Please Do Not Feed the Water Horse

The Hyatt came and went. The company was top notch, but sadly the Hyatt itself, failed.  The reservations got screwed up by the hotel staff, my room had been smoked in, the facial burned my skin and the massage therapist seemed kinda of angry.  Actually, every chance they had to fuck up, they did. I’m not even exaggerating.  They even charged my charges to Claire and then lost my car for a while when we were leaving.  I’m writing an old man letter, but you know, too little too late kind of thing,

Not quite the weekend I had imagined, but the ladies were lovely and we had a great time talking and sharing and just being without kids and husbands. That alone was worth it.

Halloween came and went. We didn’t get any trick or treaters, but we really never have.  Max was a dragon and Sparky sported a tutu I made for me.  Well, it was for me before I tried it on and resembled Henrietta Hippo from the New Zoo Revue.

I had this idea that as Max plays dress up, I’d dress up with him. I’d put on a tutu and different fairy wings and we’d play and I’d do my house stuff and I’d teach him that silly is not to be outgrown.  Well, apparently vanity supersedes silly because I really do not want the water horse image as I pass the mirror.

It was a good effort on my part.  I actually made it.  I haven’t even finished the apron I started in 8th grade home ec.  I’ve carried that damn apron with me across bays and oceans thinking that some day I’d sit down and finish it, by god. I even bought a sewing machine for that purpose. That and all the wonderful pillows I’d make.

Who knows.  Maybe Max will force the sewing thing like he has  forced the cooking thing. Max demands different food at each meal. I wish he were one of those kids who eats only three things for months.  That’s how I am. My dad calls it monogamous.

Max, nope. The kid wants different flavors, SPICY flavors. I add chili powder to his Mac and Cheese and he can’t get enough.

Last week I made a roast chicken ala butt plug* AND a meatloaf.   I called my Dad to tell him that is how amazing it is that I’m actually cooking. At 38 I call my Dad because it is BIG NEWS. And my dad thinks so too.  He said something about angels singing in joy that my son isn’t growing up on tortillas and lunch meat.

My SIL is a pro All Things Domestic and beyond. She was the one who showed me the no sew tutu.  Here is her home made costume:

She works for CPS. Don’t go hurting babies on her watch. That’s my brother Dave next to her.  He rocks. I love the adult relationships that have developed with my sibs.

Here is Sparky in the TooToo Much Tutut:

And here is my sweet little dragonheart.