pub. I'm not sure I went there after Ollie left, as I was soon after to move to Manhattan, but I'm sure it was a bit rubbish without him there. I hadn't actually vocally ordered a drink there in more than two years, so it would have been like starting again.

Following its demise (assisted, I'm sure, not only by Ollie leaving but by Teletext moving to a new site miles away) it turns out it re-opened in 2004 as a trendy bar. Gone was the "burger in a basket with chips" and the pool table. In came a variety of fancy fancy and, in an effort to be a bit hoity-toity, a credit card only policy. Behold - a pub that doesn't take money!

Anyway, a little after the event, I ask you to raise a glass to The Fulham Dray. God bless all who sailed in her. Especially during Euro '96. Magnificent times.

Almost there....

So, with one day to go of Spring Break it has been a 100% pleasant experience.

Today's playdate left me kid-free for a couple of hours, so I went to the driving range and hit a few dozen balls with an frustrating slice. Got to work on that grip. I then had a magnificent Buffalo Chicken Wrap that was so hot, my ears stopped popping temporarily (and that's a whole nother story.)

After the kids were returned, we hung out and I mowed the lawn before going back to the park and hanging out for an hour or so. I now have a Bombay Sapphire and tonic on the go and all is right in the world.

Both the interested publisher and interested agent are leaving me hanging, but it's all good. Come Monday morning, school is back in session and I have to worry about my annual stand-up-in-front-of-100-people-and-make-a-speech thing as well as the '80s party I've been planning for months.

I also have lined up something so very exciting, I am going to shock the entire community. But that's still a while away... Plus, it looks like I am doing something else only slightly less exciting in June. I am some kind of excitement monster.

And, and on May 18, I turn 34, thus out-living Jesus. Yip. Eee.

Halfway There

Midway through SB and all is going well enough.

The downside of getting a little extra money in the bank is that it's never enough. Our tax rebate is holding up well, but it's clear we can't do everything we want with it. In an ideal world, we could pay off AmEx, resurface the drive, fix up the basement and take a vacation with Mickey Mouse... and still have the money in the bank for things like... oh, I don't know... the mortgage? Food? Clothes?

All that said, my recent mantra has been: "Nothing is ever as bad when it's sunny" and sunny it certainly is. We've been in the 70s and I've been wearing Banana Boat, my prescription shades, shorts and not much more all week. Nothing has changed in our situation other than the weather. That's enough.

Another playdate today, then I've got to get back on the phone to get through Thursday and Friday. I have a couple of leads, so it's all good. An (adult) party this weekend - we even have a non-family-member as a babysitter for probably only the fifth time ever.

Spring Break! Woo-hoo?

The words "Spring Break" mean a lot of things to different people.

Growing up, my spring break was spent wandering around shopping malls, playing tennis and, in my high school years, doing anything except revising for my end of year exams. I know US-based teens can take spring break to near mythical status with their ventures to the sunniest climes and going buck wild.

But to me, right now, SB means I have two kids waking up and asking me: "So, no school today? What else you got?"

I've been in a funk for a few days, but I'm starting to see that I can make this work in my favor by lining up a week of fun for them that doesn't involve me - and at low cost. I'm talking drop-off playdates.

The beauty of a drop-off playdate is that it works either way. If I drop my kids off, I don't see them for a couple of hours and it's all good. If I have someone else drop their kids off, the new arrivals take on my role as primary entertainer, and I'm free to do other things in a distraction-free environment. As long as I don't just drive off and leave a five-year-old in charge of my own kids. That would probably spoil the possibilities of another drop-off playdate happening. And probably come with jail time and my kids going into care.

So, five weekdays on the horizon and only one planned item on the agenda (today, library story time) means I have to get a grip on this week or get overwhelmed in an amazingly short amount of time.

Here's the plan:

1) Call friends for playdates.
2) Cook meals for quick, easy service later this week.
3) Stock up on kid-friendly snacks. A well-fed playdate-ee will want to come back.
4) Pray for sunshine. A trip to the park is low-maintenance, high-yield.

What's the opposite of "curb?"

My enthusiasm for all things book-related was recently revived by, of all things, a book signing I attended on Sunday.

Apart from one of those "it's a small world, but I wouldn't want to paint it" stories where the author of the book (that I was meeting for the first time in person but have "known" for more than a year thanks to the internet) turned out to be the sister of a guy I have been playing soccer with for the last five years, I ended up having an email exchange with an agent. Regardless of how that pans out, I think it's safe to say I have my groove back.

Publishers are certainly more interested in IGYB when they hear it's all done (proofed, copy-edited, type-set) and a few have shown some interest in the things I am writing now (one in particular) which has provided the proverbial carrot on a stick for me, the proverbial donkey (or "ass") to chase after.

However, I'm certainly not getting too excited this time around until I have the book in my hand. As the news continues to filter out through town and across my network of friends that the book isn't coming out in June after all, it's getting harder to tell the story again and again. I feel like months ago I announced I was pregnant and now as we near the due date I'm having to tell people it was just indigestion.

Still, it is with a renewed lusting that I'm back in the saddle and the stuff I have been writing recently (yesterday in particular) is still pretty darn good. And a little ego-massage from the semi-interested parties has only plumped up my creativity feathers.

This...

...cheered me up so, so much.



He's just being a goof on a slide, which is what I needed to see because, aren't we all just goofs on a slide?

"You're kidding me..."

Sometimes my faith in humanity is pushed to its limits.

I don't believe people are naturally good. I think people are naturally indifferent. And then some shithead comes along and has me start to doubt even that.

At my kids' pre-school, we had an empty water bottle where people deposited their pocket change. All the money collected in the bottle was to be used to buy books for the classrooms. I say "was" because at some point in the last two weeks, some shithead emptied the bottle of the collected money and made off with it, putting the empty bottle back where they found it.

Listen, times are hard for all of us, but there was probably $40 in this thing, made up of nickels and dimes, and it was all to spent on books for pre-schoolers. It was advertised as such.

I have a few hopes about this situation. To hope for someone to get guilty and give the money back? Not a chance. If you're enough of a turd to take it in the first place, you have no remorse. What I hope is that $40 in change was taken by an opportunist, and not someone (God forbid, a parent at the school) who knew it was there and what it was for. And I hope whoever took it really needed it, more than the three-to-five-year-olds they stole the money from.

And I hope karma kicks the living bejesus out of them. In front of their girlfriend. And shits in their shoes.

* The title of this post is a direct quote from everyone at the school I have told about this. I discovered the theft last week, but wanted to be sure there was no mistake/miscommunication. There wasn't.

To Nap or Not To Nap

Sometimes it feels like my wife is wishing my son's nap away. She constantly reminds me that it won't last forever, and "wouldn't it be better if he slept through the night instead?"

I'm no fool. If his sister is anything to go by, I have maybe six more months of naps from him before he no longer needs it. But that nap time is fast becoming my favorite time of the day. It's almost irrelevant if he sleeps through the night anyway. I never do.

People say I'm lucky that he still naps for at least three hours a day. But put it this way - if he didn't, we would be living in a rat-infested hell hole with no food in the fridge and I would be wearing dirty pauper's rags as clothes. Not because I spend the time when he's asleep cleaning, shopping, cooking and doing laundry. Far from it.

When he closes his eyes at about 1:30 every afternoon, I do what I have to do. This is often:

Watch SportsCenter
Watch Harvey Birdman: Attorney At Law (thank you, DVR)
Watch the Yanks in a day game
Write
Check out hot photos of Natalie Portman, Julia Louis Dreyfus and Sarah Silverman
Play card games with daughter
Play Wii with daughter
Eat a big sandwich

But it is because I spend his naptime doing this self-pampering stuff that I can spend time during the time when he's awake:

Cleaning the kitchen (twice a day - upon waking, then after dinner)
Carrying dirty clothes down to the basement, bringing clean ones up, folding them, putting them away
Shopping
Reminding my son he needs to go potty (to avoid making more dirty clothes)
Read (Madeline books and anything with big trucks in)
Pouring Cheerios into bowls
Making a big sandwich

The day his nap dries up will mean a whole new outlook on my day. And I'm not looking forward to it.

Long Story Short

For the last month or so, the future of my novel "I Got You, Babe" has been in question. This week I found out it won't be published this June after all.

To cut a long story short (as Tony Hadley once sang) my publisher went into liquidation on Monday and my book rights have reverted back to me. This doesn't mean it's all over - some of my fellow authors with my former publisher have already been snapped up another house.

I haven't lost anything, except a little enthusiasm - and that will come back. And, as you will know if you read this blog, I have two more projects that will be done by this summer.

Sure, it's not good news - and the launch party BBQ in our back yard is now just a party BBQ in the back yard - but it's not terrible news either. And I'm not just saying that to soften the blow. I was pissed off and feared the worst when I first got wind of what was going on at my publisher. Since then the not-knowing was far more taxing than finally finding out I wasn't going to be published after all. In the end, it was a relief.

Sure, I'll take your sympathy and well-wishes and "what bastard luck!"s, but I'm fine and if I never find a home for it I (almost) won't mind, because if you read between the lines, IGYB is MY story and I needed to write it so I could write everything else I've written since.

That said, you can bet your left nut I'm going to push to get it published because the hardest part for me is that I feel like I've let a lot of people down. People like you, reading this now, gave me the energy to get the story written and keep pushing when I felt shitty. I'm sorry this happened. I'll put it right if I can.

This year's April Fool e-mail

Names have been omitted to protect the 80% of recipients who are SUCKERS.

***

Hey all -

I have some awesome news about “Sub-Urban Sub-Species!”

