After crawling into a cave and writing a travel memoir for the past seven months, I have now emerged to find that Seattle's actually having a pretty nice summer. Too bad I missed the first half of it.

Not that I'm complaining, writing The Motion of the Ocean has been an amazing experience. Rewarding and difficult and hair-graying and fun. I can't believe it's over...or at least the first big hump is over; now the editing begins. I sent the manuscript to my editor at Touchstone/Fireside on Monday. Wow.

The other neato thing that happened recently is the Pacific Northwest Writers Association (PNWA) Conference. I love writers conferences. A good dose of inspiration and community. I wasn't able to attend the whole weekend (too busy finishing my manuscript), but I was on a panel called Success Stories. And to think I was there in the audience, pitching my pants off to agents and editors just last year! It was a mind-twister--and great honor--to be on the theoretical other side. Though we all know that finding a publisher is just part of the battle. Writing a read-worthy book, and then getting people to read it...those aren't easy either.

What was most fun about the conference, besides meeting lots of interesting folk, was spending time with my agent, Rebecca Oliver, of Endeavor Talent. She and I had met very briefly at last year's conference. So briefly, in fact, that she didn't remember me; it was my first hallway pitch and her first time hearing one. So we were both flustered and flummoxed, so much so that I almost didn't send her my proposal. Let that be a lesson to other writers: even a lukewarm yes to send your stuff is a yes. So send it.

Anyway, I knew I liked Rebecca over the phone, but actually going out to dinner, sitting down and talking to her, was a huge treat. She's one of those people who talks about your work in a way that makes YOU want to read it. Engaging, gracious, wicked smart. (Am I allowed to say "wicked" now that the eighties are over?) I've been on a cloud ever since.

OK, and I finished (the first draft of) my book too. So maybe that's added to the cloud-riding feeling.

Oh, and I'm pregnant and due in 2 1/2 weeks. Good timing, eh? Finally called the contractor today because no birth of a baby is complete without some sort of construction project going on. And tomorrow I begin the great sorting process of all those baby clothes people have been passing my way. Takes a village...

So, life is crazy and hectic and good. And even though I'm out of my writer's cave, I suspect I'll be retreating into my newborn baby cave soon. But the good news is I'll have lots of fodder for this blog once I get back to it, since sleep-deprivation and relationship issues go hand in hand. (How's that for spin?)

In the meantime, I hope your life is trundling along happily even after.

-Janna
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So the basic premise of my Moms Like Sex Too column over at Seattle Mom Blogs is that moms like sex just as much as the next gal.*

*Except when they're too busy.

And there's the rub. (Or lack thereof.) Because Moms're always too busy now aren't they? Which is why Babeland's Sexy Mama Bloggers (in honor of Mother's Day) have been asked to tackle this question: When do you fit sex in?

And so enters The Quickie. You know, the 2.5-minute roll in the hay that you squeeze in during the Bungle of Joy's Saturday nap. Or before the B. o. J. wakes up Sunday morning. Or on some harried after-work, after-dinner, after-bedtime weeknight while before falling into an exhausted coma of a sleep that threatens to give you the new nickname: Log. (I always thought it telling how a downed tree in a forest is called a nursery log; even inert and prone, Mama Log nurtures and sustains tiny creatures' lives. But I--clearly a Pacific Northwesterner--digress.)

Anyway, the Parenting Sex Books seem to be fans of the quickie, suggesting that "sex -- even quickie sex -- is critical" for new parents. And, while I don't disagree (I mean, who has time for a luxurious all-day romp when there are bellies to burp, noses to blow, and tee-ball games to cheer), I do have to point out a few devilish details:

1. You might have noticed that quickie implies speed.
2. But most women take longer to reach orgasm (at least with a partner) than men do.
3. Not to mention, in a quickie situation, the PRESSURE.
4. So if your partner is a guy, and you're doing something quick, then -- let's be honest now -- most likely he's going to get more bang for his…4-letter word.
5. And you. All you get is lickety-split sex.
6. (Er, without the lick.)

