I know the kids are playing well, because it’s been fifteen minutes without a blood-curdling scream. The only thing yelled has been:

Batman, come quick! Your wife is having a baby!

I foresee trouble melding their play styles very, very soon.

§

I actually got up this morning and went running by myself for about an hour. I say “about” because my exercise watch has disappeared and it probably won’t be until the Great Unpacking that I find it again. I haven’t gone running by myself for…let’s just say, easily 6 weeks, if not more.

I have been running, though. Rob comes down to my house on Thursday mornings, and I have standing invitations to join him for the Wildcat Trail at Rancho San Antonio on Tuesdays and Fridays. Last week I did both days. On Tuesday I managed to run all the way to the top; on Friday I could hardly breathe. I guess I was going too fast (which is sad, because my top speed is “slo-mo”). Gotta do hill training. Especially if we’re going to keep doing those trail runs.

The trick to getting up and getting out for me is not pep talks or self-beratement. It’s putting the exercise clothes out the night before. If I do that, I’m practically on the road already. If the clothes aren’t out, in the morning I wake up, think, It’s too hard to find the clothes in the dark and I couldn’t possibly turn on the light ’cause that would wake up Darin so I’d better just go back to sleep, and go back to sleep.

§

I know the running’s having a teensy effect on me, because I went to Coffee Society at the Pruneyard today to write and got a 20-ounce green tea instead of my usual 20-ounce French vanilla latte. (Mind you, it’s a latte that lasts me three hours. But still.)

It’s funny to think that I go to write at Coffee Society, because I did that when the original opened in Cupertino millenia ago. For some reason, sitting in a cafe, drinking coffee (or green tea) and writing for hours is just my idea of a good time. If I’m home I need it quiet (except for music) to write. If I’m out, I need the hum and constant motion of a cafe. Go figure.

I was about to say that I’ve never gotten any writing done in a Starbucks, but this is not true: that was my writing joint in Sherman Oaks! That Starbucks (at Ventura Canyon) really went out of their way to make the place comfortable for writers, which was good because we were thick on the ground there. Seriously, best place for writers to network in LA: Starbucks. Just go over to the next laptop and ask what they’re working on.

§

I made chicken pot pie for dinner. World’s best dinner for using leftovers. The kids immediately said, “Noooooooo.” I said, “It’s got chicken and peas and corn and pastry topping! You like all those things.” Sophia looked at me and said, “But I don’t like them mixed all together.”

Does this phase ever end?

I used to be the world’s pickiest eater, which is partially why I’m such a hardcase with the kids. You can eat this, or you can go without dinner, but I’m not making you something special. Darin reminds me that one night without dinner will not make them starve. And just maybe, after a few nights of not having dinner, they’ll actually try the food in front of them.

Or not. Apparently Batman is back to having marriage troubles. Better go see what’s going on.

Yup, it’s that time of year again. Another anniversary of my 29th birthday. That much closer to the warranty expiring.

Last night Sophia woke us up around 3 in the morning because she had a terrific ear pain (since discovered to be an ear infection requiring amoxicillin and pain-numbing drops, plus Advil for the fever). I more or less never went back to sleep (except when I managed to doze between 6 and 7), and I did a lot of thinking. About what I’m doing right now with my life, about what I want to be doing.

I’m actually exceptionally happy with my life. I know, it’s bad karma to actually say that aloud—whenever I’m in the market and see a magazine with a couple on the cover beaming about how happy they are, my first thought generally is, “Divorce within the year.” But I am still happily married to what’s-his-face, our kids are amazing —

(As Darin says, it’s a biological imperative to think your kids are great: you need to think they’re the bees’ knees so you protect them and keep them safe. Even though I know that, I still think they’re the world’s greatest kids.)

— we have a great house (albeit, still in the middle of getting the wood floors installed, which has us living with that “not quite moved in” feeling) in a wonderful town, and there are no problems looming on the horizon. I am extremely blessed to have wonderful friends and family.

My main problem these days appears to be inability to finish the rewrite of my novel. And on the scale of 1 to 10 of problems to have, that would probably finish around, I don’t know, 9.5, where getting the plague is a 1 and winning the lottery and immediately finding a sound financial advisor probably comes in at 10. It’s still a problem I want to solve though, and I’m figuring out how to do it at my own speed.

Of course, at the moment I’m sitting at home with my sickie chickie and not doing any writing at all. And tonight I’m going out with Darin for Date Night to celebrate my birthday. So I’m not going to solve that particular problem today. But you know what? For right now, at any rate, that’s okay.

Wow, do I not miss LA during the summer.