After the successful pitch following the You Tube thing (when the “pilot” episode got more than 7 million hits last month and was named the NYT Buzz Worthy Video for March), CBS have officially commissioned a TV series to air in Fall 2009!

I know I’ve sent the link to the You Tube thing to everyone I know at least six times – but the plot for the series will follow a pre-historic time traveler who stumbles on a murder plot to kill the Queen of England. The format is a little like 24 in that every episode follows one day in Ugg’s life, but it gets complicated because at every commercial break, the time period changes, just like in the pilot when it jumped from 2012 back to World War I when Ugg used the crystal rune amulet.

Filming starts this summer in Allendale, Paramus (pending a permit to use Paramus Park after hours) and in North London where I grew up. The casting is kinda top secret still for another week or so, but Laura spotted the Variety story and... Well, I can’t deny Patrick Dempsey is interested :) However, Natalie Portman is filming a sequel to The Other Boleyn Girl, so she was unavailable (which was too bad for two reasons...) - but please keep that to yourself. We don’t want our second choice to know she was second choice :)

Here’s the extra exciting news – we will need extras for filming! Like when that sitcom “Ed” was filmed in Allendale, Paul and I will try to use local people as “in-jokes” during episodes. The Pettinato house will be the main base of operations for the MHWAH (the group hunting Ugg through time) while the exterior of the Fell House will be used (the interior will be in a studio) for the female lead’s house.

If you are going to be around the week of July 7-11 and would like to be in the show, please let me know BEFORE NOON TODAY. You will need an Equity card if you want a speaking role, but I can help speed that process up. You can get the details of applying for a card at http://www.actorsequity.org/Benefits

Thanks for all the well wishes – I will be in London starting tomorrow to assist with casting there, but I will be able to check my e-mail, so please let me know ASAP!

Adam K

Friday

It's well documented that there are certain things I can manage on a Monday that I just can't do on a Friday. I tend to leave all the major cleaning to Tuesday, because Monday needs to break the week gently. By Friday, I'm just about done. The kids are sick of me. I'm sick of them. And then, once in a while, I get a call at lunchtime saying "I'll be late tonight" that just puts the cherry on top. In short - I'm effing exhausted, and Natalie Portman covered in Bird's custard couldn't stir me from my funk.

But, here's a fun game for all of you. Can you spot where I went wrong in the following story?

With our new bulging bank balance (thank you, tax rebate) we've been letting our hair down. Red Hot sauce AND Tabasco? You got it! Paper towels AND tissue paper? It's a deal!

So, for dinner tonight, I did a double. What with it being Friday, and my reserves pretty much empty I went for Chinese food - my kids favorite - and ice cream for dessert. So I went to the Chinese food store, put in the order, went next door to the Dairy Queen and picked up the ice cream cups - two kids sized scoops - and then back to get the Chinese food and then home.

Where did Adam go wrong? The parents of you probably already know.

Here's how my kids' minds work. The prospect of Chinese food was outstanding... until the ice cream came into play. This meant trying to get them to force down their FAVORITE chicken and broccoli was like pouring pepper on a urine stain on the carpet and then trying to rub the dog's nose in it to teach it a lesson.

"You like this! You were dancing around the kitchen, jumping with delight when I said we were having Chinese food tonight!"

"I don't like it"

"Well, just eat the rice then."

"I don't like rice."

Now, if this was a Monday I could have dealt with it better. But this is Friday. It wasn't pretty. Needless to say, they got their ice cream after negotiating a three-mouthful deal. The upside? I had a jumbo helping and there's plenty left over for the weekend.

No More Diapers For Me - For Real

Looks like Patrick is done with diapers. This is verging on excellent news, and it's no exaggeration to say that it is life-changing for both he and I.

The impact on the family finances is not so noticeable as the lack of drama when, at 5am on a Sunday, we realize we're out of real diapers and we'll have to find a swim diaper (which doesn't actually hold the water in - that's the point of it - but it will stop a poop from becoming a floater at the pool) until the stores/my eyes are open.

Today was the acid test - I sent him to school in underpants, and gave the teachers a heads-up that he might need a reminder or two about going to the bathroom. When I went to pick him up, and he was still wearing the same pants I sent him in, I knew "we" had cracked it.

There will be accidents in the next month or so - hopefully very few (ie. none) at school - but the bottom line is, I am done paying for, strapping on, and changing crappy diapers until I become a grandparent. And that is worth a drink.

Petty Chew: update

50 pages, 10,000 words. And it's good, even though I do say so myself.

Reasons today is a "Good" Friday

* It's sunny outside, although the wind is whipping along at mach 12. Even my hair got ruffled, and it's three-quarters forehead.

* Good news from the accountant (something I thought I would never hear!) Tax rebate in a week, anyone?

* Hot cross buns - six for a dollar - and PG Tips, lots of milk, two sugars.

* Weather forecast for Sunday morning - soccer, with the potential for wind-whipped crosses to the near post for Keeble to nod in from three feet.

* Villa certain of victory against Sunderland on Saturday morning (my time.)

* Kids agreeing to be babysat by Pokemon DVD, enabling me to write this.

* One particular line in the novel I'm writing making me giggle every time I think of it. ("I don't know. Can't we... piss in it or something?")

* No mail delivery today, so no mail-delivery anxiety as I wait for the mail carrier to arrive and ultimately disappoint me by not bringing me the things I've been expecting since December in some cases.

* Golf membership card dues in the mail. I'll be swinging for the pin in just a few weeks.

* Two words - candied ginger.

The Stories Wot I Am Writing

I am so excited about the novel I am writing now, I cannot contain myself anymore.

Provisionally titled "Petty Chew" (a butchered version of the French term of affection "petit chou") it's a coming-of-age story involving a group of 15-year-old boys from North London who go on a school skiing trip to the French Alps. The main character, Shawn, arrives in France in a melancholy mood after being dumped by his girlfriend of three weeks, Mel, just days before his holiday is set to start. Things don't improve as the school bully sets out to make Shawn and his friends as miserable as possible - and not always on purpose. Guided by the dream vision of Carol Decker (lead singer of T'Pau) and gallons of cheap French beer, Shawn has to take a stand and dig deep to find some self-esteem in the snow-capped mountains before going back for his last few months as a high school student, with or without Mel at his side.

"Didn't you go on a skiing trip with your school when you were 15, Adam?"

Well, yes I did. And it is obviously the inspiration for this story. The story is set in Easter, 1990 - a time period that I will long remember in real life as the start of the peak period of my teenage years. I'm about a third of the way through the first draft, and I really like it, for what that's worth.

I'm writing it alongside "Don't Put Baby In The Corner (and other parenting lessons I learned from the 1980s)" and they are both very fun to write, so hopefully will be fun to read for you all collectively.

Hmm....

... is that a subtle hint of coffee I can taste????

Tasteless

I can think of one person who might take issue with what I am about to claim (I'm married to her,) but I would say I am pretty low maintenance.

I clean up after myself, let the wife do pretty much what she wants, I cook a little, and look after myself to some extent. My only weekly request is that I be allowed to play soccer on Sunday mornings. I like the odd drink, but can do without it just fine. Sure, I like a few TV shows and I like to watch sports, but you know, not obsessively.

But when it comes to food, there is my Kryptonite. Which is why, whenever I pick up the particular strain of virus that I have now, I get very, very frustrated.

For some reason in the last decade, when I get a cold I lose all sense of taste. I remember the first time it happened in 1998. I remember eating and drinking at the time and not being able to get that quick fix sensation. Then, all of a sudden when my sense returns, I am almost overwhelmed. It is nothing short of wonderful to be able to taste again.

So, this weekend my wife was out partying and doing all kinds of pampering for her birthday while I stayed home watching the kids. No big deal there. The only change was, normally I am home with the kids while she strives to earn the money to clothe, house and feed us. But last night, as she was at the Viceroy in Chelsea, NYC, I was watching an iCarly marathon on Nickelodeon and wishing I could taste the beer treat I bought myself.

Right now, my family is out at the town bar and grille eating buffalo chicken wraps and blue cheese burgers. I opted to stay home, not because I feel bad (I do, but not so bad that I can't think straight and function well enough) but because I don't want to spend $20 on a dinner I can't taste.

In short, why can't I just throw up a few times instead of this week-long (and it will be a full week) taunting when nothing is as it seems because I can't experience it, despite popping it in my mouth and chewing on it?

The End

Today is the last day of a run of tough days that began a month ago.

February is always a kick in the nuts, what with the weather and the lack of funds. But this March has been a bollock-stomper from the school of Dr. Marten's own Academy of Nuts-Crushing. And we're not even half-way yet.

Today is my wife's birthday. It's a big one. What with planning this, planning a fundraising event, and just planning what the eff I will be serving for dinner that doesn't cost anything and is somewhat warm (old leaves from the backyard held over a lightbulb, anyone?) has been hard. But after today, at least I can cross something off the list.

In other news, by way of a mental distraction and a way of staying out of the cold, I have watched two classic movies this week. The Manchurian Candidate, starring Frank Sinatra, was great. The Omega Man was utter cack. But both achieved their aim as far as I was concerned - I got three-and-a-half hours of escapism, although with Charlton Heston in TOM I was also in a state of disbelief that such a good concept could look so rubbish.

False Positive

Again, the early false dawns have proved to be just that - false.

It's now frosty, with the promise of more snow and crappy rain all weekend long. However, most of the current downs have a considerable upside. For example ...

... despite the fact my kids school is closed today, the fundraising committee (fronted by one A. Keeble) had the foresight to arrange a movie playdate at a nearby cinema this morning. We're off to see Ratatouille in a couple of hours.

... the fact that we now have mere pennies left in the bank mere days after payday is offset by a bumper payday next month, and then our tax rebate the month after that.