Now, Dr. Helen Fisher says that ANY sexual stimulation will give us the dopamine boost that creates those all-important lovey-dovey feelings. So even quickie sex, sans Big (or lil) O, can help our relationships. Though I'd venture to guess that most of us would prefer our dopamine with a side of orgasm, please.

And yet, there is something sexy (perhaps powerful, perhaps fulfilling, perhaps confidence-boosting) about giving a partner pleasure; the traditional quickie certainly has its (speedy) time and (flexible) place. But sometimes moms want some serious, if quick, pleasure too. So here are some tips to making quickies fulfilling for both involved…

1. Quickie sex does not have to be intercourse. Especially since 75% of women don't orgasm during intercourse. So why not spend your precious 2.5 10 minutes doing something that will work for both of you?

2. Or, come to think of it, just YOU. If you don't have time to do the whole tit-for-tat thing, then why not divide and conquer. Tit for him one day, tat for you another. This might be the one thing in your relationship where it'd be fun to keep score. Or maybe develop a new rhythm all together (tit-for-tat, rata-tat-tat).

3. Speaking of dividing and conquering, here's a trick I heard about at Babeland's Sexy Mamas event last Sunday: If you happen to wake earlier than your partner one day, then why not take care of yourself (which, statistics say, takes only 3-4 minutes when your partner's out of the picture), then wake him for a quickie focused on him. That'll start the day out with a bang!

Beyond the physical, one of the wonderful things about sexual intimacy with a partner is the emotional intimacy it brings. And while the quickie certainly has its place, it also has its limits. So here's another idea offered by a psychologist at last Sunday's Babeland event: Instead of getting a babysitter so you and your partner can go OUT, find a babysitter who'll let you stay IN (e.g. sitter takes kids to the zoo or a movie -- or the moon for all you care)…so then you can take all the time with your partner -- and s/he with you -- that you'd like.

Happily even after,
janna

This post has been cross-posted at my Seattle Mom Blogs' column, Moms Like Sex Too.
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A gourmet dinner.
A bottle of wine.
A full body massage.
Someone else folding AND putting away all the laundry.

It's hard to imagine a better weeknight than this.

But if, on Wednesday, May 21st, this particular lineup of events happens to be beyond your ken, then you might consider the next best thing…

listening to Yours Truly read from her upcoming book!

That's right, the secret, pre-publication airing of a few choice tidbits from my travel memoir, The Motion of the Ocean: 1 Small Boat, 2 Average Lovers, and the World's Longest Honeymoon (Touchstone/Fireside, 2009) will take place this month. And you (of all people) certainly don't want to miss it.

Here's the scoop: A few months ago I was selected as a 2008 Jack Straw Writer. This means I, along with eleven other lucky writers, have received training at Jack Straw Productions on performing our writing for live and radio audiences. We will be showcasing our work this month at the 2008 Jack Straw Reading Series.

PSST...all sessions will be recorded for possible use on KUOW…so there's a 37.469% chance (roughly) that your vociferous clapping and obnoxious snorting laugh could be aired, at a later date, on our local NPR station. How's that for incentive?

Here's the lineup:
THURSDAY, MAY 15, 7:30 p.m.
Merna Ann Hecht, Kevin Craft, Jennifer Munro, Wendy Call.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 21, 7:30 p.m.
Janna Cawrse (that's me!), Waverly Fitzgerald, Brian McGuigan, Ghida Sinno.

THURSDAY, MAY 29, 7:30 p.m.
Michael Spence, Rebecca Hoogs, Judith Skillman, Sharon Cumberland.

All readings take place at
Jack Straw Productions
4261 Roosevelt Way NE
Seattle, WA 98105-6999
(mapquest)

You can even listen to a sneak preview of the readings here. And there will be a podcast of the series here.

