We had a lovely day yesterday–of which I took ZERO photos. Yes, you heard that right. ZERO photos. No, I don’t know what was wrong with me… it was just so nice to talk and laugh that this time, I let Mate get the photos, and he’ll get them to me when he’s ready.
Oh, and in other news…
In the meantime, we’ve got the uber-cute, as Squish models what I’m calling “The Poppy Hat”. Of course, part of the name comes from the bright red, and part of it comes from the fact that it’s for an author named Poppy! Poppy Dennison asked me if I could make her something, anything– uhm, for the record, you never know what I’m going to do when you ask that. Andrew Grey ended up with fingerless mitts in a one-of-a-kind color mixture, and, well, Poppy ended up with this.
I’m sort of proud of it– it’s a lace mesh beret, and if anyone’s interested, I’ll post the pattern on another day.
In book news, I should mention that tomorrow, I’m posting my Amy’s Lane column on what to look for in a blurb. Again, for those of you who aren’t in the RRW, I’ll be cross-posting this at my website, and it will show up here! (This whole synergistic posting thing boggles me. It’s SO hard to decide where to put shit!) Anyway, so that’s going up, and that will be cool, and you should read it and let your mind and your life be enriched by my glorious enlightenment. *smirk* Okay, just read and try not to laugh.
And there’s that!
Now we’re getting to the anecdote portion of our program, which is both a little scary and a little funny. Are we prepared? Okay, good. Here goes.
So, Thursday night, the little kids were asleep, and the household was coming to rest, and I was sitting down to write. Can you imagine the scene? Fat mom in her pajamas, kids zoning on their electronics, Mate, disappearing down the hall to take off his pants in the totally non-sexy dad way.
Suddenly, there’s a pounding on the door.
I open the door (a little) and there’s a young Hispanic man there with a long pony-tail, pressed white T-shirt and big cargo shorts. He’s saying, “Open the door! He’s gonna jump me!”
“Who’s gonna jump you?”
“That guy! He thinks I jacked his stuff!”
And then I look over toward my cars, and I see a flashlight, and then another young man–also Hispanic, with a shaved head and tattoos– rushing toward my door.
The guy in front of me has a knife.
I slam the door, shoot the deadbolt, and scream, “Chicken! Call the fucking cops!”
And Chicken does. And so do I. (By the way, I think there was a wrinkle in the space time continuum, because it took me roughly six-hundred years to unplug my phone and make the emergency call. Did anyone else feel that?)
Anyway, Big T leaned against the door while sounds of a scuffle ensued, complete with sounds of screaming and “OPEN THE DOOR! PLEASE! OPEN THE DOOR!”
Chicken and I both herd the little kids out of their room and into Chicken’s room (because their room was close to the window) and 911 picked up on my phone.
“What did the young man look like? What kind of knife?”
“Early twenties, Hispanic/Native American, long ponytail, white T-shirt, blue cargo pants. Knife was four inches long, double bladed, about the size of a paring knife, black handle.”
“Wow, you know your knives!”
“I know my details.”
“Are you on the porch now?”
“No, I’m in the hallway.”
“Can you see anything from there?”
“No, but they can’t see me either?”
And, in the meantime, the noise has stopped, and Mate has emerged from the back bedroom with pants. Because, you know, you can’t fight the forces of evil without pants, and the police arrived and took my statement. (Sort of. A guy came and talked to me, and another guy hung back on the porch and looked up at the defunct wasps nest in the corner of our wall and overhang and breathed through his mouth. I was not impressed. Local po po, go figure.)
Anyway-the two young men vanished (pretty much as soon as I called 911) and we shut our doors and windows and settled down (HA) to go to sleep. (We looked like this for most of the night: 0.0)
The next morning, T and I both remembered seeing these guys wandering around together on their bicycles, and what I thought (and I sort of got this idea when it was happening) was that these guys were trying to get into our house. And in the meantime, my older kids revealed what kind of idiot they REALLY think I am:
“Gee, mom. You surprised me. We expected you to let them in!”
As. Fucking. If.
Yeah. Not sleeping with the doors open for a while!
Anyway– don’t forget, I’ll be on Amy’s Lane tomorrow, and I was on Mrs. Condit’s last week with an interview between Mikhail and Crick! And now you know. If you don’t hear from me, send the cops. But not the local po-po– send someone GOOD.