Everything and nothing at all.

Well! Where were we?

Two weeks, it turns out, is not enough time. Not when you have your lovely friend at your house and the two of you are amusing yourselves greatly while also enjoying breathtaking productivity. I feel like Eden came here fifteen minutes ago, we sat down to work, and then it was time for her to leave. I'm really resenting the way time hurtles forward like that.

And now it seems I've forgotten how to do everything else, like talk to people, and write a blog post, and find clean pants for my son. (I've long since given up on clean pants for me.)

Topics I considered writing about today but then abandoned:

1. My growing-out hair, which is flying out of the sides of my head in these violent, bizarre hair-wings, and altogether pissing me off;

2. My son, who's being kind of a jerk, but probably it's because my attention has been so divided and who's the jerk, here? I think it's me;

3. The embarrassing condition of my yard, and how I should let the weeds take over, put an old refrigerator side-down out front, and call it a day;

4. Actually, that was it. Maybe what I should make for dinner? Except all my son will eat is ONE GODDAMN THING and he will eat that one thing for his entire life and he's trying to destroy me, I KNOW HE IS—

5. Aren't you glad I didn't talk about the hair, though? It's bad hair, kids. It's not good hair. I have approximately 35 pounds of hair on my head. It's a lot of hair. I want to cut it now. I'm not sure why I decided to grow it out.

6. Isn't hair weird? When you really think about it? Weird filaments sprouting out of your scalp? Why do we put up with it?

7. Apparently I'm blogging about my hair despite my efforts not to.

I wish I could tell you about our book, I really do. All I can say is that it will be filled with laffs. (And when I put the two f's in there, you know I mean business.) And that I have the best writing partner ever.

In my absence, Jenn Mattern has taken up the Wonderland slack. She's covered such topics as PPD (post-partum depression) and PPPS (Pretty Pretty Princess Syndrome). You will be both amused and enlightened by Ms. Mattern. She's a spitfire, that one. Whereas I am a weird old curmudgeon with crazy hair and dirty pants.

And now, I have to run something called "errands." "Run" being the exact wrong word, in my case, because mostly I will be shuffling and muttering to myself and wondering what it is I forgot and then getting home and remembering that the answer is "everything."