On the first day of school I noticed in Mikey’s classroom a name tag for a little boy named Harvey.  Now, Harvey isn’t exactly a popular name, but that isn’t what made me do a double take.  What gave me pause was that all through elementary school (the same one Mikey attends) I went to school with a boy named Harvey.  I knew this Harvey had to be my Harvey’s son.

Sure enough, we bumped into each other at the Halloween festival and laughed about the odds of meeting up 24 years later, in the same place where we last saw each other.  Life is funny that way.  You know what else is funny?  Bake sales.

Bake sales are the classic way in which churches and private schools raise funds, and I remember looking forward to them as a kid–the exception being the part where I stressed over what my mom would make.  The thing is, these days, people don’t bake.  Nope.  They pick up donuts, buy things from the supermarket bakery, or drop by Marie Callender’s for a pie, but they don’t bake.  For the bake sale.

I bake.  There was no way I was going to drop off something from the store.  Harvey, apparently, felt the same way.  I posted my progress on Facebook in between Oatmeal Bars.  He updated me on his brownies and oatmeal raisin cookies.  Together, our smugness stretched across town, fragrant with the scent of home baked goods.  When Harvey dropped off his four dozen brownies and oatmeal raisin cookies the next morning, it was all he could do to keep from smirking at the dozens of pink donut boxes.  Likewise, my vegan oatmeal bars (raspberry and apricot) were happily received since it meant the kids with egg and dairy allergies could actually participate in the bake sale.  When I got back to my car, I looked in the rear-view mirror to make sure my halo was still on straight.  It was.  It was shiny, too.

Later, Harvy and I discussed our superiority on Facebook.

Later still, Harvey picked up his sons at school.  He asked his oldest how the bake sale went, and what he bought.  Brownies?  Oatmeal Raisin cookies?  It would be a toss up–they were both pretty fabulous.

“I had a cake with cream inside, wrapped in metal.”

I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right.  Oh yes, he did.  Harvey’s older son bought a Ding Dong at the school bake sale.  And he loved it.  He loved it more than the Ding Dongs he has in the cupboard at home, apparently.

Even later still, Mikey climbed into my car, the sugar high making him both spastic and catatonic.  I asked Mikey how the bake sale was, and what he bought.  Raspberry Oatmeal bars?  Apricot Oatmeal bars?  It would be a toss up–they were both pretty fabulous.

“I had a white cupcake with a huge thing of frosting that went like this {pantomimes tornado} with a plastic tree on top.”

I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right.  Oh yes, he did.  My son bought a store-made cupcake at the school bake sale.  And he loved it.

Harvey and I drove our children home, our separate cars propelled quickly across town by the force of our deflating egos.

My friend and business partner, Miss Tristan B, is at it again. She recently started a new flickr group called Souvenir Foto in hopes of breaking Photo Block {when you have a camera but never use it} and curbing her tendency for procrastination. She rightly figured everyone else had the same problem so she opened it to all who want to play. Each week we get an assignment meant to inspire (re: force) us to pick up our cameras.

I, for one, signed right up because without an assignment or deadline, I’m pretty much worthless. The Mister bought me a new camera for Christmas (Nikon D60) and do you think I have taken advantage of the free photo classes that came with the camera? Of course not! That will soon change. I finally called about the classes and it looks like one is starting in July. Until then, come join me at Souvenir Foto. This week’s assignment was to capture sunshine. I’m pleased with the way the pictures (2 of over 100) turned out, and even more pleased that I did something with my Sunday afternoon that I would not have normally.

I’m terrible about capturing light on film, so I went for a figurative approach to spare myself the humiliation. Mango Popsicle = yellow = sunshine, right? Right.

I spent Saturday, Sunday, and today watching hours upon hours of bankruptcy practice videos. I need to complete 25 hours in continuing education before I can reactivate my license and purchase malpractice insurance and, thanks to these marathon sessions, I am up to roughly 10.5 hours. Almost half way there, and my eyes and brain are starting to feel it.

Today I was especially lawyerly; I went looking at office space. My friends have nice offices in the Upland-Claremont area, and I thought I might find something similar in my budget. We called around and quickly found some buildings with rooms to sublet. Thank you, economy, for being so piss poor that people are desperate to sublet minuscule rooms to floundering stay-at-home-moms-turned-attorneys. It almost makes up for you turning me into a floundering stay-at-home-moms-turned-attorney. Almost.

