I don’t know if my threatening email played a part in this, but yesterday’s mail brought a check from my deadbeat client. It’s a partial payment: They paid three of the four invoices. The check is dated July 10, so why it arrived nine days later is a mystery. It has me wondering if they cut the check on the 10th and just waited as long as possible to send it, possibly until my threatening email arrived. Who knows? I’m also wondering why they didn’t say, “Calm down, SarabellaE, for we’ve paid three of the four past-due invoices in one check” to mollify me. They still owe me $475, and I think I will follow through with my collections threat. I’m never working for these people again, so what the hell, right? I’m adamantly telling the “Good Girl” part of my brain to shut the fuck up and not feel guilty for throwing a tantrum and inconveniencing them. (Programming runs deep, sometimes.)

Good news is good news. Mama’s bank account will be happy to see that $1,575 first thing tomorrow morning!

Other hand is wrapped around my feverish baby. Not getting much done, although that was my plan for today. I’ve nursed him, sung songs, read stories, recited nursery rhymes, showed him pictures, read him LJ posts, served food and ice-water—nothing cheers him up. He’s naked, hot, and lethargic, poor baby!

Observation
Sometimes it seems to me that my life operates on along the track of a single continuum, with terminal ends of clean and dirty. All day, every day, it seems, I find myself and my children and my household situated somewhere along that single spectrum. Sometimes we are moving toward dirty and sometimes toward clean, but always our present condition can be defined as a point on the filth spectrum. The kids are in the shower presently.

Highs
If you get a chance to eat a white squash that looks kinda like a flattened, scallop-edged hat (I think it’s called Early White Bush squash), by all means give it a try. It’s yummy.

My old magazine editor referred a local ad agency to me. The agency has a client that wants to work directly with a freelance writer to localize their ad campaigns. I told the vp I was interested and that he should feel free to give his client my contact info. It might turn into something. It might not.

I ran 35 minutes without stopping or slowing or hurting today on the gym’s treadmill. The day care girl said Asher didn’t cry the whole time I was gone, so that’s good. I am hoping as my fitness level improves, so will my emotional health.

Lows
I’m feeling terribly low. Feeling terrified about the threats I levied today at a client because I feel like I can’t back them up. Thanks to all my peeps who gave me encouragement. I felt righteous indignation for the first 30 minutes after I sent off that email. Now I just feel scared, small, and weak. Like a fraud. I really NEED that money. … Oh. Yes. This terror I feel is about MONEY. Right. Of course. Nevertheless, I’m feeling like my career is in the toilet and I’m ineffective and going nowhere fast. This makes me sad because I have no plans to change what I’m doing for the next two years at least. Hopefully I’ll get over it. It’s time for things to turn around. Please? 

•  Invoice 230 Syria (April 17, 2008; $XXX.00) is now 61 days past-due.
•  Invoice 235 for Israel (May 9, 2008, $XXX.50) is now 29 days past-due.
•  Invoice 236 for Lebanon (May 26, 2008; $XXX.50) is 19 days past-due.
•  Invoice 238 for The World Bank and the International Monetary Fund (June 10, 2008, $XXX.00) is 5 days past-due.

Dear 

t8bloom

You’re my oldest—not as in most aged—friend, but the friend I’ve had the longest, which is really saying something in this tribe, given the long connections we have all had. From Earl LeGette Elementary School to Yankee Doodle dance numbers in high school, to pagan ceremonies, to weddings, we’ve been through a lot together. I’m delighted to know you, always impressed by you, and grateful that we have a long life of friendship still ahead of us! You never fail to bring a positive attitude, your wealth of experience and knowledge, and your unfailing sincerity to every encounter. I respect you and love you to pieces. Happy birthday!

Love, 
Sara

Dear

smallberries

I’m a day late, I think, but I wanted to wish you a spectacular birthday anyway. We haven’t known each other very long, but I take comfort in the fact that life just gets sweeter each year, so it’s only a matter of time till we get to hang out together again. You’re warm and open and kind and genuine and smart, not to mention super hot. So I raise a glass of rum and coke to you, in the hopes that you’re enjoying your birthday celebrations and that someday we’ll be chillin’ together on the playa with all our friends frolicking about us. 

