Hey, I've got spare ~ma. Hope your stomach pain recedes, and hope you kick that writing's ass, Allyson.

Much surgery~ma and travel~ma, ita

There's plenty of ~ma left over your your stomach pain and writing, Allyson.

Can I just say, I made some awesome beef stew for dinner? Even though it's in the 80s out... I'm in Cook Down The Freezer mode. I got the tiny potatoes from Trader Joe's (so profligate! But so cute.), and threw in a bunch of wine and Worcestershire sauce into leftover pot roast pieces. Surprisingly good!

Mmmm, nice. It's cold and dreary here and I wanted something hearty for lunch. But I didn't think we had the makings of anything hearty until I scrounged around and found beef bouillon cubes. So I sauteed mushrooms, onions and red bell pepper together, and then added the beef stock. And I peppered it vigorously to give it a pepper pot taste. Gave it a zap with Srichacha, and then I threw in a couple of frozen meatballs from TJ's, angel hair pasta and spinach. So it was sort of a cross between pepper pot and Italian Wedding.

But it was really good!

I could stand to eat a vegatable, but meh.

Luckily, there is plenty of ~ma for all who need it.

Travel~ma and family~ma and work-stay-off-your-damn-back~ma to ita !, and so many good thoughts going out to your mom.

I'm pretty sure only kids get to keep their shoes on in Security.

I've flown with Matilda twice, and both times she had to take her shoes off. Between the impossibility of explaining security theater to a 3-year-old and the fact that she was already developing a huge fondness for footwear and really disliked having her shoesses, her precious, off her feet and out of her control for even a moment, it was... undelightful.

Though less undelightful than it was for the poor old woman sitting next to us on the security theater stage at SFO, who was in a wheelchair with one foot bound up and her son grimly but silently unwrapping the bandage (which she was bleeding through) because apparently security thought she might be the craftiest terrorist ever. I really, really wanted to punch someone on her (and her son's) behalf. But I suppose it wouldn't have ended well for any of us.

I once had to take the little leather Robees shoes off one of my children, whom I was carrying because said child was an infant.

My biggest hate is when they make me take off my cardigan sweater, claiming it is a jacket. A crewneck is okay, but buttons up the front a la Mr. Rogers makes me a terrorist?

Flea, I hear ya....the other day the TSA patted me down because I had POCKETS.

...no really. I went through the machine, and they were like "is there anything in your pockets" and I said no (not saying "OMG I only heard you tell us to take it all out like, six times")...and then they patted me down and said "Hmm. Must've been the pockets". Apparently just HAVING them is too much now.

The TSA people are confused by me. I take off my shoes, rings, hat, and jacket, saunter through the metal detector in my stripy tights and petticoats, and only sometimes do I get the pat-down. And I usually get told "Nice hat".

~ma to Allyson and another helping to ita ! and family. And house-selling~ma to the flea household! Sounds like a good start in a new town, except for the ATM thing.

I want to hug everyone.

I am looking for a new job. They have to cut my hours back because things are tight for the business. I can't deal with the yo-young long term, so the search is back on.