The first room for rent was in a cute Greek Revival-inspired one story building on the corner of a charming downtown district. I was excited, especially at the price. My friend, Margerie, and I showed up a bit early, so we took the opportunity to chat up a paralegal situated in a weird area of the building with a pop out. On her messy desk was a book that I read and liked, and it appeared from her equally cluttered office that she collected elephants (my favorite animal), but, really, other than those two redeeming qualities, she was bat-shit crazy. I could elaborate, but you’ll just have to trust me that a person who answers her office door with disheveled hair and striped socks only to tell you about her diabetes, hip replacement, and all the attorneys conspiring to chase her out of town is one taco short of a combo plate.

The crazy person in the striped socks suggested we cut through her office and walk down the hall to meet with the property manager– the only attorney in town without a vendetta against sickly paralegals with a quirky fashion sense. I was hoping the rest of the building would look a bit better than McMurphy’s cell, but nope! ALL OF IT = TURD, CIRCA 1978.

Imagine the interior of cowboy-sailor-English Pub restaurant from the 1970s. You know the one: your parents took you there when you brought home a good report card.

Wagon Wheel? Check.

Anchor with whale rope? Check

Paintings of Beagles on a fox hunt? Check. Check. Check.

Turns out the property manager/only attorney in town without a vendetta against sickly paralegals with a quirky fashion sense forgot our appointment. We almost stuck one of our cards on her name placard in the shape of a captain’s wheel to let her know we stopped by (I can’t make this stuff up, folks!),  but as luck would have it, the door to the available space was wide open.

Remember when Greg Brady turned Mr. Brady’s home office into a lover’s lair? Winner! Winner! Winner! The gold carpet, the faux wood paneling, and the caramel pinch pleat drapes and lace sheers that stopped FOUR FEET FROM THE FLOOR all called out in a sing-song voice, “Far out everybody, a renter!”

Margerie cleared her throat awkwardly and said, “Wow. This is a nice sized space. It looks like you would have plenty of phone jacks.”

I agreed, and eyeballed the large window behind all that fabric. “Well, there is plenty of natural light,” I offered.

We both walked towards the window to look at the view, which happened to be the main street cutting through the downtown district. We pulled apart the lace sheers for a better view, and that’s when we saw them. Piercing the window like a constellation were 5 bullet holes.

Stop. Allow me to repeat that.

Piercing the window like a constellation were 5 bullet holes. Bullet holes! Holes!! Plural!!! I CAN NOT MAKE THIS STUFF UP. And the best part? The part that had Margerie and I clutching our stomaches and wiping the tears from our eyes? The largest bullet hole–the one large enough for THE BREEZE TO BLOW THROUGH–was covered with a meticulously cut 2×2 inch square of clear packing tape. News Flash, property manager/only attorney in town without a vendetta against sickly paralegals with a quirky fashion sense, YOU FORGOT TO COVER THE OTHER FOUR BULLET HOLES.

I’d like to say the next office we visited was better, but it wasn’t.  Oh, sure, it wasn’t RIDDLED WITH BULLETS, but it did smell like the inside of a Wienerschnitzel at closing time.  In the 10 minutes we were there, I swear my arteries hardened.  I left wondering if this was a sign, if I would ever find a place of my own, and if there was a point value for greasy air.

The search for the answers to all of the above continues.

I’ve been getting emails asking for an update, and I’ve been silent because it hasn’t been good.  Today showed a step in the right direction, so I feel better enough about it to share some news.

Isabella was discharged on Wednesday, and Sonny and Viola were looking forward to a quiet Thanksgiving with their brood.  Unfortunately, she started vomitting uncontrollably on Thanksgiving.  They rushed her again to the hospital, were they spent hours before leaving with no clear answers and an appointment with head of neurology on Monday.

Monday came, and the appointment didn’t leave them feeling confident about their daughter’s future.  She is in pain and often clutches her head.  Her mood is irritable and unpredictable.  She can vomit at any time without much warning.  And yet there wasn’t much offered in the way of relief.