Love,
Sara

A couple of days ago it was my turn to host the Summer Playgroup/Babysitting Co-op again. I hosted the very first one in June. This time, we had it at my parents’ house because they have a pool. And although it was a good day, it would have been grand had it not looked and smelled like the proverbial Apocalypse all day. Two mommies decided not to bring their kids to the group because of the abysmal air quality—truly I’ve never in my life seen it so bad. I was looking up at the tops of the redwood trees, which are the deepest, richest green, and realized that I could actually see wisps of smoke passing by on the hot wind. The smokey air was so bad my eyes were burning. But we were obliged to carry on. 

I conned one granny into bringing her two grandkids even though they had a late night a Music Circus planned for that night. Another mommy reluctantly agreed to let her two boys stay and swim. So for a while, we had Lucas and three big kids and two younger siblings swimming. 

Ian took the afternoon off work to play with us and help supervise the kids in the pool. (I cannot confidently supervise up to seven swimmers and keep Asher from drowning at the same time.) It was great having him there. (Thanks, Bascha!) It ended up being a smaller group than I thought we’d have, but it was still super to have his help.

My mother wasn’t home for most of it. She’s not too into kids. But when she got home she visited with us by the pool. Cleanup was easy, too. My hosting obligation is done for the summer!

I have just a second today to report a little about Lucas’s Art Camp. Today is day 4 and he is LOVING it. He has several friends from his class in camp with him this week (Mitchell, Sofia, Ripley, and Eric). Every day they start the day by drawing a chalk mural together. I got to see yesterday’s mural. It was an underwater scene.

The theme for camp this week is Native American crafts and village building. Each day they are told a Native American story and do a special craft project. The first day they worked with clay and made “pinch pots” and snakes. The second day they made “God’s-eyes” with sticks and yarn. Yesterday Lucas came home with a beautiful Navajo sand painting. It’s very attractive and has cornmeal dusted onto the painting. He said the other kids painted deer and bears, in keeping with the Indian theme, I think. For a reason he did not explain, he painted a pelican. I guess the boy is a California native through and through ….

Today’s project is something called “mud ponies.” I have no idea what this might be and neither does Lucas. I am not sure yet how the “village building” will come in.

In addition to artistic activities, the children are enjoying stories, music with rhythm instruments, songs, nature games, snack time, and free play time. The teacher’s yard is lovely and has a big rope swing. 

I’m so grateful he gets to do this camp! He’s really loving it. Next week’s theme is Mask making with myths from Africa, Greece, and China.

Dear Flonkbob,

Happy birthday my friend! We met in 1994, I think, after I returned from Scotland. Little did I know when I got roped into becoming a death clerk that I’d find one of my best friends in the person of a body-snatching computer genius with five kids. You were crazy then. I suspect you’re still crazy now, but in a happier way. I am privileged to know you and call you my friend. I hope Cali is agreeing with you better than WA. And I hope you have a wonderful, exciting, pain-free birthday surrounded by friends, a little whiskey, and your lovely wife. 

xoxox

 Asher has added the following signs to his growing repertoire: 
24. lion
25. cat
26. mouse
27. car

Asher’s nighttime sleeping is going pretty good. He’s staying in his crib most nights from bedtime until about 3:30 a.m., but I’m noticing some backsliding. Like, he used to stay there until 5:30, then 4:30. Now 3:30 a.m. 

Let’s pause for dramatic effect, shall we?

…

3:30 a.m. 

Sending Ian into Asher’s room to deal with him isn’t working too well. It’s great that I can bully my husband out of bed to deal with the crying baby (something that I should have done much more often when Lucas was small), but he’s not having much luck—even though he’s trying hard. 

So, because most nights I’ve already been up with Asher at least once by the time 3:30 a.m. arrives, I’m not too keen on getting up again. The truth is, between 3:30 and 6 I don’t even know my fucking name. Therefore, Asher has been coming to our bed then and sleeping until 7:30 or 8:00 in the morning. 

It’s not ideal. It’s not by the book. It’s life and it’s ugly sometimes.

The napping in the crib SUCKS. It is the most horrible thing EVER.  Just ask Asher. I myself would give the same answer if you asked me about it after 1 hour and 55 minutes of crying. After about 25 minutes I start getting really antsy. After 47 minutes, I’m clawing out my own eyes. After 93 minutes of crying I’m willing to drown myself in a vat of acid just to make the sound stop.  

Then … eventually … blessed silence …

…

for 12 minutes. 

Yes, 12 minutes of napping, folks! 

P. S. OK. I think I’ve indulged my inner sarcastic, bitchy drama queen enough now. Thanks for reading.