Our House Is Made of Pie*

Yesterday I hauled the children out for a roadtrip/playdate in the Antelope Valley. I had never been to Palmdale before, so I didn’t realize that one can actually use cruise control in Los Angeles county. It was pretty far away, but it only took about an hour to get there, which is the same amount of time it takes to get to Santa Monica in moderate traffic, which is how I justified it. Plus, the company was great.

We visited with Whit and Trisha, two of the most normal people I’ve ever met. They are kooky and decent without being weird or precious and their 2 children are adorable. Their 4-year-old was much more interested in the baby than in Kyle, but he was a good playmate for Kyle nonetheless. He even gave him a page from his giant Cars coloring book to take home with him.

Kyle fell asleep on the way home, after being totally pissed that I ate all the cookies. Hey, I am eating for two here. Give up the cookies, kid. Anyway, he didn’t sleep for the rest of the day. Neither did the baby, who also did not sleep enough last night. Thus, neither did I.

Which sucked because this morning we had a meeting with our new accountant. YES, I said NEW accountant. Thank God for blogging, because Stefanie hooked me up with this new guy who is going to save the day with our 2004 audit and hopefully get everything straightened out for ’05 and ’06. Because I slept poorly, I did not have enough time or mental energy to organize our paperwork very well, and during the meeting I started getting the caffeine shakes. It was hot in his office and I was worried about our parking meter running out of time (damn Hollywood and their whole Bad Parking Karma thing). I thought I might faint. The whole thing made me feel like a shadow of my former self, because my former self would have had Excel spreadsheets prepared, color-coded tabs installed, and a bulleted list of talking points.

Once we got out of there we high-tailed it over to McDonald’s for fattening fast food. But high-tailing it in Hollywood means bumper-to-bumper traffic and pesky pedestrians in our way. Ten bucks (a write-off!) and an hour later, we were home in time for me to feed the baby again and hope for a nap. I think I might actually get that nap, because Brady just fell asleep in the swing. It’s a minor miracle.

*Who gets the lyric reference? Anyone? Whit, you don’t count.