... the fact that, despite the current rubbish weather, spring is so close you can almost smell it. I will be completing my golfing due membership form today.

... the fact that I remain very pleased with both my current writing projects, despite the fact neither has made me a dime so far.

... the fact I will have a pretty spectacular photo in the local paper this week - complete with credit, I will only be paid $0.50 (approximately)

... the fact my daughter is now all signed up for FREE (well, if you don't count taxes) education for the next 11 years starting in September, despite the fact we still haven't paid for my son's pre-schooling.

... no eggs in the fridge, but a whole pack of bacon.

TerrifiK Day

This morning sees my daughter take her first step towards moving out.

OK, so I'm probably getting ahead of myself a little, but today is the day I sign her up for Kindergarten - and for everyone involved, that's very exciting.

For me, primarily, it means "we" (meaning "my wife") can stop paying for pre-school, which was getting increasingly less affordable as we progressed through the school to her final year with its mandatory four-day plan (not to mention this year we were also paying for my youngest who's in his first year at the same place.) It also means I can start my fantasies about her whipping through to high school, earning a full scholarship at NYU and becoming the very best whatever the heck she wants to be.

For her, she is excited at the prospect of "big school."

I have enclosed a begging letter with my registration forms in the hope we get Penny into the morning sessions as opposed to the afternoons. It is the most important thing I have written in the past two weeks.

Fairly Unfortunate Translation

Not only has The Fairly Odd Parents jumped the shark with the addition of the new fairly-odd character, but fans in England must be wondering how they got away with it.

Emergency

I always assumed it would be my son's antics that would drag me to the E.R. at the local hospital first.

Alas, this afternoon as I was relaxing and putting my innocent three-year-old boy down for his nap, I heard a coughing and a spluttering from my five-year-old girl downstairs. I came down to see if she was OK and was told: "I just swallowed a jewel."

She had indeed swallowed a plastic jewel about the size of a nickel and, according to her, it was stuck in her throat.

Ten minutes (and a frantic phone call to the wife) later, we are at the hospital. I am filled with visions of my daughter being given some vomit-inducing drug to make her throw up or, even worse, surgery.

In fact, it would seem, the jewel had shifted and was on its way "down" to its eventual destination. Since returning home there have been several explanations of why the jewel will come out as poo-poo and not pee-pee.

All in all, it's been a really shit day, despite the humor I'm trying to inject to make myself laugh.

And tomorrow, my wife leaves for a weekend away with the girls. Needless to say, in the effort to make the weekend without back-up go smoothly, pizza and take-out food will be on the menu. Plastic jewelry will not.

False Dawn x 2

Today sees the second false dawn that winter has gone and spring is here. It's somewhat sunny and warm enough that I just opened a window.

It will be at least another week before I start believing it myself, but I cannot wait for some sunshine and some heat. It wasn't a bad winter - some good snow, about two weeks when going outside was intolerable, only one big spell of sickness for the kids, but now the teaser is here I'm so ready for warm weather.

The first sign that spring was coming, aside from the rain this morning taking the last of the lingering snow with it, was our first trip to the town playground and my first re-encounter with one of the many moms I socialize with for 9 months of the year.

As with so many of the people I meet randomly at the park, I knew her kids names, but not the mom's. Unlike myself, who people remember easily (only guy at the park, English accent) I didn't recognize this mom at all for the first five minutes of arriving. Only when I asked her if she could identify the tokens in my pocket - were they video game tokens from the gym? or carousel tokens from the mall? - did the penny drop that we had actually met before.

One of the truer parts of my book is that the hero, Dean Allen, and myself both keep a book to remind them of the many, many moms we meet at the playground. More than once, I've been met with "Hi, Adam! Hey, Penny!" by a total stranger... so I look in the book at my notes and compare them to the subject in question (that might be - Debbie, mom of Dan and Ethan, drives White Explorer, lives in Waldwick, husband is a Mets fan) and identify who I'm actually talking to.

The other reminder that spring has nearly sprung is that the pre-school nominating committee met today ahead of the May General Meeting and confirmed that I have been nominated as the President of the board for the next school year.

My first order is to dissolve the Old Republic and order the Stormtroopers to crush the Jedi uprising!

Bwah-ha-ha!

Just kidding. My first order is to make myself President for life. Then the stormtroopers with the Jedi thing is next.

Still here...

... but reeling from a rough few weeks. Watch this space.

Terrible Twos RIP

It's almost hilarious that my son's "terrible two" period ended the day he turned three.

That sounds silly, but honestly, overnight he has become a different person.

The terrible twos are hard to really define unless you've been there as a parent. The closest I can come to describing it to non-parents is thus: remember when you were a teenager and were miserable and hated everything and everyone and sulked in your room? Imagine that, but with screaming instead of sulking, and destruction of property instead of listening to The Smiths.

I have just spent the day with my son without my daughter or wife around - a rare thing. And it was great. We woke up, scratched, stretched, had breakfast, watched a little ESPN, went out to the store, went to the barber shop for haircuts, made crafts at the library, came home for lunch, I did a little work while he played with his Planet Heroes (another post will surely discuss these toys and how great they are), then he took a quick nap while I worked some more, he woke up, we went out again, played in the snow for a while, and now we're sitting home, the laundry is done, dinner is on its way home with the girls, and all is good in the world.

Compare this to a fictional hour - just ONE hour - that may well have happened six months ago (based on fact): I wake up, 10 seconds later he wakes crying, I have to restrain his arms to change his diaper, I ask what he wants for breakfast - he says toast, I make toast, it is pushed away as though I have served him a poison burger, he then asks for Cheerios but pushes that bowl away too as there aren't enough in the bowl to satisfy his hunger, I add more, he leaves them too long before declaring they are soggy and he won't eat them, he refuses to wear the clothes he chose to wear shaking his head at everything else in his closet before crying as I put on the first selected outfit yelling "ouchy!" with every tug of fabric.

To say the least, what a difference a birthday makes.

I will be sooooo glad....

.... when this week is over. I've had both kids in varying degrees of sickness during the week before payday. It's been raining pretty much all week, we've missed two days of school and one was cut short. I've done little to no work and I'm a week behind on a fundraising project for school. The highlight of today is going to be a trip to the doctors - on my son's 3rd birthday. The only thing that could make this all much worse (and I'm tempting fate by saying it, but so what?) would be for me to get sick. That will probably happen when the kids are well again, thus I will take their place on the couch sleeping in front of TV shows I've seen a million times before.

With a bump

After last night's incredible Superbowl, in which "my" Giants beat the Patriots, then spoiling the Pats perfect record and causing one of the biggest upsets in recent football history, this morning has bitten my ass.

My daughter has NEVER, NOT ONCE asked to stay home from school. Until this morning. She's obviously in some gastic distress (I just lit a scented candle) and is lethargic on the couch, but when asked: "Would you like to go to school today?" her reply: "Not really" had me checking the medicine cabinet for painkillers. For her and myself.

This also comes in the wake of my youngest's birthday party that took place yesterday morning. This means the house is full of new toys, most of which make noise.

And then, the cherry on top? Yesterday was warm enough that you didn't really need a coat. Today? It's shitting well snowing.

Snow! Two kids home all day! One sick, one armed with a pack of roaring dinosaurs, a talking basketball hoop ("Good job! Two points!") and a motorbike that plays the refrain from Born To Be Wild over and over and over...

This may be my last post.

Blah, Blah, Blurb

In the process of e-mailing celebrities and authors, to try to get them to "blurb" a quote for me for the back of my even-sooner-than-yesterday to be released book, one of them replied to me that this stage was the "worst!!!"

Are you kidding me? It's great!

I had a handful of people agree to help out right when I signed the deal last July. So perhaps there was no intimidation in for me - the hard work was already done. Since then I have had some big name refusals (Sanjeev Baskar is out of the country filming) and one big name who is reading it now ("big" in my world - I love Red Dwarf... and that's all you're getting out of me,) and a lot of "Congrats! But I'm sorry...." from some largish names in the industry.

But even the "sorry, buts..." have been encouraging, to the point where one lovely writer provided me the e-mail addresses for three other people who she recommended I get in touch with to help out. And one other handsome stud of a writer was so generous is his decling, I hope to go out drinking with him at some point in my life - and I'm buying.

I think for me, the hard work is done. But then I also enjoy "hunting" down celebs and getting signed photos from them, mainly to use as gifts. If all goes well, my kids could be getting signed photos of Dora the Explorer to go alongside their Elmo, Laurie Berkner, Tiffany Millbrett and Alexei Lalas.

The best things said to me over the weekend

"Xzibit really doesn't like the look of that car!"

- Penny, 4, while watching Pimp My Ride.

"That was the best lunchie EVER!"

- Patrick, 2, after dinner at AB&G.

"Do you need help getting it up?"

- Wife, 27. She meant getting a box into the attic. I think. Either way, the answer was no.

Desert Island Sanity Saver

This January is proving particularly frustrating, thanks to the sub-zero temperatures and the number of events coming up in the increasingly-frustrating-still-a-week-away February. The parenting tales I am coming up with all involve me staying inside because it's too bloody cold to go out, and the kids being semi-sick for the duration of the month.

Therefore, I present my most self-indulgent post yet - my Desert Island Disk selection with a brief explanation of why I chose these particular songs ahead of, say "Star Are Blind" by Paris Hilton.

1 Unfinished Sympathy - Massive Attack

The chord changes are beautiful and I once told an ex-girlfriend that listening to this song in the dark made me feel like I was floating - and it wasn't just B.S. to get her to turn the lights off. It's a rare combination of stunning sound with lyrics that mean something to me.

