Superdad

Music: My Bloody Valentine, "When You Sleep"

I put together B1's loft bed the other night, got it all set up. The room looks sharp, he loves it, and his baby brother loves getting his brother's old captain's bed. Everybody wins, although the boys have to get used to the overhang on the loft bed -- every so often I hear "Hahahah! *KLONK* Waaaaaaa!"

So, tomorrow's Homegrrl's potluck -- I'm bringing a giant apple pie I picked up from Costco. Had to, because I've always wanted to get one of their giant cakes or pies, but it's too much for normal consumption, is perfect for a party. Spousette may or may not come, depending on how much studying she gets done tomorrow.

I didn't go to work today, didn't want to go. Missed out on the holiday party, but oh, well. The Production Posse was flummoxed by my absence -- they refer to me as "the glue" that holds their social grouping together; my sparkliness (to use Homegrrl's terminology) seems to follow me wherever I go. But I just couldn't imagine drinking and eating for what would have amounted to about 5 or 6 hours. No good. Better to skip out, go shopping at Costco and Target, getting needed things.

Of course, I called in sick, so there you go -- I got some nice floor lamps, one for our living room, one for the boys' room. See, the boys' room needed a new light -- during nightfall, it basically became only a sleeping room, because of that. Now, with the new lights, it's a-okay, and they can use the room again. Viva Target!

I'm going to add some pix to Flickr, now.

So, I crossed the 100,000-word threshold on the story I'm working on right now, which is a speed record for me, given that I started this one right after Halloween. I should've done National Novel-Writing Month this year, eh? Ah, well. Hopefully, this story'll be the one that I can market effectively, one that'll let me write full-time. Fingers crossed. It's sure to be banned by fundamentalists everywhere -- it's kind of like "Heathers" meets "The Howling." But I like it, it works well. I'm hoping that I can wrap it up at 120,000 words. If I can keep the pace I've had the last 40 days, I'll have it done by next week (assuming 120,000 words = done). I know the ending I want, it's just a matter of the protagonist letting me get there.

Labored Daze

Out of one of our living room windows I see Venus, and a smoggy sunrise. All is quiet at the moment, although B2 is soon to wake up in earnest; he's gnawing on his blankie and baby-cooing.

I've been reading The Terror by Dan Simmons, and enjoying it (although also kind of analyzing it, what I think he's doing right and wrong with it, with a mind to my own work; then again, he's got like 20 novels under his belt, including some NYT bestsellers, and me, I got nothing, yet! Still, I think his editors could've helped him a little bit here and there, but they probably handled him with kid gloves).

Nothing fancy planned this weekend; for me, in my heavily-scheduled workaday existence, not having anything planned is a demigodsend.

My big accomplishment of last week was inventing a new word...

Smarmalade: unctuous, greasy charm; sleazy, pretentious fakeness.

I'm kinda proud of that one. I added it to the Urban Dictionary, which is what I do with any new words I create.

I had to get Daddy-crafty y-day with B1; we went out to eat, and B1 refused to eat anything in front of him (it was French toast). So after trying to get him to eat for awhile, and failing, I said "You know, Santa's watching, and if you don't try any of that, he's going to put you on his red list." B1's like "Red list?" and I said "Yep, for 'Naughty.' And that means you won't get anything but a rock for Christmas." and he's like "But I don't WANT a rock!" and I said "If you try that French toast, you'll be put on his green list."

I figured I'd appeal to his Capricorn greed and acquisitiveness, instead of fighting his stubbornness. And it worked; he choked down a few bites of French toast (we knew he'd not eat the whole thing, but we just wanted him to try it, since it was a new food for him), and his attituded changed from resentful opposition to us to excitement about the prospect of being in good with Santa.

When we got home, we made a green list, where we'll put a single toy item he wants for Christmas, which is contingent on him trying new foods -- if he tries another new food, another desired item gets on the list; if he doesn't try it, it doesn't get on the green list.

I know parents aren't supposed to bribe their kids that way, but I thought of it more like extortion, bringing the mighty Santa in as hired muscle to get the kid to play ball. Lord knows it won't be long before he doesn't believe in Santa, so I've got to do what I can, while I can!