They went for a second opinion today at UCLA, and we are again feeling optimistic.  Isabella never had a bleed, it seems.  What she had was an extremely large arachnoid cyst that burst at some point.  The fluid that leaked from this cyst created a pocket that is pushing her brain to one side.  This fluid will not go away on it’s own, so she will most likely have surgery to have a ventricular shunt placed.  None of this is for sure, but it’s the game plan on the table right now.

I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your emails, and I admit it was thoughtless of me.  In truth, I was just waiting until I had something concrete to say, and all the while praying that my news would be positive.  I can now say it is.  Thanks for all your support.

Today the boys and I traveled the earth in search of an Advent wreath and calendar. I know you can make both, but I never think about these things until the last minute, hence my frenzied run around town today. I found both, and they are okay. I really wanted an Advent wreath like Grace’s, but they are no longer available. (Great post and blog, by the way.) Mine looks like the traditional wreath, except it’s flocked and has winter berries…and maybe an apple? I can’t remember. I’ll take pictures of it this Sunday so you can see it in action. Yes, you are that lucky; no need to pinch yourself. ;)

The Mister and I are will be leaving shortly to visit Isabella in the ICU. Thank you for your fantastic prayers and well wishes. Everyone is touched and moved and inspired. I, for one, am so grateful I have so many people I can turn to when I need something. It is such a comforting feeling. Now, on to Isabella. Are you ready for this? Three or so weeks ago she fell off the second step of a flight of stairs. I mean, not even a big fall. Just a whoops! She cried for ten seconds (you know, that cry where it hurts but they get over it fast?) and that was it. Hours later, she threw up once, and thinking back to the fall, Viola took her to the emergency room where she charmed everyone into thinking she had a stomach bug because of her easy going demeanor and steady eyes. False. Apparently she has had a slow bleed every since.

The bleed stopped sometime in the last two weeks, but there is a stubborn amount of blood that is still lingering. On top of that, fluid is building and causing pressure. They are allowing her to eat, and if she vomits, they recommend surgery to relieve the pressure in her head. If she doesn’t, surgery is still a possibility if Sonny and Viola want it. They can also wait several months to see if the pressure goes down on it’s own. The debate on whether to have surgery is because the complications are great. It is brain surgery on a 21 month old, after all.

I will update with more information as I have it, but thank you again for even caring! It’s a great feeling, really. You know what else is great? Knowing I and my emetophobic compadres were right all along: barfing sucks and is good for nothing but trouble.

Have you met my friend, Tristan? She is impossibly talented and knows the coolest people ever. Normally Miss B. is trying desperately to free herself from the confines of Satan (i.e., her boss) but lately she’s focuses more on bringing “free” to her blahg readers. Every Friday she does a free download, and just last week she gave away the coveted Domino Book of Decorating before it was available in stores.

Right now she using her connections and her class to host the most unbelievable giveaway on her blog. She and the equally lovely and talented Candace Ang will be sending to one lucky commenter a goodie bag of epic proportions. Many people are hoping they include a certain stunning necklace featured in Elle Accessories, Marie Claire, Ellegirl.com, US Weekly, WWD, and O Magazine. But, those two lovelies won’t divulge what you will get; they just promise it will be good. So head on over there and post a comment before Wednesday. Be sure to mention your favorite color, too, because they want your present to be extra special.

p.s. The more comments they get, the better the prize. So, you know, don’t be shy.

We interrupt this severe case of writer’s block with an important update: I found Petunia Face!

The lovely Susannah at Petunia Face kind of, sort of, accidentally deleted her entire blog over the weekend. You know, the blog recently nominated for a 2008 Blogger award? The blog with legions of borderline obsessed fans? The blog that reminds me daily that I can’t string three words together to form a sentence? Yeah, that blog.

Well, after accepting the fact there really isn’t a help desk at Google or Blogger, she started a new blog (old posts still available!) you can visit called Petunia Faced Girl. I promised Susannah it was no big deal she tripped and fell off the internet. Every problem has a solution, and we can polish this turd and make it sparkle! So, go visit her, say hi, and tell your friends. Also, if you link to Susannah on your blogroll, please update your link. The new address is www.petuniafacedgirl.blogspot.com.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go stare at a blinking curser.