2 Hot Love - T-Rex

I can't think of a more fun song. Plus the nostalgia that comes from the memories of listening to it, windows down, in the infamous Flirtmobile (my first car - registration number FLT...) make it a mainstay.

3 Leave In Silence - Depeche Mode

I could have picked one of a dozen DM songs, what with them being a huge influence on me and my favorite band ever, but this is the one song that changed their direction. They could have continued on their "Just Can't Get Enough" route that was making them lots of cash, but they put out this moody beast instead.

4 Ballad Of Dorothy Parker - Prince

Another artist that has provided the backbone of my musical taste. Anything from Sign O' The Times is majestic, but this sprawling tale is the most special.

5 Tainted Love - Soft Cell

It was either this timeless classic or "Love Is The Drug" by Roxy Music. This won because whenever it comes on my stereo, I just can't bring myself to skip past it.

6 Subterranean Homesick Blues - Bob Dylan

I'm no hardcore Dylan fan by any means, and this choice is certainly helped by the Jools Holland version taken from The Young Ones, but this song is great.

7 Somebody Told Me - The Killers

The personal weight of this selection brought it into my top 8. In early 2005, when I was back and forth from various job agency gigs while my wife was on maternity leave with my son, this was a constant on the radio. "Breaking my back just to know your name" became something of a mantra after he was born, because we couldn't decide on his name for 48 hours. Plus it's a three-minute classic.

8 Everybody's Talking - Harry Nilson

Yeah, yeah. Even my picking this puts me up there with the guy from Seinfeld who was obsessed with "Desperado", but the main reason I like it is because I would love to be where the weather suits my clothes.

No more diapers for me

Today I bought the last box of diapers I ever hope to buy. My 2-year-old son is so close to being potty trained. This last $20 box of 68 size sixes will be the last I ever buy, and therefore the last one in the box will be the last I will ever need to change. And that, dear friends, will be sweet after five years of changing them daily.

Super

Last night, the New York Giants earned a place in the Superbowl on February 3. I LOVE it. Kids, grab your coats! We're going to the Sports Authority to buy Giants stuff!

Swearing

As bizarre as it sounds, this evening I am being sworn into a position of local office by the town mayor.

I was approached to volunteer on the Board of Trustees at the town library, and considering I spend a whole lot of time there with and without the kids, I was flattered to accept. I've been serving for six or seven months now I think, maybe more, and I've enjoyed it greatly, not just on a social level, but it's another "job" (like my serving on my kids pre-school board) that makes me feel like I'm doing something positive for things I care about. Tonight is my actual swearing in, for reasons too complicated to explain here.

It's not an exaggeration to say that without the library, my book would not have been written. Thanks to the library I was able to read all the already-published books I would be competing with, several books on writing style and theory (the best by far was "On Writing" by Stephen King, for the record) and borrow enough DVDs and kids books to satisfy the whole family. Not to mention that my next project, one that involves watching a lot of movies from a certain decade, would have been absolutely impossible without the services of my local library - and it didn't cost a dime (unless you count taxes.)

In fact, today has been good for my cosmic karma all round. I would normally spend Thursday mornings kid-free, what with them both in class, and can usually be found stretched out watching Entourage on the couch, drinking too much coffee. Today I sacrificed that luxury and volunteered to help out with an open house at the school, and in doing so I *think* I recruited one couple who were very interested in signing up for next year.

So, come on, universe. I'm due.

Living in an Old Age Era

Before I start, I do not consider myself old at 33, but here is a list of things I can't do anymore.

* Play soccer all day. From the ages of 15-21 I would play every chance I got for hours on end. On my first run out in my once weekly, two hour sessions this year, I couldn't get the taste of blood out of my mouth for the first half-hour and couldn't walk for 48 hours afterwards without extreme effort.

* Ride my bike for more then two minutes. Sure, I can pedal at the gym for 20 mins and work up a sweat, but I decided one humid morning in the summer to ride my mountain bike to a friends house to drop something off. It's a two minute drive, and while I didn't need to stop during my trip and the last quarter mile is up a steep hill, I couldn't answer my wife's "where have you been" until my lungs had recovered. It took a while. Between the ages of 12 and 16 I would ride a bike carrying two bags full of newspapers (three bags on a Sunday) and ride probably three miles on my paper route EVERY DAY. I was paid about 20 quid a week ($35.)

* Drink strong beer. I can drink Miller Lite all day, but give me three or four bottles or pints of the good stuff and I am overwhelmed. This from someone who once drank half a bottle of Bacardi, partied, walked home, woke up, did his homework and got to school on time the next morning without so much as a slight headache.

* Eat whatever I want. I am not eating buffalo wings ever again. Some colors are not natural. I will not elaborate.

* Stay up late. Yes, I wake up early to get a jump start on the day, but even when the family are asleep and I do manage to drag my ass back downstairs to do something, I cannot last much beyond 10pm. I used to wake at 5am (see the paper route stuff above), go to school, come home, do homework or whatever, then bum around until 11pm every day. Six hours of quality sleep was more than enough. These days, if I get any period of solid sleep lasting more than two hours at a time, I'm astonished, what with my racing mind and restless children.

* Spend money like there's no tomorrow. I used to regularly go out and spend a hundred quid, just to "cheer myself up." Now, I count every penny and regularly buy coffee with coins from the change jar in my bedoom. If I don't need to take the whole change jar to the bank and pour into the penny counter to deposit into the bank to stop a check from bouncing.

(OK, so that one isn't to do with the physical, but I'm whining so you can stick it if you don't like it.)

Back away from the daddy...

I am in a foul mood to say the least. Yes, it's Friday, the end of a long week and I'm very tired, but it's more than that. We (that is, my wife) got paid yesterday - and every dollar is accounted for 24 hours later.

That's not good. But it's not that either. Not entirely.

It's raining in classic London-style (not hard, but enough that if you went out it in, you would get wet in no time) which is enough to dampen (oh-ho!) anyone's spirits. But it's more than that. When I wake up in a mood like this, very little can snap me out of it, and the slightest thing can make things much worse. I just stubbed my toe on something lying on the floor in the kitchen... it was my daughter actually. Immediately I am furious - I'm in there making her breakfast and there she is lying in ambush trying to kill me. The outburst was controlled, I'm proud to say ( "Penny! Get out of the kitchen!") but I'm seething, all really down to a poor night's sleep, a miserable start to the day with both kids upset mommy is going to work and that Dad is staying home with them AGAIN, the prospect of no school to ship them off to today, and about 34 cents in the budget for my daily expenses. And of course the X-Factor that makes me mad rather than "ho-hum, better get on with it."

It's not a morbid, self-pity. Nor is it a accepting shrug of reluctance at the Friday morning funk. It's a simmering anger, and it's already boiled over a couple of times at the stupidest thing (the first was an e-mail that was not written in any particular tone to wind me up, but wind me up it certainly did.)

I better get some more coffee down the gullet before the sun comes up and I can't afford the luxury of letting the kids play by themselves.

See, this is the kind of shit the working parent doesn't get to see. The teetering on the edge of losing it for no single indentifiable reason.

I was just shopping at K.B. Toys....

... and was staggered to hear The Clash playing throughout the store. Fair enough, it was "Should I Stay Or Should I Go" but - Toy store! The Clash!

Anyway, happy 100th post to me.

Me vs. Monday

I fought Monday, and just about won. But at what cost?

After Sunday's first soccer outing in weeks (one goal, hit the post twice - once with a header, one disallowed for a foul) I spent Monday morning aching. This didn't bode well for what was always going to be a busy day, but the first attempt to get back into the swing of normalcy following the craziness.

I got so much done yesterday, which is doubly astonishing as my 2-y-o son decided to make it the first day he didn't nap. Triply astonishing as the wife called at 6:30pm to say she was still in her office in Manhattan. He finally crashed out at 7pm. I was asleep at 8pm. This early night was followed by the worst bout of insomnia I've had since we brought the first kid home from the hospital. I was wide awake at 2:20am and finally got back to sleep sometime after 4:45am. I got up at 6am, feeling as though I hadn't been to bed at all, but left with no choice as the kids and wife were all awake and someone had to distract the younger ones so she could go back to the office.

Tonight, we are going to see Alvin and the Chipmunks at the movies. I am bringing a cup of hot cocoa and fully expect to fall asleep once the lights go down. At 6:15.

This is me....

This is me on Amazon.co.uk.

Any questions?

Everybody Hurts

Unbelievably, I have developed two Wii-related injuries. The first is a physical one, from my amateur (though somewhat effective) baseball stance and swing. I swing like I'm wielding a rounders bat rather than a two handed one, and my neck and biceps (you know... muscles under my flabby arms) are pounding. The second is mental, thanks to the bowling on Wii sports. Why won't the effing ball go straight? Lucky for the wrist strap, or at least one controller would have gone airborne, powered by my frustration by now.

What a great Christmas gift. As good as any other I've ever been lucky enough to get. Thanks, Santa!

Get It Done

Most days, especially when I only have one child in pre-school (that would be two days a week,) it's very hard to get things done.

I am all about writing lists, but some days the lists are just so much fluff to pretend I was at least trying to do something on a day when my major achievements include eating and watching Battlestar Galactica.

Today was very, very different.

I dropped off my daughter and was out of the school parking lot at 9:05 - a big deal in itself. I am prone to chatting outside the classroom, inside the classroom, on my way back to the classroom after dropping off, then standing beside my car. I rarely make it home before 9:20. Today, by 10am, I had finished a to-do list that involved all kinds of horrible stuff.