So mark your calendar, call the sitter, and make it a hot date with your Mr./Ms. Right. Because what could be better than…well, if not THAT, at least a lively night of live readings.

Happily even after,
janna
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Babeland, the family-friendly (or at least not-at-all creepy) sex store on Seattle's Capitol Hill, is coordinating Sexy Mama Bloggers throughout the month of May. Why? Because what better way to celebrate Mother's Day than to celebrate the thing that got most moms in this position in the first place? (If you're scratching your head and trying to recall just what precisely that thing is, clearly you're a mom, and clearly this topic is timely.)

Babeland is providing products to give away (for YOU), products to review (for ME), as well as various blogging topics to get the juices flowing. Today's theme is Sex-Positive Families, and I have to admit it's a new term for me, one that doesn't roll trippingly off the tongue. Though, if I think about it, I'm quite certain I came from one.

Sex was a topic in my family from an early age. I don't recall any cringing, awkward birds-and-bees conversations, but I do recall talking about sex--a lot. Mostly because my parents made references to sex (well not SEX per se, but you know) all the time. "Love pats" (pats or tweaks on the butt) were common. As were sex jokes, sex puns, and sex books (I remember sneaking The Joy of Sex off my parents' book shelf with my friends). I also recall a couple of anatomically interesting toys (a Santa figurine who showed a bit more than good will) and a T-shirt with the bold caption KEEP ON STREAKIN' with a bunch of cartoon people of all shapes and sizes walking across it--naked. (Dad only brought out that shirt on special occasions.)

My family did talk seriously about sex sometimes too. My brother and I, of course, knew the proper names of our various parts. And my Camp Fire group attended a mother-daughter sex education talk hosted by Planned Parenthood when I was probably eleven or twelve. And, of course, I remember the response to the age-old kid's question: "Mom, Dad, what is sex?"

"It's something special shared between two people who love each other," my folks said quite simply.

(A fantastic response for kids, I'd say, though I'm not sure all adults would agree on the love part...but those are hairs to be split when the Bungle of Joy is a tad older than two-years-old.)

Now, I know we don't really want to think about our kids being sexual--just as kids cringe thinking of their parents being sexual--but I think a Sex-Positive Family for me means presenting sex as a normal, healthy, happy part of life. Because, after all, that's what I believe sex should be. Not taboo. Not creepy. Not full of shame and insecurity and fear. Though I suspect we all pick up a bit of that sex baggage from the weird way our culture views sex anyway.

The ultimate goal, I suppose, is that my Bungle of Joy will have a happy, healthy, orgasmic sex life someday.

Some long, distant, far-off, waaaaaay down the road someday...

Happily even after,
janna
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Livin' La Vida Eco: Reminder Sign for Reusable Grocery Bags

So here I am procrastinating writing the book when I come across this nifty Countdown to Earth Day thing over at Seattle Mom Blogs. You can check there for useful tips on little (and perhaps big) things you can do to help the environment. And then my mission if I choose to accept it (and yours if you're a blogger and choose to accept it) is to get greenie with my (your) own blog, and link back to SMB so there's a web of resources for folks to use.

Speaking of resources, you can check my posts on Livin' La Vida Eco for more green tips, but here's one quick idea that I stumbled upon recently...

So I was at the grocery checkout with the Bungle of Joy when I realized I'd forgotten my special, reusable and quite fashionable (if I do say so myself) grocery bags in the car. Dagnabbit. I do this every time. So I said to the clerk:

Dagnabbit. I forgot my special, reusable and quite fashionable (if I do say so myself) grocery bags in the car. I do this every time. Any chance you guys could put up a sign on the doors saying 'PSST! DON'T FORGET YOUR REUSABLE GROCERY BAGS!'?

The clerk snorted a laugh (at me not with me) and gave a cheeky eye roll. I slithered out the store with my lame-o, petroleum-using/tree-killing disposable bags. sigh.

