Deuces

Does it count as blogging when you post pictures?  Jessica so cleverly made these collages (she's the collage-queen).  I thought they were sweet.  I've known these ladies for over 20 years...ooph!   Some photos of my beautiful daughter on one of my favorite days of the year (4th of July!)   And celebrating birthdays with my 3 Cancer girls, baseball and celebrating my 35th (again!) with (more!) dear friends These are some of my favorite summer days... so far...

I have missed my late nights.   I suddenly took on "morning person" attributes a few months ago...   I would wake somewhere between 3:30 a.m. and 5 a.m. and have boundless energy.   I would clean, work, plan, daydream and write.   But tonight, as I sit alone on the over-sized couch, I do nothing but enjoy the quiet solitude as I do one of my weeknight reconnaissance missions looking at Southern Californa homes and neighborhoods online.   I like looking at homes for sale.  I really don't know why.  Planning for some distant future, perhaps.   I like negotiating between the congested neighborhoods, concrete jungles in close proximity to downtown centers and the older, suburban homes lined on streets with mature trees and quiet sidewalks.   I always come back to those that are near the nature preserves and large parks, wide open spaces, large yards to plant beautiful things in...   And my favorite ...

I have been thinking of pancakes and eggs. I don't know why. But the craving hasn't subsided, though I cannot say it has intensified... it just remains... in appetite purgatory. I have craved this pairing a few days now. And I am not a pancakes kind of gal, so I am a bit befuddled by it creeping into my psyche, every day, throughout the day. I wouldn't call it torture or taunting, I would call it unfinished business. And today I couldn't help but wonder whether it was the pancakes and eggs I wanted, or whether what I wanted was the idea of a long, leisurely breakfast with someone. And as I sit here, at midnight, unable to sleep before an early a.m. flight, I know that there is something more meaningful worth writing about, and yet, these pancakes and eggs won't leave me alone... Because a long, indulgent, carbohydrate-rich breakfast is usually shared by people who have time to sit and enjoy one another's company. ...

'Twas 2013,  December the Twenty, When good friends, together, Were laughing a plenty, Roll call was such: Lizzy, Amber, Melissa, Lisa, Jess Plus one more hostess we'll dub the "hot mess", We drank a little too much, we did our clothing exchange, and then what happened, was something quite strange, In a moment of drunken wisdom, we decided it best, to take out the camera, and put timer to test, Here's what ensued, (judgmental, don't be) This is just how, We likes to partee.

In the days before Christmas I spend time with people I love.  I watch my suburban neighborhood come alight with holiday splendor while neighbors help one another put up Christmas lights and bake cookies together.  In the days before Christmas I play games with girlfriends and celebrate our children and longstanding relationships.  I work diligently, exhaustingly at times so I can enjoy these times with these people I cannot live without. These are the days before Christmas.

It is Sunday.  I will do some shopping. Because the denial I was in pre-Thanksgiving that I wouldn't over-spend this Christmas went out the window as I sat in cyber-space Friday night catching online sales.  My nieces and nephews gifts? Check, check. I am an efficient online shopper.  I have played this game before.  I know the rules and I honestly always, always, always win.  I cannot lose. I have yet to buy Ariel's gifts-though I have a long list of what I want to get her.  I love buying gifts for people I know.  The ones who don't have to tell me what they need or tell me what they secretly wish someone would buy for them.  Those are the best ones. The joy of wanting to spend started on Thanksgiving- though let's not confuse the joy of giving with my abhorrence for Black Friday that begins any earlier than 6 a.m. on Friday.  I loathe, loathe, loathe the idea of anyone going shopping or camping out for a sale when w...

Yesterday I struggled to feel: Motivated Interested Inspired Content Kind Yesterday I struggled to stop checking my phone for someone else to make my day Because I struggled to make my own day Yesterday I struggled with willpower. I should have known it would be an off day when I got one of those delectable snowman cookies with my Starbucks coffee Oh, how you thwart me, snowman! Yesterday I struggled with patience as my perfectly beautiful daughter tested me by asking me for toast, after she asked me for cereal, after she asked me for a breakfast bar... All of which went uneaten... Just before a glass was broken on the floor.  Yesterday I struggled to feel like myself, save for when I heard The Eagles' Hotel California followed by Lynard Skynard's Sweet Home Alabama followed by Survivor's Eye of the Tiger coming home from my mom's house after an overnight stay.  Seriously there is something so right on about my Pandora lately I ...