* Return pair of shoes and exchange for some that fit.
* Buy birthday present for three-year-old boy with OWN three-year-old boy in tow.
* Call and arrange babysitter for rare night out with wife
* Clean kitchen after chicken/wok incident
* Find new doctor for kids, then call them and make appointments

And so on. I was so astonished to see it was only 10am by the time my list was complete, I celebrated with a cup of coffee and a ten-minute abbreviated viewing of Saturday's Aston Villa game (2-1 Villa, rock on!)

All that said, although today is Wednesday, it feels like Monday, so by Friday, I will think it's Wednesday and still be going strong. Right?

Right?

Yeah, right.

Runaway Year

Sorry for the lack of posts here, but as December picked up speed I didn't have time to brush my teeth, let alone sit here and think of something witty to write about life in Chez Keeble.

Needless to say, I still don't have a lot of time. Since Christmas we've had two ear infections and all the inconsolable crying that comes with them, not to mention the doctor and chemist visits. And we got a Wii, so as a family we've been playing on that an awful, awful lot.

Thinking back on 2007, it was quite an adventure. I learned a lot. I signed a deal to get my debut novel published. I scored about 100 goals on Sunday mornings throughout the year. I got a year older, as did my kids.

2008, of course, will be the year my book is published, and will also be the year my eldest start kindergarten, her first steps towards "real" school. I'm excited about the coming year for lots of reasons.

Lastly, I hope you all have a cracker tonight, and every day afterwards for the next 364 days in a row. If you're reading this, thank you for your support, friendship, or anonymous visitations here. I appreciate it all.

Almost there...

Every year, Christmas "arrives" at a random time - sometimes before the 25th, sometimes during. As of now, despite all the snow, it still isn't here yet.

I've done the wrapping, the music, all that jazz. But I'm still less than in full swing. It's going to be a very fun couple of days, with the hints of some surprises in store for everyone (but Gwen - I honestly didn't get you the Shark. Maybe you can borrow Amy's again?)

So, while I'm here, I'd like to wish you all a fun 25th. I will post again to do an end-of-year recap in the next few days.

Don't drink too much!

I meant to do this a long time ago...

What do you think of that? Amazon.co.uk is actually ready to accept pre-orders. That is almost too much to comprehend!

Shock! Horror!

A curious development of becoming a parent to two increasingly personality-filled kids is my disinterest in horror movies.

This from a person who grew up worshiping at the church of Freddy Kruger. In truth, I was petrified of horror movies until I was about 14, when I fell off the deep end and even subscribed to Fangoria Magazine for a long while.

But now, they have no appeal at all. And I put it down to my having kids. It used to be, when I saw a stupid teenager get hacked up by Freddy or Jason Vorhees, it was funny because: "Huh, look at that stupid teenager." Also, many of the movies I grew up with featured a great deal of boobs and general female nakedness. Perhaps the real appeal, between all the blood, was getting to see John Cusack's girlfriend from Better Off Dead in just her underpants (and then, less appealingly, gruesomely murdered by an invisible Freddy Kruger - in fact, she was Freddy's first victim in the six-movie series.) Now that idea is too close to home, and too... real for want of a better term.

I didn't see Saw. I have no intention of watching The Ring. I just watched 28 Weeks Later and was left feeling disturbed - not thrilled or excited or scared. Just unpleasant. And that's not a fault of the film in the slightest. A 15-year-old me would have loved it. I just found it depressing.

How Winter Kills

This weekend was dominated by a snow-storm, that spread its cold fingers through everything I did or wanted to do all day on Sunday. This was not all bad.

I was hoping to play soccer in the morning, but when I woke up at about 6am and turned on the TV, the weatherman was showing live pictures from a blizzard in Times Square, 12 miles away. I put my cleats away pretty much immediately, knowing I wouldn't be needing them.

Sure enough, the snow came. Luckily the kids loved it, but it was the crappy snow that was all powder and it was so cold outside there wasn't much for them to do in it but run and get cold. So they ran and got cold... then came back inside. The wife invited a friend and her daughter over, and they all did Christmas crafts together while I sat upstairs working on one long-overdue project or another. I also had every excuse not to go out and bag leaves (as I had done all day on Saturday) because the leaves were under two inches of white stuff. To this end, I watched two football games in their entirety - including an incredible Giants comeback and victory.

This morning, there was still some snow on the ground but by the time I picked the kids up from school, there was very little evidence there had ever been snow here at all. The bad news? The leaves are back again. Bastards.

Back

Wow, that whole Thanksgiving thing was a trip (pardon the pun, because we actually went away.)

The day itself was fun, and the traveling wasn't too horrific, but on our return I installed an update on my Macbook that killed it. This at a time when I was already four days behind thanks to the break, and one day after receiving my final, final, final draft of the novel for my perusal and approval.

The Macbook wasn't fixed until Wednesday, by which time I had just about lost my mind. The days when my son doesn't nap are never pretty for anyone (and as I type this, I'm in the middle of another one) but not having my laptop made me realize just how reliant I am on it.

"Huh, no email... well, I'll just start work on the Christmas card list... that's on the laptop... well, maybe I'll just... no, that's on the laptop too." etc etc etc.

The first thing the laptop reminded me of when it came back to life at four o'clock on Wednesday is that I'd forgotten my daughter's show-and-tell that morning (the reminder was exclusively on the laptop.)

ANYWAY I'm working through the novel for what will be the last time before its published, and will begin the new year with one book down, and one half-done one to pitch. Can't be bad.

Laptop is dead

My laptop is dead. It's sad how much I miss it. It will be examined tomorrow, but updates on here (and correspondence and pretty much everything else from the Christmas card list to finalizing my novel, and even my social calendar) is currently kaput. Cheers!

Explanation

Sorry for the lack of posting. Things will get back to normal later this week. I have lots of exciting book news, and lots of horrific child-anecdotes following Thanksgiving.

Writing Update

Between looking after the kids and looking at pictures of Sarah Silverman on the internet, I am also still writing.

I am currently working my way through the copy-edited version of my novel, I Got You Babe, published next June. I still laugh out loud at some of it - something I never did with anything Shakespeare wrote. So who is better? That's not for me to say.

Also I landed another writing gig, but it's for a non-profit so I get paid in tickets for kids events. That's better than cash if you asks me.

Sickness

Daughter is currently grade 3 sick (see below.) It could be worse. It might still get worse if her brother picks up this bug. Already, my Tuesday is off-course. Tuesday and Thursday mornings are all about me - both kids are normally in school. Today, no such luck. Not only am I at the beck and call of a 4-year-old girl, but I'm stuck inside.

That said, Entrourage Season 3, Part II is now in my posession. That's my afternoon/evening sorted.

Good morning!

I spent yesterday busting my buns to get the house somewhat clean for a family member who is arriving this weekend and staying a couple of days.

This morning, at 8 o'clock, the house is not only covered in pieces of ripped-up and cut-up paper, but I've also had to wash a couch cover that was covered in excretement.

Let me tell you how I got from there to here.

Upon awakening, I was lulled into a thought that today might be great. My daughter had managed to sleep through the night in her own bed, even waking in the night to use the bathroom, then returning to her own bed - something she has never done before (she would normally come into our room post pee-pee.)

It went pretty much downhill two seconds later.

My son, who spent the whole night in our room (my fault - I fell asleep with him next to me watching the NJ Nets of all things) woke up sniffing with a horrific runny nose. There are several degrees of sickness in two-year-olds:

1) a little out-of-sorts. Not much different than usual.

2) whining, moaning, wailing, hungry but not wanting to eat anything. Not enough vocabulary to express where it hurts, without the experience to know what is best to feel better, this goes on for hours/all day.

3) feverish and lethargic. Sleeping a lot.

1 and 3 are OK. 2 really sucks. This was a 2.

The only thing he wanted to eat/drink was apple juice. All those vitamins can only help, so I loaded him up. He perked up considerably. This is good.

A hour or so after starting his apple juice regimen I am reminded of one of the main reasons my son differs from my daughter. His reaction to foodstuffs.

My boy reacts to things he ingests in the most spectacular fashion. One marshmallow, and he is driven insane. I had given him three cups of undiluted apple juice to ward off his germs.

So, an hour after his first mouthful of apple juice, it all comes out of his bottom into his diaper. The diaper then leaks all over the couch as I yell at my daughter to get me some newspaper. It looks like oxtail soup, swishing in the supposed absorbent core layer that is full to capacity. It swishes over the edges as he kicks, fuelled by the sugar rush within. My fingers are covered, he is covered pretty much up to his waist. The puddle on the couch is growing.

Which is how, at 8am, I am washing the floor, the couch cover, my son and scrubbing my own fingernails in a house that looks like it hasn't been tidied in a week.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Quite a coincidence - winter is full-on here with ice on the car for the first time since... I don't know, last February... and there's no school today across the whole of New Jersey. This means I have two sets of eyes looking at me, asking: "So, no school... what else you got, Pops?"

We have been eeking out every minute of daylight between Patrick waking up from his nap (about 3:30pm) and the sun going down (about 4:45pm) to maximize the fresh air time and its essential sleep-inducing qualities. On Monday mornig, it was maybe 60 degrees. As I type this, it's 30. Fresh air is not as good if it's frozen.

This is not all bad. Just this morning I was reminiscing about the first Christmas we spent in New Jersey after leaving Manhattan. We woke Christmas morning, opened our gifts, and it started to snow. We then ate mucho turkey, I drank a bottle of shiraz (as wife was pregnant with our daughter at the time), put on a stupid paper hat, and wished goodwill to all men. Good and cold.

Last Christmas, as is documented on this very blog, it was about 80 degrees, we were surrounded by family who all got sick, and had to bail on what would have been a very fun adult-only party due to the vomit that ensued.

Here's hoping for more of the former, less of the latter, this year.

So cold... dark...