A week later, back at the same grocery store (Interbay QFC), I approached the doors with the Bungle of Joy, and there, THERE, on the sliding glass door was a sign that said 'PSST! DON'T FORGET YOUR REUSABLE GROCERY BAGS!'

Hallelujah! Now, who knows if this sign was on its way up anyway. Who knows if my little comment had anything to do with it. Who knows if my little suggestion made any difference there in helping our lil ole planet. What I DO know is that I turned around, wheeled back to my car, and got my special, reusable and quite fashionable (if I do say so myself) grocery bags. And I shopped a lot happier after that.

So thanks, Interbay QFC, for the reminder. And maybe if we all asked our local grocery stores to post a reminder sign, fewer of us would forget our bags in the car.

That's my eco tip for the day, and my Countdown to Earth Day contribution. Also, for an archive of Livin' la Vida Eco Tips that I've blogged about in the past, browse by category for "living green" in the righthand sidebar.

Happily even after,
janna
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Remember how I mentioned all those lofty resolutions I made at the New Year? And remember how I said some of them were too personal to share? Well, I'm ready to share one of them (though certainly not all) with you now. And that is:

Resolution #92: Be as good of a "good enough" parent to two kids as I have been to one.

That's right. I'm pregnant! And my due date for Bungle of Joy v.02 is just a month after my due date for my book. So the timing is either really lucky or really stressful, depending on how you look at it (since I'm assuming I'll have lots of editing to do in the months following my book's submission). But I'm actually quite thrilled about the timing. I think I'll be ready for a break from my book baby, and excited to focus on something else: a REAL baby!

So that's my news. I hope all is well with everyone in blog-land.

Happily even after,
janna
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I know. I know. Before molehills turn into mountains, we're supposed to TALK about it, right? That's the advice we get everywhere these days--about our feelings, our fears, our pet peeves, our morning B.M. OK, that last one's me being crass. But, seriously, it seems just about everything is up for gabs when it comes to relationships these days.

But talking about difficult issues with your partner is easier blogged than done.

Of course, the dreadfully charming Mr. Right and I have agreed that HE won't read about any of OUR relationship issues HERE before he hears about it directly from the Cawrse's mouth. So you'll see no unhashed family business in this blog. Only the hashed kind.

But what's on my mind today is why it's so difficult to talk about issues, even the little ones, even the little non-issues, before they turn into big issues.

Like the simple question: How are we going to spend our weekend?

This little humdinger of a non-issue has plagued Mr. R and me for several weekends now. Partly because we're the kind of people who are most happy on weekends when we're away on some mini-vacation or a sailboat trip or time in the mountains. The weekends we spend at home tend to fritter away, which is generally fine with me (because for me frittering = writing), but not OK with Mr. R (because for him frittering = frittering).

So, if there doesn't happen to be a clear getaway plan, what ends up happening is we get annoyed with each other. Because we have different expectations for what our at-home weekend will bring. He wants to go for a long bike ride. I want to write. He needs to go into work. I want to write. He wants to get out of the house (now!) though he can't exactly articulate where he wants to go and what he wants to do. I want to write.

Meanwhile, there's the Bungle of Joy. If we're all doing something together as a family, it's all fine and dandy. But when Mr. R has his frittery agenda and I have mine, the question always arises: Who's going to hang with the B. o. J.? And while it usually works out just fine, it ends up feeling more like babysitting your own kid rather than enjoying your weekend with your own kid.

(I've always thought it was fascinating how time alone with your child feels so much more cumbersome than time as a family. Because it's not like she's hard to handle alone. She's not. And she's just as fun as always. But it just feels more burdensome, somehow, maybe because it's no longer a special occasion or a group project or a choice.)

But I digress. The point is that it would be so much smarter, wiser, more effective if Mr. R and I just TALKED about what each of us envisions for the weekend before the weekend was there, unrolling before us, tripping us up.

Ah, but that's not always easy.

Happily even after,
janna
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I am undecided. Truly. (Except for the fact that my vote will go to a democrat.)