I am cleaning, I swear. I come up with these crazy plans. These obsessive-compulsive ideas that I cannot shake. And this idea I have dubbed "The Fifty". The Fifty is the number I have vowed I would undertake each day during the week of Thanksgiving, beginning today: the Saturday prior. From my home I would purge myself of 50 things every day. It started with twenty. But then I realized it would be easy to cheat since each scrap of paper I rid this home of would count as one. You know all those scraps?  The receipts you thought "just in case" you should hold onto... the mail... the coupons from Kohl's latest flyer (that turned into the flyer from summer now past...), the work faxes and memos and other idle paper messes that need to get into the recycling bin, like, yesterday. So 20 became 50, and I am intent on meeting that goal. Any combination of unused toys and unworn clothes that will make it to Salvation Army, any fas...

I love today already. I can't stop smiling. I love cloudy weather.  I love that I can hear a bird singing outside my window despite the clouds. I love that I chose to play John Mayer's Battle Studies album while I work. I love the view from my couch. These red flowers that thrive next to the white roses that thrive a few yards away from the chimnea I had to have.  I love that I've almost, almost, just about swallowed my pride in the choice to hire a housekeeper.  Because today she came and she made all of my floors lovely and every toy has a place. I love her.  I love that just as I was racing to get out the door for a work appointment on a day when I really, really wanted to stay home and work in my underpants I got a call to ask if we can re-schedule the work apointment. I hugged my phone and I hoped my customer didn't hear the elation and smile in my voice. I love that I am feeling energetic on a day I'd usually rath...

My husband is out of town. This night is quiet. My baby girl fell asleep in my arms at 7 p.m. while wrapped in a bath towel. This house is quiet. I have a stack of work to do, but it will wait until tomorrow. This mind is quiet. I have a phone fully charged and no messages to send or receive. This phone is quiet. I have a T.V. without cable. This space is quiet. And when planning, musing, predicting, wondering, assuming, and any general amount of over-thinking is to be avoided I focus on a song, an album, a book or any other transporting mechanism to keep me focused on as little as possible. I am in love with Bon Iver.  Bon keeps me quiet. I Love this Bon Song

I love this walk... Most summer nights we take this walk/run and half-way through I have sincere regrets that I didn't take a shorter route through the neighbourhood. I get a little weary. But only here can I take a photo like this...

The relationship has soured. I started to feel as though I was giving more than I was receiving.  I felt an imbalance, and, at times, consumed by it. The relationship started off like any other. It was fun, exciting, interesting and captivated my attention. But, like many other relationships, The allure faded, and I was left with the reality that I had come to rely on the relationship too much. The complacency, The way I started to feel like a drone. So we have parted ways. It's a trial separation. Do I miss it? Can someone miss Facebook? I guess so. But not so much. Not just yet. As I explained to my girlfriends just this afternoon, I decided to part ways for Facebook temporarily. Going dark for the summer was my way of giving Sayler more of mommy's attention. It was my way of facing the reality that the grimey grout in my shower was not going to disappear on its own and my way of staring down the shelves in my fridge and letting them k...

It was the truck- That's what I saw first. And then a person, a man, emerged from the vehicle. He was short, thin and in his mid-30's.  He was alone. No woman. No kids. Was he a hired hand?  A landscaper?  A realtor? The house that had stood vacant for months had a visitor and by golly I was going to find out who he was. As my eyes narrowed in to capture his every move they began to ache from the intensity of my stare. I remembered that our binoculars were just in the other room.  The ones we bought for some serious whale-watching on our trip to Alaska a few years ago that now doubled as lenses to our neighbors' remodeling endeavors and class-less arguments in front of their homes. Yes. I am the sole member of the neighborhood watch program and I'm not even a little bit ashamed about it.  I have a daughter, you know, and until she moves out of my home I will use her as an excuse to spy, speculate, rubber-neck and write down suspi...

I find myself typing this quickly, because, really, I only have but a few minutes. And I even feel guilty using these few minutes while I lie on an un-made bed whose sheets are clean and waiting to be draped over this bare-naked mattress. At least the laundry and the sheets are clean... I was able to do that. Although, I guess I'm not giving enough credit to the washing machine and dryer.  But every day I find myself trying to be much more efficient so that I can be the woman who does it all, herself. I find myself juggling my baby on a hip with a load of laundry under my arms, keys dangling from my mouth, a computer or work bag draped over my elbow, and a sippy cup hugging the seams of my trouser pockets. And if I am barefoot, I will oftentimes even use my feet and toes to clutch wrappers and laundry that have escaped my arms and hands.  (I swear, I am THAT flexible and efficient) while juggling said above items. ...