Last night the clocks went back, meaning that my son was awake at 4:30, thinking it was 5:30, and then by 5:30 (thinking it was 6:30) he decided he had enough sleep and marched downstairs. I was pretty much powerless to stop him as I felt the same way.

In these post-Hallowe'en days, we have suffered long, hard temper tantrums at the hands of number one son wanting his trick-or-treat candy three times a day as a meal substitute. By mid-afternoon, I was just about done with hearing about it. I tipped up the last bucket of candy, split it into two piles, took my 10% as deal-maker, and told he and the more-diplomatic, but still susceptible to over-indulging daughter, to eat it all. They did, and we were done for the year. A quick bout running around at the ever-darkening playground, where the temperature dropped 10 degrees every 15 minutes until 5 o'clock, and most of the sugar rush had worked its course.

Dinner was a far more conservative toast and a banana, with no more requests for "something to chew" (which is how he differentiates between candy and food ("something to eat".)

Don't Do This At Home

Don't eat a dozen hot wings, a bowl of vegetarian chilli and two stuffed jalapeno peppers, washed down with six lite beers and half a bottle of shiraz.

Just don't.

Right For My Rights

Warner Bros has granted permission for us to use "I Got You, Babe" as the book title, and also for us to use the lyrics inside! Cher can buy herself a cup of coffee - on me!

Musical Beds

Last night's bed-hopping was a flashback to a year or so ago when the kids were sleeping even worse than now.

After sitting up watching the Fantastic Four take on the Silver Surfer until 8:30pm, I made my first mistake by letting Patrick out of my sight after brushing his teeth. He managed to slip into Penny's room where Mommy was reading her a story.

"Great, now I have both kids!" quoth Mommy.

Somehow I lured Pat back to his own room, read him a story or two, and despite his cries for the paradise haven of Penny's Room and Mommy's comfort, he fell asleep shortly before I did.

I woke up after a scrummy dream about ponies and made my way back to my own bedroom, where a sleeping Mommy had similarly made her escape. I was mostly awake, but it was 2am, so I lay there, my head full of the typical night thoughts that fuel my non-kid related insomnia.

Twenty minutes later, Patrick wakes up. As I'm already awake, I stand up and grab him, escorting him back to his room. After what felt like an hour of his wailing for Mommy, but was probably only two minutes, I grant him his wish and carry him back to our bedroom...

... where my daughter is already camped out, woken by his wails.

It's two thirty, My bed is full (even the cat came in), but my two kids beds are empty. I climb into Penny's bed for a few minutes, but at this point I am wide, wide awake, so I head downstairs.

I watch about a half-hour of TV before summoned by my wife who is disturbed by the flickering lights from the living room. She then orders me back to bed. Our conversation on the stairs wakes my daughter, who follows Mommy out of the bedroom. I somehow convince her to come lay down with me in her bed, while Mommy returns to her own bed (where she will join Patrick.)

I lay there for about an hour, night thoughts poking and prodding, until I finally wake to semi-dawn. It is 6:30am and Mommy is downstairs, leaving for work. If I want any time to myself today, it's now or never, so I get up and make a filthy, dark pot of coffee. The kids join me at about 7am.

Last year we spent about two grand on the bed in our bedroom. I am loathe to call it "our bed" because I am so very rarely in it. And now you know why.

Thank Crunchie...

I've commented many a time how there are certain things I can do on a Monday or Tuesday, but not on a Friday. Today it rained pretty much all day, and while the day was largely uneventful, the confinement has got to my son.

He spent the last hour:

Chasing the cat

Putting Floam (c) on his feet and dancing on the wood floors and couch

Pushing his sheriff star badge through the mesh screen on one of the windows (thus wrecking it,) then asking me to go get his badge from the flower bed where it landed outside

Pushing his sister

Pulling his sister

Treading on anything his sister tries to do

Refusing food (unless it's chocolate)

It gets better. My wife is out all day tomorrow, meaning tomorrow is actually "Friday," if you know what I mean, because I will be alone with the kids again all day.

What's he doing now? Let's say he's learning his lesson in his room. He must learn that "stop" does not mean "slower" or "slightly less hard" or "quieter."

Terrible twos suck for everyone.

This is pretty much all I have said since I woke up

"Stop doing that - you will hurt him/her"

"Can you hear me?"

"Calm down"

"Give it back"

"Don't touch him/her"

Right now they are playing the piano, risking hurting each other (somewhat) in an very un-calm fashion, not sharing, both pressing the same keys at the same time, and they cannot hear me over the piano. So I'm not saying a word. What is the point?

The Woods

What with yesterday being a holiday (thank you Mr. Columbus,) we wanted somewhere cheap to take the kids that wouldn't involve 1) apple picking 2) hayrides 3) sales at the malls.

What better place than "the woods?"

Growing up as I did opposite a park, I still consider myself a lucky child. I would walk the ten paces down our driveway, cross the street, and be five paces from a tennis court (obviously, as this was North London, England, the court was only actually usable for two weeks a year. Most of the time it was too wet and the balls would get wrecked.) and about 50 paces from a playground.

Between the ages of about five and seven, the playground was old school. There was no fence to keep the dogs out. The legendary "witch's hat" obstacle would break at least one arm per summer, and the clearance on the roundabout was just enough to see a child's ankle wedged underneath. Once safety became an issue, the fence went up (keeping out not just the dogs, but the dog's... business) the rubber safety flooring was installed, the witch's hat was burned at the stake, and the roundabout replaced by one that looked more like a spider web than a deathtrap on a spindle.

This isn't to say that once the playground was made safe to play, I got bored with it. I would still now put "swinging" (as in, on a swing) in my "top five things I enjoy" list. But by the time I was 10, the woods was the place to go.

We would walk there, which was an adventure in itself. I was never sure if the route we took was a public footpath or not. I seem to remember walking through fields alongside horses, and sneaking over fences, but also meeting plenty of people doing the same thing. The meeting point was always the same place - the V Tree... at least, that's what our parents thought it was called. We all called it the vagina tree because it looked a bit like one. Thinking back, it was a stretch, but we were 10.

The rest of the day was spent doing one of two things: walking around or running and hiding. Certainly a big chunk of the woods was private property, belonging probably to a hooty, snooty hotel where Gilbert and Sullivan lived or something. We only snuck through the wire once or twice because we stumbled upon a real tire swing - a tire suspended on rope from a huge branch. Very dangerous, very fun.

The woods we went to yesterday in Mahwah were similar to my childhood venue of Old Redding in Harrow, but with less people around (none). The kids had fun, and we didn't spend a dime. Plus I got a nostaglic flashback. All in all: good.

Treading Water

Ok, so I'm not helping my cause by drinking a couple midweek, but I'm still totally overwhelmed and struggling to catch up. I spend an hour tidying, and within minutes of my wife's arrival home, the place needs to be tidied again.

Are things getting accomplished? Oh, yes. Plenty of things. But I still don't have clean clothes for the weekend.

While on the subject of laundry, I picked up a weird injury on Monday. I was investigating the clothes that had been left a little wet in the washer to see if they would need to be rewashed (if they smelt damp) or if they could go into the dryer. I picked up a towel that was on top of the pile and put it to my nose...

... and it felt like I got a burn on the tip of my nose. What could have caused that? It wasn't like a static shock, just an instant itch that has now developed into a raw patch. I'm clueless as to what did it. Did the towel bite me?

Spread too thin

I really am struggling right now. I wonder if I have taken on too much in trying to write books, trying to write for the newspaper, trying to write for magazines, trying to serve on a school board, trying to serve on a board of trustees at the library, shopping, cleaning, cooking, laundry-ing, and keeping two kids alive.

On top of all this, I am sleeping so badly, not helped by the recent heatwave that hit right after I put the air conditioners away.

I need a break, not just from the kids (especially "the boy" (c) Homer Simpson.

Here's an example that just happened this very second. Penny is pouring herself some milk (she can get the stuff from the fridge and do it herself.) Patrick decides he wants to put the top back on the milk carton every time Penny takes it off. The result is a little spilled milk, which I shouldn't cry over. But there's more. Patrick then hits Penny very lightly on the arm with a drum, which makes her whine, flail her arms, and knock the cup FILLED to the brim with milk on the floor. This whole incident took less than three seconds from start to finish. That's potentially 20 such incidents a minute. And it's not quite 9:30am.

Not Drowning, but "Drowning"

I've been overwhelmed by parenting before, but this week is a joke. Even supposed break-times are exhausting.

After a weekend away, we arrived back after a drive up from the Jersey Shore, on Monday morning. Both kids were a little sick - sick enough to up the whining level to an 11. Neither wanted to eat, except at the times when all they wanted to do was eat. We skipped school for them, but by Monday night I was walking around with no idea of what I was doing and all our bags from our trip sat unpacked as trip hazards between the kitchen and dining room (ie. that's where I dropped them and that's where they stayed.)

Tuesday was no better. Normally, Tuesdays and Thursdays are my days when both kids are in school and I can milk my alone time for all it's worth. But, given the co-op nature of the kids' school, I was the "working mom" in Penny's classroom - and somehow also had to attend a social coffee morning with the moms in Patrick's class at the same time. I can't say it wasn't fun to goof around with the kids, but it meant I got home at nearly noon and nothing had been done around the house. I walked in, and tripped over the same bags.

Yesterday, Penny had a field trip at a farm 20 minutes from home, and had a shortened school day because of it. So, I dropped her off at 9:30, then still had Patrick to worry about, and was a 40-minute round trip away from unpacking. All the other moms stayed in the farm's cafe and gassed over coffee. I joined them. And again, I can't say it wasn't fun, but... home, trip, curse at bags for the third day in a row.

