finslippy

Home at last

Friends, our move is complete. We are mostly unpacked.

And Charlie the Dog is exhausted.

But oh! We love our new place! It's everything we wanted. Henry has declared that he wants to live here for the rest of his life. I'm not going to hold him to that, but I appreciate the sentiment.

Right now Henry is home sick with a swollen eye and a sore throat, listening to a "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" audiobook on my computer. Typing while listening to his audiobook with him is more challenging than it sounds. Turns out I can't listen and think at the same time. I'd give him my headphones, but I can't find my headphones. I'm sure they're around here somewhere. And at some point I will get up to look for them.

Look who's turning 40 today!

It's Scott! Everyone wish him a happy birthday! Go on!

Doesn't he look distinguished?

For my 40th last year, Scott threw me an amazing surprise birthday party and got me a super-fancy camera. For his birthday, I’m getting him the Gift of Packing and Painting! His two favorite activities!

He is a lucky, lucky man.

Actually for his birthday I am taking him for an overnight stay here. And we will be eating dinner here. It will be fantastic.

But those will have to wait for a couple of weeks. Because there’s packing to do, mister! Get to work!

I asked Henry what he loves about his Dad, and he came up with a list. Here it is. I heartily agree with them all. And then some!

Forty things I love about Daddy. By Henry.

1. All his love.
2. He takes me to get a snack after school.
3. He gives me an allowance.
4. He buys me Legos.
5. When he calls me “Buddy bear” or “Hank.”
6. And how bushy is that beard? …not so bushy.
7. The man is strong and a good wrestler.
8. He plays soccer with me.
9. He reads to me a lot.
10. He cuddles.
11. He makes me the best macaroni.
12. He draws funny comics with me.
13. He takes me to the movies.
14. My daddy is very, very kind.
15. I also think he is funny…
16. …and he’s cool.
17. I love how he makes all the funny creations when we’re playing with Legos.
18. His movies are good and detailed.
19. He’s always happy to see me.
20. I like the way he wakes me up.
21. I like the way his glasses make him look funny.
22. He thinks that I’m very kind and good.
23. He tells me that he loves me.
24. He plays me Indiana Jones.
25. I love that I know that he knows that I love him.
26. He tells me stories.
27. He trusts me.
28. He tucks me in at bedtime.
29. He’s the friendliest man I’ve ever met.
30. I like that he can work from home, so we can hang out.
31. I like that he is my Daddy.
32. He sets up the best birthday parties.
33. He helps me find Lego pieces.
34. He’s always proud of me when I say something smart.
35. When we get into fights he always gives me a true apology.
36. He always solves the problem, whenever there is one.
37. He helps me when I’m scared.
38. He lets me do things that are very fun.
39. He always goes camping with me.
40. My Daddy is the best.

Happy birthday, sweetie. You are, indeed, the best. I can’t wait to see you turn into a grizzled old man. It’s happening more quickly than I could have dreamed!

Four days!

Mrs. Kennedy and I completed the final edit to our manuscript yesterday. And that, my friends, was an alarming amount of work. My eyes and hands ache, and my brain-parts are wrung dry. Scott was helping me punch up some of the jokes, and at some point over the weekend he barked, “DID YOU HAVE TO PUT IN SO MANY WORDS?” I knew how he felt.

I actually at one point thought we could move on the same day the manuscript was due, because after all the edits weren’t all that much, and if we just improved some of the humor here and there, and added in the images, how much work could that be? I could just finish it up while I took breaks from packing! BAH HAAAAAAaaaarh. That is me wheeze-laughing as I take another swig from the dusty bottle of Kahlua I found at the back of our pantry. Kahlua plus working straight through the night makes me feel like I’m in college again!

Fortunately Scott corrected me when I insisted we could move over the weekend, and instead we are moving this Friday. Which still seems too soon, right now, because I need to sleep for at least a week. On the other hand it can’t come quickly enough, because even as I write this my neighbors are outside on the stoop, playing Who Can Smoke the Most Cigarettes While Yelling the Loudest? Hold me.

Ten days

As in, we're moving in ten days. Only ten days.

We were going to leave sooner, but it made more sense to wait a few more days. It's not easy to wait. Henry can't sleep. Every night the people above his room commence the most unbelievable racket. It's not just stomping or shouting or dropping the occasional, I don't know, small appliance. This sounds like they're playing Toss the Furniture every night. Slam the Moped on the Linoleum. We turn on a fan and play music in his room, but half the time we have to sit with him until he falls asleep. It takes a while.

The rational part of me thinks we're perfectly safe here for the time being, but the primitive scaredy-cat part is screaming GO GO WHATAREYOUDIOTSWAITINGFOR. The other night, after Scott had gone to bed, someone knocked on the door. It was 11 pm. I crouched on the other side, listening, frozen, bathed in cold sweat. They kept knocking. Fortunately it wasn't loud enough for the dog to hear, because he would have come running, which would have alerted the entire household. Just me and someone on the other side of the door, rapping quietly.

I realize this probably wasn't someone coming to kill us all. Nor was the plumber, who came knocking at around noon, a few days ago. I was in the bathroom and heard Scott answer the door. Then nobody said anything. Immediately my brain decided he was in trouble. Silent, puzzling trouble. And again, with the cold sweat! All over my body! But it was just the (odd) plumber, who thought we had a problem (we did not; he had the wrong door) but instead of saying something, decided to stand there and stare.

It's been cold out. This is good. When it's cold out the people in the building don't congregate on the stoop. They don't run in and out of the building, shouting and slamming doors. Ten more days. I don't care if it snows. Let it.

A poem (not mine)(and thank God for that)

My friend Sarah linked to this poem the other day, and I was reminded of how much I loved Frank O'Hara and still do. He was so funny and compassionate, and his poems always made me so happy I lived in the city, and so sad that a dune buggy ran him over. I wish he were alive so I could chase him around a room shouting LET ME HUG YOU. I bet he wouldn't be able to run fast, because if he were alive he'd be old! And I'd catch him! And then he'd ask me to let him go, and I would, but only after a minute, or five.

Poem

Lana Turner has collapsed!
I was trotting along and suddenly
it started raining and snowing
and you said it was hailing
but hailing hits you on the head
hard so it was really snowing and
raining and I was in such a hurry
to meet you but the traffic
was acting exactly like the sky
and suddenly I see a headline
LANA TURNER HAS COLLAPSED!
there is no snow in Hollywood
there is no rain in California
I have been to lots of parties
and acted perfectly disgraceful
but I never actually collapsed
oh Lana Turner we love you get up