I started out leaning toward Senator Clinton. She's wicked smart. An outstanding speaker. Has excellent experience. And has clear, articulate plans for problems I care about. Most of all, I feel she could help repair our sullied reputation with the world...starting on day one...because she has contacts and relationships with world leaders already.

But then as the primary has progressed, I've felt my stomach turn at the politics-as-usual I see coming from Clinton's camp. The low blows. The negativity. Why must it be perpetually the same thing?

And I found myself looking to Senator Obama. He doesn't have the experience. But he does have a NO vote against the war (though as a young senator, you could argue it wasn't putting his neck out there like it would be for a higher up). But holy cow the charisma on this guy! And maybe there's something to be said about not having been in politics so long that you've burned the bridges and made the slimy deals and generally been conditioned to do politics-as-usual. There's something very refreshing about him. And inspiring.

So...we'll see. We're definitely going to the democratic caucus on Saturday. Very exciting! My folks are too. As are many of our friends. People are invigorated. It's good to see.

So here's the tear-jerker music video of Obama's New Hampshire speech. If you go to the website, you can read the statement by the artist (Will.i.am). Very cool. And I like his point that lots of leaders--MLK, JFK, Susan B. Anthony, Rosa Parks, etc.--didn't have the experience to lead. They just had the passion and desire and gumption. And they did.

One more notch on the Obama side. Though I have to admit it reminds me a bit of the power of country music...how you can be getting teary about a song about patriotism...and then have to shake your head and THINK when you realize it's brainwashing you into supporting war. Emotions can be dangerous. And powerful. And, I'll admit, inspiring.

If you have an inspiring Clinton clip, pass it on. I did a quick search and only came up with her standard campaign stuff. harumph. Though, on the other hand, all the negative crap I found about her--the misogynistic stuff--makes me swing back her way again. She's a strong woman. And I hate how she's been demonized for that. (See, there are those pesky emotions talking again...)

Ah, back I am to undecided.

Happily even after,
janna
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It seems I don't have a moment to spare these days. Writing. Writing. Writing. Though, I have to say, I'm loving it. And every spare moment goes to my family. Which feels good and purposeful too. But it leaves me little time for much else...especially blogging, and reading the blogs I love.

But the Bungle of Joy is down for a nap, I already was up this morning at 5:30 writing (it's a Saturday for goodness sake), and the dreadfully charming Mr. Right is out of town. So I thought I'd take a quick peek at some of my favorite blogs.

I came across this:
5 Types of Moments, posted at 30 Voices, by Janet, an American teacher living in the United Arab Emirates. (Go. Now. Read it.)

Ahhhh. I love this post. The analysis, the description, the sentiment behind it. My favorite part is this:

I view crying as a luxury - there are many people who have lost the ability to cry due to any number of reasons including the need to survive, and that makes me want to cry.

Beautiful. And sad. And true.

So I figured if I didn't have time to write something that was as beautifully said as that, I could at least share what I read with you.

Here's to the moments that matter.

Happily even after,
janna
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Everyone calls them New Years Resolutions but, done right, they're so much more than that. The dreadfully charming Mr. Right uses a term when setting goals for his company called B-HAGs (Big, Hairy, Audacious Goals), and I like that better. Now he would say that, according to the business book that coined this term, my measly list of yearly resolutions doesn't qualify. But I don't care. I like the term because it inspires me.

So here we go. My carefully crafted and seriously mulled-over New Years list of Big, Hairy, Audacious Goals for 2008:

1. Write the best dang book I possibly can.

This one has a few sub-goals in order to make it possible:
A. Turn my regular writing style on its ear. Meaning, hammer out a crappy rough draft before going back and polishing. This is very hard for me to do, as I'm one to polish painstakingly, paragraph by paragraph. But with a project this big, that's just not practical. Things are bound to change as the book develops, so it's silly to waste time perfecting stuff I very well may toss in the end.