By last night, things were getting desperate. I had no clean clothes that weren't still packed and very little money for dinner or anything else. A hastily put together meal meant I had time to tip the bags on to the couch - the first step of actually putting them away. I then had every intention of putting Patrick to bed, then coming down and working on the clothes mountain. Instead, I must have fallen asleep next to him as I woke up at 5:15am, stumbled downstairs, and found the cat nesting on the peak of Clothes Everest, shedding his fur all over my white linen shirt.

Yeah, little overwhelmed here.

Abort! Abort!

Too... much... urine...

As hastily as the idea was adopted, I surrendered early this afternoon. We will try again. Some day.

Going Potty

I would write more on this topic, but I dare not become too distracted from the task at hand.

For whatever ridiculous reason, we started potty training my 2-year-old son this weekend. With two adults present. With nothing else to do.

This morning, it's just me, with plenty to do. And in the last hour, the success rate has been less than 50%.

Which means I have been mopping us piss since my son woke up.

R-rated post follows

The following story is not for the squeamish. For at least two reasons. That's my disclaimer.

When Patrick was born, he took a liking to a small mole on my neck. I had never really noticed it before, what with it being almost flat to the skin and, while a darkish-brown, not so dark that it stood out any. When he was a few months old, he would actually suckle on it like it was a nipple, which made us all laugh and made me feel like Scaramanga (James Bond villain with... an extra one.)

Two years later, he still had a liking for it, but it had been put under great stress. It was no longer flat to the skin. Rather it dangled from an elongated thread of mole tissue. While being put down for a nap, he would touch it, squeeze it a little with his fingers (the suckling days stopped when he stopped taking a bottle), and every so often he would grab it and twist it, which is even more painful than it sounds. Imagine laying quietly with your two-year-old, quiet music playing in the dark, then feeling a stabbing - actually a pulling - pain as your son grabs a piece of your neck the size of a pencil eraser and threatens to rip it off.

So this morning, I went to the dermatologist and had it removed. It took 30 seconds, and early signs are that it wasn't any more than a harmless mole. The doctor said: "It seems to have undergone some trauma over the past months." Well, no shit, doc. Being almost twisted off nearly every day could certainly be considered traumatic.

And the second gross-out story of the day? I was shopping in a clothing store and Patrick suddenly stopped walking and told me to "Go away" meaning he was in the act of filling his diaper. No big deal. I finished my shop, carried him out to the car (where I found my portable supply of diapers exhausted) and drove him home to change him. I lay him on the couch and went to find a diaper and some wipes. When I came back having eventually located the last clean diaper in the house and last packet of wipes, there was light brown shit all over the couch, his clothes, his back and his shirt.

Nearly an hour later, I still have the windows open. It was a motherload for sure.

So, here's hoping the afternoon is better than this morning. I am about to put Pat down for his nap. I hope he doesn't absent-mindedly finger the wound where his mole-buddy used to be, because that would really, really hurt.

Buggin' Out

Bugs treat me like a prime cut of beef. When I put on bug spray, they consider it a marinade. I get bitten even if I sit with a citronella candle practically singeing my eyebrows. I am too tasty.

As a result, I spent last night scratching my ankles raw as I "discovered" the delightful bites the skeeters applied to my fair skin during Sunday night's farewell to summer cook out. The kids, who ran in the grass, threw ants at each other, and must surely have more tender flesh than my leather old cells, are lump-free.

Bastards! (the bugs, not the kids)

Dog Days

Although summer is over now Labor Day has been and gone, this weekend is pretty spectacular. Lots of sun-frolicking this morning ahead of my first taste of soccer coaching. Out for a boozy BBQ tonight, then playing soccer tomorrow before coaching more soccer, and more BBQ for dinner.

And Monday, Penny goes to school! Yay for an hour with only one kid! THEN on TUESDAY, BOTH kids are at school. Yip-yippee! They are just as excited as I am, and I have plenty of work lined on both the second book and also some suprise work that will actually earn me some money - something of a novelty of late.

Two Things

If you read the link below, you might be a little confused. The title of the book seems to have changed along with the name of the hero.

You may well have read even further below that Marvin Allen was to be no more. He is now Dean Allen.

The book's title, for now, is "I Got You, Babe" which I like more and more. The original title "The World Is My Changing Table" may live on when the book is published in the U.S. But time will tell.

Just a little clarification there.

Bring it

I believe the expression is: game on...

http://www.booktrade.info/i.php/11744

Heeeeeheeheheeeee!

In The Sun today:

"England legend Ray Parlour..."

Big Day

Regardless of the status of the manuscript (finished, submitted yesterday - one day late only because Monday was Labor Day) I have some kick-in-the-bollocks days ahead, followed by some massage-around-the-sensitive-neck-region days next week.

Today already kind of stank before my wife called me and asked me to take the kids to her parked car on the highway and collect the paperwork she needed in Manhattan today, but left on the passenger seat, and bring them home and scan them and e-mail them to her. The main reason is, today the kids have their belated two and four-year old check ups, and the result (ie. if they aren't sick, and they get their jabs thus enabling the completion of their school health forms) will determine whether they start school next week or not. The prospect of jabs looming, they have been promised a very rare and special treat if they are good at the docs - a McHappy meal - but as far as I'm concerned, the chicken and french fries will be a celebratory feast, not a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down. The day rounds off with chiropractor's appointments for everyone, and a school board meeting for me.

Post Vacation Stress Disorder

We got back from a week-long vacation yesterday, and I walked into potentially the busiest few days of the year.

I've come back a little sun-blessed, but other than that it doesn't feel like I've been on a break at all. Such is the joy of traveling with a 4 and 2-year old, regardless of how much support players are on line with me. I now have to finish the final, final draft of my novel by next Wednesday. In my absence I have been confirmed as the coach of a Kinder Soccer team (on which my daughter will be the star striker), which comes with all kind of responsibilities. And then there's the fundraising stuff for my daughter's school - a school which has its first days in two weeks time. I have doctor's appointments for me and the kids, laundry up the wazoo to put away...

... so I'm sitting here, typing, watching the Yankees get ready to beat Boston as the kids... I don't know... do something in the other room.

So what?

You know when I find myself saying: "I don't care!" the most often? When I really, really care and I'm trying to tell myself I don't. Sigh!

Marvin Allen R.I.P.

So, as the deadline for the final submission of the manuscript approaches, we have our first casualty.

Marvin Allen, the hero of TWIMCT, is no more. That is to say, he won't be called Marvin. In choosing such an unusual name, I wanted to make sure my hero wouldn't actually like his own name - so would outright reject the American tradition of naming the first born son after the father. My editor told me yesterday that it wasn't going to work, and another respected source at the publisher told me it needs to be a cool name to make the readers fall in love with him. The name, it would seem, is that important.

I have had a few suggestions so far, and there is a clear front-runner, but all this thought is distracting me from my kids, one of which is sick, and one of which cannot scientifically be far behind. Just as I start to feel better, naturally.

Oh, and the title will need to be amended for the UK edition. Just tweaked probably, but changed none the less.

Sick

Here's something funny. I am getting sick - nothing major, and it's been a long time (since the well-documented write-off that was mid-February) so I'm due. But the kids are starting to show signs too now, which is a bigger deal.

And here's all I can think about:

"I hope they get sick now, so they get better before they have their next doctor appointment."

That isn't as crazy as it sounds. If they are sick when they are supposed to go in for their immunisations, they won't be allowed to have them. If they don't have them, they can't get their clean health form to start school. And if they can't start school until they are better, then have their jabs, I will be stuck with them while ALL the other kids start school, making me the town pariah and Worst Parent Of The Year 2007.

For all those parents to be or new parents taking notes: Don't take your kids to the doctors when they are a little bit sick. They can't help if Junior has a cold, and it could wreck the next week or two of your scheduling.

Joy!

They say every day with children is an adventure and a blessing.

This morning, as I was making the Cheerios he soon would refuse to eat, my darling son took a pair of scissors and cut a hole in the only pair of clean shorts I have.

So, the adventure of today is that I will either wear dirty clothes, clothes with a freshly cut hole in, or nothing pending my doing some laundry. Wow! I feel like Indiana Frickin' Jones!

And the blessing is... well, I guess I'll let you know.

Baby Steps

When people refer to me as "Mr. Keeble" I am still in the habit of looking over my shoulder for my dad. It is especially funny when a 4-year-old child I have known all their life does it. Clearly, some parents want their kids to grow up respecting their elders, but I much, much prefer "Penny's Daddy" to "Mr. Keeble" as a title. I am obviously better at losing my identity as an individual regarding my children as I am losing it to my parents. Hmmm...

Anyway! Taking the long process towards becoming a published author, I am happy whenever an inch advancement takes place. This morning I was confirmed a member of the Society of Authors, of which membership is limited to... well... authors. I was already a member-in-waiting since they went over my contract with a fine-toothed comb on my behalf, but now I have been approved ("just a formality in your case" wrote their membership secretary, giving me a huge swelling of ego-boost power) and now I've been voted in no less.

Yay me!

Suddenly Summer

You know, being a stay-at-home-dad in the summer used to be the shizzle.

I would wake up, cart the kids the park, hang out chatting with the SAHMs, come home, kids would nap, I would sunbathe in the back yard, they would wake up, I would throw some meat on the grill, wife comes home, snip snip, Bob's your uncle, Fanny's your aunt.

I also swore, as is well documented, that I would never complain about the heat. I don't "do" cold well, and every February I find it hard to get motivated.

Well, this summer is the most oppressive I can remember since the infamous summer of '03 where it rained all weekend, every weekend. It might as well be February. To go outside is no fun at all. I am bug-bitten from head to toe. The house is either like a sauna, or rattling to the tune of the air-conditioner shuffle. The kids aren't napping or sleeping well, and we've grilled maybe three times this season.

