Saturday, September 09, 2006

If There's A Point To This Post, I Surely Can't Find It

I haven't been at the top of my bloggy game for the last couple of days...September has a way of piling up on me, and this last week has been a real reminder of that. Alex started back to Mother's Day Out ("PRAISE THE LORD! PRAISE THE LORD! OUR GOD IS WORTHY OF GLORY!"), I had a crazy two or three days with my secret undercover work for rogue government agencies, I've been helping to plan a farewell reception for our friends who are moving, and there's been a lot - and I mean a LOT - of quality television demanding my attention (I FINALLY got to see Faith and Tim on "Oprah," and it did not disappoint).

Add choir pratice and a play date and a birthday party to that mix, and there just hasn't been much time to sit down and compose some of the stunningly average content that you've come to know and tolerate here at La Mama de Boo.

Oh! And I forgot! I've also done lots of napping! I don't know if I've ever told you this before, but I am very, very good at napping, especially in temperatures where the house actually gets chilly and a little down coverlet works all sorts of sleep-inducing magic when you lie down on the couch.

In other news, Alex spent most of yesterday afternoon making me question every single parenting decision I've ever made, then woke up this morning as a clear contender for Sweetest Child Alive. He has showered me with kisses, told me at least 20 times how much he loves me, charmed the patrons in our favorite bakery (side note: the Vanderbilt football team's buses were at the hotel next to our favorite bakery, and I felt smarter just for driving by them - I did!), entertained the ladies in our favorite florist, wrapped his arms around my neck while calling me "sweet thing," and fed me popcorn chicken as we made our way through Walmart.

I would not be at all surprised if he whipped up a lovely meal for his daddy and me later tonight and then made Bananas Foster tableside for dessert. Although a three year old attempting flambe' probably isn't a great idea.

And since I just looked at my child and uttered the phrase, "Alex, quit eating my hair," I'm thinking that Pefect Saturday '06 is about to come to a screeching halt.

Also, this morning in the bakery I struck up a conversation with a fellow patron, and she mentioned that she was an editor for a Southern-themed magazine that's published here, and I came thisclose to saying, "Oh, I do some wri-...wri-...wri-..." but I just couldn't get that "-TING" out of my mouth, and I have been kicking myself all day long as a result.

What is it with me and "the label"? I just can't say it. CANNOT say it.

When I got home I told David about my sudden bout with timidness, and he couldn't believe that I didn't say anything to her about the "wri-" that I do. Just last night D. and I were talking about how maybe I should try to branch out a little in that area (don't you like how I call it "that area" as if it's some unmentionable body part?) because I do live in a city where there's a market for "wri-" from a Southern perspective. And then, this morning, I run into a woman who has connections in that very market, and I clam up like a politician on the witness stand.

So (deep breath), I think what I'm going to do is to pick up a copy of the magazine that this woman works for, find her name, and email her. Maybe even give her the URL for my blawg. And tell her that there's some "'wri'-esque product" on said blawg that she can peruse at her leisure.

Or, you know, not.

I wouldn't want to be pushy.

BooMama: Bursting With "Wri-" Confidence!

Maybe that should be my new tagline.


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