B. Invest my time in proportion to the importance of the task at hand. I am notorious for spending WAY too much time word-smithing inconsequential emails or doing small, unimportant tasks with the care of a surgeon. This must stop! I need to invest that time in the stuff that really matters: my book, my family, my sanity.

C. Blog less. A-boo-hoo-hoo-hoo. It used to be I blogged five times a week. Clearly, that must change. (It already has.) And when the book is written, edited, and out of my hands next fall, I'll be able to get back to my bloggily even after self. In the meantime, I'll go for quality over quantity.

2. Reduce my environmental impact on the planet. This has a bunch of sub-goals, too, but I'll blog about all those in another post. For starters, though, we're thinking about trading our 210,000-mile Volvo in on a Prius. And the dryer has been making weird noises, so maybe it's time to save up for an energy-saving washer and dryer.

3. Walk 3-5 times per week. My original logic for this was that it would be good for me, my Bungle of Joy, and my dog Scout who was no longer able to jog with me. But now that Scout's no longer with us, I'm not sure about my exercise goal (though I am convinced that, with a sad beginning like that, my year can only get better). I still like the idea of walking with the BoJ because we walk to parks, and she definitely likes that. But I have to admit the winter weather hasn't inspired me to walk much yet. Harumph. So I need to give this one more thought.

4. Be attentive to the moment. I'm a chronic multi-tasker. And while this works some of the time, often I feel like I'm short-changing the here and now. So my goal is to focus on momming when it's time to mom. Spousing when it's time to spouse. Writing when it's time to write. (Etc.) Since I feel the need to be productive all the time, I think my mantra, when I get impatient, will be something like: "You're doing your job right now, and your job is _____."

Well, that's about it. Actually, I do have a couple other B-HAGs on the list, but they're more personal, so I'll keep them to myself. Looking at this list, I've got a big year ahead of me. But I'm excited (thrilled even) about the year ahead. I've chosen this year's list of B-HAGs because I believe they will make my life BETTER. And because they inspire me.

So here's to a new year of productivity and possibility. Last year my big goal was to get a book deal. I've crossed that off my list (YIPPPEEE!), and now I actually have to make the book (a.k.a. the Dream) happen. What a thrill!

My best wishes to YOU and your Big, Hairy, Audacious Dreams in the coming year.

Happily even after,
janna
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You were born in Louisiana to a dam whose fur was soft and silky, almost greasy-looking with its shine. You inherited her softness, but your coat was furrier. Dark brown. During summer, it bleached down your ridgeline like a racing stripe. Only you were never fast.

Your sire was a delinquent who hurdled the fence to reach your mom. (You didn't inherit that trait, thank Dog.) The owners were dismayed, then pleased to find out that both dogs were AKA certified Labrador Retrievers. So you missed being a b*stard b*tch--only I never bothered getting your papers.

I got you at a time when my life was hard. Really hard. And you became the reason I came home from work at a (semi-) reasonable hour. And got up in the morning way too early. We walked along the bayou or through City Park. You introduced me to my New Orleans neighbors.

We took owner obedience classes together. You were a star on stage. You could come, sit-stay, stand-stay, heel, and stop and lie down from a distance. You performed your routine flawlessly.

Did I mention you came when I called?

This never translated to real life. You weren't a dog to run off--slinking was more your style--but whatever you did, you did verrrry slowly. Especially the coming part. But you peed and pooped on command to the tune of "Do it up!" I'm not sure why my roommate at the time suggested this phrase, but it stuck.

Parks across America rang out with "Do it up, Scout!" on our three cross-country road trips from New Orleans to Seattle (and back and back). You sat shotgun, hung your tongue out the window when the lack of air conditioning became too much, and laughed at all my jokes. And when mom and I drove the U-Haul on one of those trips, you slinked from the floor to the passenger's lap. Then to her chest. Then perched on her shoulder going 60 mph down the highway. (No, this is not an exaggeration. Yes, I have photos to prove it--alas they aren't digital.)