All this is made worse because there is no school, and we didn't send either kid to summer camp. So, at this point, the kids are sick of the sight of me. There's also no money in the bank, as is usually the case three days before payday. So, on a budget of $4 a day, with 120% humidity outside, and with the threat of rain not actually becoming actual rain, I have a couple of hard, sweaty days ahead. I need a break from this job, and this family, so badly - for at least two reasons: 1) I have to deliver my final, final draft of the book in about four weeks. 2) I am losing my effing mind.

My vow

I swore in the dead of the snows of February that I would never complain it was too hot. Really, I would rather it was 90 than 40 degrees.

Today, I am coming very close to abandoning that stance because it's so darn hot - and it's not even 8am. My temper is on a hair trigger, my sanity about to snap. The kids aren't doing anything too crazy (refusing their third option of breakfast is hardly unusual nor the worst crime they could commit), but because I am already a sweaty mass, holding off from turning on the noisy, bloody annoying air conditioner, I am ready to consider offers from white slave traders looking for two bargains.

All that said, I managed a trip to the town's swimming lake this week and was able to sit under my umbrella and watch my kids frolic in the sand and water WITHOUT EVEN STANDING UP MYSELF for nearly two hours. It was a corner I have long waited to turn.

This afternoon sees a birthday party at one of those indoors gym places parents will be all-to-familiar with. I am actually excited about the prospect of adult interaction while the kids play unattended (by me at least.)

Nightshifts

The kids have been as good as exclusively under my jurisdiction since my wife was put on emergency night shifts this week. As a result, they are increasingly sick of the sight of me.

We have already cancelled one proposed weekend away, and the next break away (which was going to be Sesame Place) is on a knife-edge. That said, my wife is doing such important work and helping a lot of people with her sacrifices, a fact I am making sure the kids can comprehend.

In a possibly related story, my daughter asked me this week if I was mad because "Patrick won't eat his bloody Cheerios". She was right, I was. But I was laughing so hard at seeing my little mirror bounce back something I had said without realizing she was listening, I didn't even chastise her. Note to self: they are both listening all the time.

Patrick then played his part when I told him, as a special treat, we would be going to the kids favorite place to hang out - a video game arcade nearby. "Daddy, that's awesome," said my little two-year-old buddy before we played The Fast and the Furious together (him steering, me working the pedals.)

How Do You Make Flour?

A simple question - here are my children's answers:

"Take a real flower and crunch it up" - Penny, 4

"Use a rope!" - Patrick, 2

Material World

When I first moved to New York City, I lost a lot of interest in material things. Firstly, I couldn't afford them, and secondly I had nowhere to put them in our apartment.

I always imagined, as a pre-teen, that my Transformers toy collection would be on the mantle as I sat puffing on a pipe as a 60-year-old. SInce then, I have found I don't need a lot of stuff. I wear functioning clothing, my CD collection has been ripped and exists only as invisible data, and even my Smurfs have been sold on eBay.

But here's another reason I've learned not to take too much pride in too much stuff. Actually here's several:

My Nintendo DS - currently AWOL, presumed dead. Last seen with my daughter, broken at the hinges.

My Luke Skywalker lightsaber - snapped twice and converted by the kids into "magic wands."

My notepads, used for work - drawn all over, rendering at least one set of notes redundant

My Rocky III DVD - recovered after being jammed in the VCR by my son, but scratched beyond repair

My treasured Darth Vader figure - cape-less, lightsaber-less, head-less now serving as a bath toy

And so on... When buying anything now, I hesitate and ponder how I would feel if my purchase was chewed on and later found in the garden. I'm certainly saving money this way too.

Total Recall

Many apologies for the lack of posts. Things have just gotten too much lately, what with the news I am going to have a book published coinciding with the hot summer weather.

To update y'all on the book, it's going to be a paperback out next March, and the title "The World Is My Changing Table" seems to be sticking. The contract is going back and forth and will be ironed out in the days ahead. In other book news, the wonderful James Hampton has provided his foreword for what will be my second book and work will pick up pace on that after September (after I deliver the final, final draft of TWIMCT to the publishers.)

The last two days have almost dipped into the hundreds, so needless to say it's hot and everyone's a little cranky. It's not been so bad, but I really have an avertion to air conditioners. They are noisy, expensive, inefficient things. But... they make sleep possible at night, and as I type this I have one rattling over my shoulder to stop me dripping on to my new Mac Book.

More news as it's made.

Monday Haiku

Patrick's Breakfast

Cheerios in bowl
On floor, under couch, in shoes,
Crunchy little shits

The Calm After The Storm

After the insanity of the last week, things have slowed to almost stopping.

This morning I could hardly find the energy to do anything. A trip to the park with the kids ended prematurely after it got a bit windy (force gale seven) and the kids whined all the way back to the van. We returned two hours later, after terrorizing the patrons at the library, only to leave five minutes after that when my son had a melt down when I "accidentally" snapped the stick he had been waving around in the faces of his peers.

At this point, the house is semi-clean, the laundry is all done, and the kids are either asleep or playing at some Candyland website. So, back to wasting time on the computer for a while then!

As I sit back having done all my publisher (heehee!) has asked of me, I'm hardly getting a break. Tonight I have to attend a pre-school committee meeting, albeit at the bar in town, and then tomorrow I can focus of somehow shaking off this strange post-best-news ever lethargy and get back to work on the book I was writing when I managed to land a deal for the first one I'd written.

As of the last hour, all I've done is put bids in on some throwback sports jerseys on eBay.

Big Love

OK, so let me catch my breath.


Fffffffffffffff.

Right.

So, I have agreed to a publishing deal for TWIMCT! The wonderful Friday Project will be publishing the book in England, and negotiating the rights sale to a US publisher. The book will be out, all going well, in time for Father's Day, 2008.

Now, obviously this is crazy. Last Wednesday, I was plodding along working on my current writing project, and now here I am with a deal, and having to think about the cover concept.

There is so much to say about this, but I will spread it out rather than vomit it out all at once. Needless to say I am 1) happy 2) excited 3) dizzy

Nice ways to wake up #1

"You know that thing you did? I loved it!"

Done napping

Parents out there will groan with sympathy when they hear this - my son has stopped napping.

More so than that, he used to go down for FOUR HOURS on some days, but rarely less than three hours. Now, for the second day running, he is refusing to nap at all. Yesterday, he reluctantly took an hour off, but only after I had tried for nearly an hour and a half to get him down in the first place.

Put it this way - if not for my son's naps, there would be no books, no articles in the newspaper, and no blog. I am so tired, it is only the fact I am too irate to sleep that is keeping me functioning. To rub salt in the wound, we left a beautiful sunny hot day at the park, where I had several mom-friends to chat with, because my son tearfully * asked * to come home because he wanted to go to sleep.

The best I can hope for now is an hour at about 3pm. If I put him in the car to go anywhere he will fall asleep and will not transfer successfully to his bed without waking.

This stinks - an exclamation I just made to myself too loudly as to be appropriate.

What's Going On

For the second day running, I have woken up exhausted. This does not bode well. In an average week there are certain things I can manage on a Monday, but not on a Friday, because I start to lose my mind. This phenomena happened early this week, meaning Tuesday is the new Friday (and as Tuesday, being the new Friday, was yesterday, today should be the new Saturday, but it isn't which sucks twice.)

Following the positive feedback after my Parent Paper article, and with some good news from a couple of fronts on TWIMCT, things are looking up work-wise. My little town (pop. 6,500) is good to me, with me getting a call usually once a week from someone saying: "I know you work for the Town Journal, and I've got this idea for a story but I don't know if you would like it..." These stories are pretty much always excellent, in a local paper way. The last example of this was a couple who are getting married next month who first met in pre-school when they were three. I presume they haven't been dating exclusively since then - I'll find out later this week when I speak to them.

The weather is starting to get on my tit-end though. It's supposed to be summer, but this current season rivals the summer of 2004 (Worst Summer Ever) where it was wholly unpleasantly humid or raining for four months, with the heaviest rain coming Saturday morning and ending on Sunday night. When I woke this morning, it was spectacular sunshine. It's now totally overcast and the rain (I will bet you a U.S. dollar) will start at 9:45, just in time to piss on my potential playgroup/interaction with adult humans at the park.

Sore Legz

Playing soccer shouldn't hurt this much after the event, and yet my legs feel like they are filled with rocks. I wouldn't mind so much if I had played well, but my best effort - a full stretch header - was tipped over the bar, leaving me with just one goal in four weeks.

At least it's hot - a little too hot for my somehow mainly black t-shirt collection. I took three showers yesterday and lost about 40lbs through my sweat glands. Luckily, there was 7-11 with a Super Big Gulp of root beer to put that straight for $1.29.

Lots of stories coming up in the local paper, and potentially some nice book news soon. My redrafting of my current project is progressing nicely, though the 1989 Batman movie should be condemned to the "not anywhere near as good as you remember it being nearer 20 years ago" pile. Apart from the one bit where Michael Keaton as Bruce Wayne is ready to go at the Joker with a poker from the fire. That was cool then, and is cool now. Even the Batmobile looked a bit rubbish.

Huh?

Has it really been two weeks or so since I wrote anything here? I guess my blog wouldn't lie to me.

Well, there is much to discuss - and yet, not so much. This month's Parent Paper (available online - google it, top link, last page, go back two pages, voila) has an article of mine in it. Plus, I am redrafting what will become my second book as you read. It was funny, now it's 114% funnier and with 96% fewer grammatical errors!

Oh, and I scored a goal yesterday at soccer - the first in weeks. Yay me!