On Wednesday, once we had acclimated to being back in California, the kids and I kissed Darin goodbye and I drove us down to LA. We left at 8:30 in the morning, got to Tamar’s at about 1, no stopping, one tank of gas. I decided that we should go down so that Sophia could say goodbye to Damian before he moves across country. (And, of course, so I could say goodbye to Tamar and Dan too!) And given the, er, intensely over-the-top playing Sophia, Simon, and Damian have been doing for the past couple of days, I’d say they were having a good time. (Yesterday I looked at Tamar and said, “Do you suppose they’re energy vampires or something? The crazier they get, the tireder I feel.”)

We’re not staying with Tamar, because she enjoys the feline species, who tend to leave dander all over the place, which doesn’t agree with me. We’re staying at the Wyndham Bel Age (best said with an exaggerated French drawl: Ahhhhjjjjjjjjj). I wanted to try a different suites hotel this time, so now we’re on the Sunset Strip kitty-corner from the Whiskey A Go Go. (Simon keeps asking to go, but I don’t like the bands playing.) The Bel Age is much nicer than the Le Parc, where we stayed at Christmas, though there are some downsides too. A handy reference card for anyone wanting to stay at a slightly expensive suites hotel in West Hollywood:

	Wyndham Bel Age	Le Parc
Kitchenette Amenities	Refrigerator with overpriced snacks; no plates or utensils	Empty refrigerator, two burners; plates and utensils
DVD Player	Rent for $45/day!	Standard in room
Furnishings	Excellent	Good
View	Sunset Strip, all the way to downtown, some smog	Building across the street
Neighborhood	Happenin’	Residential
Noise	Haven’t noticed anything yet	Nothing
Free Phone Calls	If you join Wyndham ByRequest, you get free domestic phone calls!	Don’t remember, frankly
Free Internet	Yes: Wi-Fi, no less	Yes, but bring your ethernet cable!
Band Tour Buses	Several	None
LA Sheriff Cameos	One at valet station	None
Proximity to Sunset	Half a block, no waiting	Several blocks

§

Spent the morning yesterday at the Beverly Center, because no visit to LA is complete without a visit to a mall. Also, I needed somewhere air-conditioned that the kids could run around, because no way was I taking them to a park. I don’t know what the temperature has been while we’ve been here, but it’s also been humid, which is just so unfair—LA is all about the dry heat.

Michele and I took the kids shopping. Most specifically, I wanted some new summery tops, because I’m tired of wearing t-shirts. I know that’s a silly thing for a woman of my age to say (like: haven’t you been over them for a while?), but while I got rid of logoed t-shirts for a while, I’ve kept wearing Gap specials. I said, I need real blouses. Michele took me in hand, since she knows where to go. Most of the places we went to had these horrible retro-70s tops that are so in now. Hey, I don’t like paisley, okay? But we finally found some really me-type things at Ann Taylor (a store I’ve never set foot in before).

Wherever we went, Michele always asked Sophia her opinion of the clothes. Sophia is a snappy dresser and has very good taste, amazingly enough for a 5-year-old. Michele also taught her to search out the sale racks—”Look for these signs with the 40% off on them.”

I’m going to have a nightmare on my hands when she’s 13. It’s just a prediction.

§

One of the things that being back in LA has reminded me of is that you never, ever spend your ones. Because your one dollar bills are “valet kibble.” (At the Bel Age it’s probably fives or tens or something, but I still do ones.) I have a wallet full of ones.

§

I got a point toward my “Worst Mother Ever” merit badge when we were getting ready for bed Wednesday night and I discovered I’d forgotten to bring contact lens solution. Normally you can call the bellman and ask him to run errands for you (for a price, natch), but he said, “We’re too busy down here!” I wanted to call Pink Dot, but my cell phone was out of battery (and I wasn’t aware that I had free phone calls). So I said, “Okay, kids, put your shoes back on.”

When we walked out the door at the valet area, we discovered a gigantic back-up of cars, partially due to the presence of a LA Sheriff’s car and a couple of cops. No idea what was going on there.

We walked up to Sunset at 9:30pm to a liquor/convenience store that carried such things as toilet paper, condoms, and, yes, contact lens solution. The kids didn’t notice the Hustlers; they just wanted the package of gummy worms. (I said no.)

Okay, fine: I was really going to pick up a litre of vodka, but the kids really wouldn’t go to sleep, okay?

§

When we got back from our trip to Michigan, we noticed a sewage-y smell in the house. We thought it was because the floor guys (did I mention that we’ve had the wood floors put in?) had taken out a toilet in order to put the floor down.

After a couple of days, we said, That’s not the toilet.

Well, we couldn’t get the plumber to come in while I was there, so he came in after I’d left, meaning Darin had to stay.

And stay. And stay. Because a sewer pipe had broken under our house.

Neat.

I sure hope the water’s back on by the time we go back.