Your namesake was Scout from Harper Lee's Too Kill a Mockingbird. A strong, southern female character that seemed fitting for a dog like you. Though I later regretted how common it was. But still, it fit.

You were not a common Chocolate Lab. You were a water dog, yes. And a fetcher, yes. But you were not a floppy, sloppy bundle of cuddles. You gave and received affection when you wanted to give and receive affection. You'd ask for a scratch or a game or a walk. But if I approached you--snuggled up on the rug beside you--you'd endure my petting only for a while before rolling your eyes and shuffling under the bed.

You were also the mellowest dog I've ever met. Even as a puppy. Sure, you'd spaz out like one of those 4th of July light-and-wriggle snakes when I got home from work, but besides that you moved slow. Steady. You were not easily convinced.

Except that sometimes at the park you would break out. You'd run with your ears cocked weird and your nose to the ground and your rear hopping like a bunny. And I would yell, "Crazy run! Crazy run!" And you would run crazy.

You barked when people came to the door, which was somewhat annoying but also had its benefits. I always felt safe with you, Scout.

When I was in college, I had this premonition of what my 20s would be like. I would live in an old white house in a funky neighborhood in Seattle and have a dog. I would be happy and hip and independent. All that came true. (OK, my hipness is debatable and the house was an ugly robin's egg blue, but still.)

Many people loved you in your lifetime, Scout. In particular, my dear friend with her matching yellow lab Flannery. The four of us roadtrippped from California to Canada. She (my friend, not the dog--though you might have more insight to this) would say, "Do it up, Doodledoo!" And she changed my typical "Kennel up!" to "Cantaloupe, dogs!" You thought that was clever.

All the neighbors from New Orleans to Ballard loved you too. We communed with them twice daily, morning and night. You helped me build a community that way.

Then there are my folks who fondly called you their granddog. When we went sailing for two years, you moved in with them. You thought their proximity to the water (a dock on Lake Washington) was preferable to our sailboat's proximity to the water. (The sailboat was another place you practiced your shoulder perching technique.)

The dreadfully charming Mr. Right loved you too. Along with my dad, he was your number one play pal. Tug-o-war. Hide-and-seek. Wrestling. You loved these games. And you loved long walks with me and my girlfriends too. I wish I'd made the time to do all that more, even as our family grew.

When the Bungle of Joy came along, you took the proverbial backseat, which, in the car, you had already moved to anyway. You were patient and understanding with her, even the ear tugs. And you grew to appreciate your new spot under her highchair. (We appreciated not having to pull out the vacuum cleaner.)

Which reminds me that I can't talk about you, Scout, without recognizing your amazing love of food. The breads, the bags of chips, the fresh-baked pies you've stolen over the years. Our friends never minded dogsitting you, except they had to keep their counters clear. Unless they wanted you to clear the counters for them.

So many memories, Scout. Happy and sad. Mostly happy.

The bone tumor came fast and furious. Not much time to say goodbye as you were in constant pain. Drugs didn't help. I've often said that when I got you, you saved my life. I wish I could have saved yours.

Over the years, you became part of my identity, Scout. Part of my young, female independence. You made many things easy for me--living alone, walking after dark, walking before first light (OK, that's never easy, but you made it bearable). You brought me so much joy. Your crazy run. Your warm head resting on my arm between shifting gears back when you were still queen of the passenger's seat. Your wriggly giggly self when I got home from work. Your dog's smile.

Thanks for everything, Scout. I love you and miss you.

Happily even after,
janna
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I know, I know. I'm not supposed to be blogging right now. I'm supposed to be either:

A) working (a.k.a. writing The Book), or
B) totally and blissfully ignoring my computer and focusing on family, fun, and relaxation.

Problem is I'm not sure "blissful" and "ignoring my computer" work well in the same sentence together. Anyway, I've tried taking a vacation. And I still have one more holiday (Happy almost New Year) to go. So I'll keep trying...