Today I pulled the "Woman". I try to avoid pulling the "Woman" at all costs because it sets us ladies back at least a decade. It's also pretty embarrassing. Today I ran out of my house to go pick up Sayler from daycare. As I ran out to my truck I became drenched in water coming from our lawn. Or was it the neighbor's lawn? Right on the border where our grasses meet the water shot out of the air forcefully, quickly soaking my  black yoga pants and black cotton top that fits too snugly since I've given birth. Whatever. 'Notha Issue, 'Notha Day.... Anyway, I quickly panicked, envisioning my water bill skyrocketing before my very eyes. I picked up my baby and upon returning called the water department and, in my most dramatic tone, explained how the water was going EVERYWHERE. "Well whose house is it coming from?" The operator inquired. "I don't really know," I said. "Well, go look at your meter, a...

I am staring at The Mess. The Mess, I won't lie, is pretty big. I cannot recollect when The Mess started, only that it is lingering around like a crazy, middle-aged man on the dance floor of some club that really doesn't understand that you DON'T want to dance with him. I am staring at The Mess. My daughter is playing in The Mess. The Mess is lots of toys, and some non-toys that have been fashioned into toys, and maybe some cracker bits embedded into the carpet. There is a sippy cup, a remote control, a baby beanie, and a hanger. I see a purse. It's one of mine. A small purse that is so cute and fashionable but becomes completely useless once you go from non-mom-to-mom. That is now, Sayler's purse. Of course she is mainly just interested in the zipper. It's shiny. The fact that it has a designer label means nothing to her.  (quasi-designer, anyway- let's not fool the readers into thinking Cambria could care two sheets ...

I AM , a photo by cambrialana on Flickr. I AM a mother I AM a daughter I AM a friend I AM a neighbor, I AM a baby-food baker, and breast-milk maker. I AM a cousin, and an aunt, a niece, a sister and a wife. I AM a rescuer I AM a cleaner, I AM a microwaver and a dreamer. I AM a colleague, I AM a dieter, I AM a chocolate-lover and a writer. I AM a reader I AM a cryer, I AM the designated driver. I AM forgetful I AM forgetful Did I already mention... I AM forgetful? I AM sleepy, I AM working, I AM thinking, I AM scheming, I AM trying to be better at everything, but sometimes find I AM failing. I AM working on it, I promise. Sent From Blackberry Wireless

I have been in nesting mode for several weeks. What this means is- I look into every room of my house and find everything that is wrong with it. I have been anxious to get all the dust bunnies from the corners of the rooms and under the beds... I am addicted to Lysol disenfectant wipes and have a conatiner in each and every room, lest a germ should cross my path at any given moment. I have found myself in fits of wonder late at night and asking my husband if we need to somehow deep clean our air vents (because a new air filter just doesn't seem sufficient enough). I have trimmed the tree and can hear the other trees calling to me that they, too, need a new 'do. I have spent hundreds at COSTCO because I have a nagging fear I will somehow run out of paper towels, toilet paper, boxes of Kleenex and toothbrushes among a myriad of other products (my garage is now called 'Camco'). I silently get mad at my husband for every coffee ring he leaves on the table, every unhu...

We're half-only folks. I steal half my husband's wardrobe because it's just like, so comfy... even though his long socks drape over my feet with all their extra inches and his sweatshirts will sometimes drown me. I steal half his food, even when I have already told him that "I'm not that hungry" and changed my mind. And on half the bed we sleep. I remember when we got our Cal-King. We had upgraded from a Full, which meant we would have lots of room to roam on the new mattress. I could sleep like a starfish every night, and Lloyd's long feet would fit on the bed for the first time ever. But my starfish-lying dreams were soon out the window. Because our pets quickly realized that the Cal-king is soooooooo soft and cushy. I always end up in bed first with Penny at my feet.  And as Lloyd walks around to turn off all the lights, turn on the alarm, and get ready to join me, the cats beat him to the bed and lie in his spot. "I have to be ...

When I was little my dad did just about all the cooking for his kids (and dogs). There were a lot of us.  I lost count  how many kids there were, because the kids would bring friends home and then some of the kids had kids so there were kids a plenty. My dad would cook up anything that went a million ways. I am no stranger to Mac' n Cheese, and Sir Sloppy Joe and our family go way back.  Hamburger Helper was a staple, and eggs fried up with leftover everythings was a mainstay.  There were stews and menudo, albondigas and pieces of bread filled with sandwich meats like bologna and turkey.  If FMV made it, we bought it. And on everything, went Tabasco. I crawled downstairs this morning for an early breakfast of Mac n' Cheese instead of the usual Raisin Bran.  (Must be a sudden pregnancy thing, because I also had to have it for lunch). I boiled the noodles (okay microwaved them, let's be honest, I'm not Martha Stewart)... and ...