But in the meantime, I came across this post from Beast Mom that I can't blissfully ignore. It's called Reflections On The First Decade of Marriage. It speaks to me as though it were written FOR me, and the dreadfully charming Mr. Right, of course.

Mr. R and I are huge and constant dreamers; it's almost daily convo for us. So reading Beast Mom's post about John Gottman's book makes me realize that that's one of the keys to how Mr. R and I stay buoyed even when the daily stuff of life and marriage drag us down. We've always got our dreams, and they make us feel alive and loved. (Go read BM's post; it's a goodie.)

This topic is timely too, as today Mr. Right and I make our annual list of New Year's Resolutions. It isn't the guilt-ridden, make-you-feel-like-crap list of lose weight and floss objectives. (OK, actually, floss has shown up on my list once or twice...) Instead, ours are annual dreams, small-medium-and-large dreams that we choose to pursue because we think they'll make our lives better, make us happy and fulfilled in the coming year. We look forward to writing them, and every year we review last year's dreams to see what came true. It's one of my favorite times of year because of this.

So, after this self- family-imposed vacation from blogging ends, I'll get back to you with my shiny new list. Yip yip yippeeee! Here comes the New Year!

Happily even after,
janna
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Well, for the first time ever, the dreadfully charming Mr. Right and I are hosting Christmas. We have a full-sized, decorated, lit-up tree and everything. Though the stockings have yet to be hung by the (non-existing) chimney with care (they're jumbled in a pile underneath the tree).

Anyway, in an effort to avoid an embarrassing FREAK-OUT! like I had when I hosted Father's Day, I'm going to sign off blogging during the holidays. We'll have to touch cyber-base when the new year commences. Then we can compare Resolutions and such.

In the meantime, I'll share with you a link to another embarrassing moment: yours truly as a dancing elf. (That's me, second from the left, the one who--true to life--is completely out of step.) The other elves are authentic Santa's helpers...really...

So enjoy your holidays, whatever it is you're celebrating this season. Regardless of your religious affiliation (or lack thereof), I suspect it's pretty close to what I'm celebrating this year...joy, laughter, love, and peace.

Happily even after,
janna
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OK, so I've been slammin' busy lately (writing, holidays, yada yada yada), but I just couldn't help meandering over to one of my favorite blogs, Lemon Margaritas, when I saw the headline "I Need a Shower." I thought maybe she was joining the ranks of dirty girls out there (like me) who can't find the time (or motivation) to shower.

Turns out she's a dirty girl for a much better reason that I could ever claim...

She's getting foobies. In case you didn't know (I didn't--what planet do I live on?) "foobies" is a term for fake boobies. Duh. Only Susan's not just getting yer run of the mill boob job. She's getting reconstructed boobs after her double mastectomy due to breast cancer last year. And she hasn't showered in about a week because it's part of the post-surgery regime. Actually, she gets a bit more specific than that (can you say hand grenade full of draining body fluid?), but you'll have to read her blog to find out the full gory details. I'll just echo her "eeewwwww" sentiment. But, hey, anything for foobies.

Anyway, the reason I mention all this is because every now and then you stumble upon something you never thought you'd find interesting or entertaining, and then--whoops!--there you go feeling interested and entertained! By foobies and a timeline for reconstructive surgery and surgical drains of all things. Being someone who's never had breast cancer touch wood, I never thought a breast cancer blog would speak to me. But this one does.

In fact, it inspires me. Which seems reason enough to pass it on. So, go now. Read about what Susan's life is like as she's getting foobies for Christmas. And marvel at how this world packs sorrow and joy into the same big sloppy punch.

Happily even after,
janna
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If you knew this kid's parents (like I do) you'd know where he gets his sense of humor. And make sure you watch the whole thing so you get the surprise ending!

My favorite part is when his mom says, in her cute mom voice, "How 'bout the bloody murder scream?"

ha ha haha HA HA HAAAAA!

Happily even after,
janna
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