I know I’m a bit behind the 8-ball here, but I just got home this past Friday and figured now was as good a time as any to get my BlogHer groove on.Call it my (Semi) Wordless (Day After) Wednesday photo tribute, because I sure as hell am going to.
Juliette and I actually ran head on into TheNextMartha while trying to exit the elevator to find her. Yay for having a clue!

There was that stop in the  Smores suite where I pretty much embarrassed myself. Until that moment when the first bits of gooey melted chocolate and marshmallow smushed between crunchy graham cracker burst into my mouth, I’d pretty much denied myself all things not clean. Which means the Smore was dirty. But damn, dirty can be so good. And Theresa and Mary looked so much cuter than me and my  Smored-out face, so we’re gonna post this one and call it pretty.

The revolving doors at the main entrance to The Hilton. Pretty snazzy, eh?

We missed breakfast every morning. Rooming off-site and staying up half the night will do that to you. So we got our MilkMustache and then got some breakfast (hello sausage pancake on a stick!)

If Mrs. Potato Head The Pillsbury Dough Boy…Elmo…and Dora were on my Must Meet and Be Seen With at BlogHer10 list…I rocked that goal. Hard.

There was more than a bit of sightseeing…

And then there was The Bloggess. Don’t worry. She’s only offensive to assholes. Which is funny because I fancy myself an asshole and yet…I wasn’t offended. Go figure.

There was also plenty of glow-in-the-dark party fever at the Sparklecorn shin-dig

And then there was this. My poem. By The Bloggess.I’d call that pretty much done, wouldn’t you?

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Something strange happened when I finished writing Baby F(Ph)at.

In short, I looked up and realized I suck as a housewife when I’m knee-deep in a manuscript. After a year of getting by with frantic “just throw the extra shit in the closet!” sessions reserved for guests and making sure we had enough clean laundry so no one was wearing anything nasty, I finally saw the house through the eyes of my alter-ego, (Mexican) June Cleaver. And aye…Ward has reasons to question if he’s man enough to stick around when I get to writing that next book.

While it’s true that I finished the book before I left for BlogHer, it’s also true that I was away from home until last week. And after a few days of doing the blissful nothing I demand after 20 days of non-stop family, I blinked…and then it all came into focus.

The dust covered blinds (I wrote my name one one…kinda cool, actually.)

The junk drawer so full of random crap that it wasn’t even closing anymore.

The closet. Which we couldn’t fit the vacuum into. And that’s a problem.

The dust bunnies under the couch (which are now getting their own mail forwarded to my address.)

The linen closets (not just for linen anymore! Holy shit! That’s where that other thing I don’t need went to…)

Needless to say…I have my work cut out for me.  That’s why I started a to-do list with one or two projects to be tackled daily. Like the dusting and the evicting of the dust bunnies. Or the junk drawer and the closet. Or telling The Husband to bite me and to shove it when he tells me I suck as a housewife when I’m writing a book. Or maybe just telling him to fuck off and then laughing because I can’t keep a straight face because he is so totally right.

It’s been about a week since I started my reverse nesting. That’s what I like to call this phase. Moms-to-be nest when a baby is on the way. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Moms who are writers nest after they (I) finish a book and figure out they (I) better haul ass on Operation Clean House before the next project is officially started. (While they (I) are (am) querying.)  Because that’s such a relaxing combination.

And when I type Chapter 1? Again?

It’s house, hell, and hand basket…all over again.

Bring it.

Until then, I’m gonna whistle while I work and rock this happy homemaker thing.

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Don’t mess with my kid when she’s on a creative bend.

It’s business in the front.

And party in the back.

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We love Olivia in our house. Buttercup may have been introduced to her on the cartoon but that’s alright. The book is a favorite…mainly because I’m pretty sure that she sees a kindred spirit in the precocious little pig. Because lemme tell ya…I can sure as heck (it’s Saturday and children are present so I have to behave) relate to her mother.

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If I hadn’t put it out there in tweets and blog posts, I may have just adding one more day and one more chocolate chip cookie to my deadline.

But I did. So I didn’t.

I have no qualms about admitting that I did enjoy a few too many soft-baked cookies on the way home from my 11 p.m. grocery store trek last night so The Husband couldn’t give me shit when I got home with my clean eating supplies. I’m nothing if not honest, right?

I had bags upon bags upon bags when I walked into the house. Fresh vegetables, fruits, organic and clean pre-made soups, fish fillets and…

“What the hell is that and is it going to eat me?” The Husband was suspiciously eyeing the green onion bunch on miracle grow I had plopped onto the counter for my Paradise Bean Burgers. “Remember the green onions I bought last time thinking they were leeks?”
Yeah?”

“I was wrong. These are leeks.”

(Which, of course, reminded me of this little Baby F(Ph)at excerpt. Oh far far I’ve come. )

***

I check my list again and look at my watch. It’s almost dinner time and I’m nowhere near done. And this, folks, is where it pays to be an over-obsessive compulsive freak of a mom who packs a diaper bag with the works each and every time I leave the house.

“Leeks, M’ijita.” I say, handing her a water bottle and a snack cup filled with all-natural apple chips. We’ve been at the grocery store for 45 minutes and haven’t even gotten out of the produce department yet. I’ve been aware of the fact that staying on the perimeter is the healthiest way to shop for awhile, but never followed an eating plan that actually had me following through. And because this clean eating thing is still pretty new to me, I’m nowhere near confident in my navigation abilities in once familiar territory.
Food isn’t good and bad anymore. It’s clean or not. And “not” means I’m not eating it if it can be helped. Like that venti, iced, unsweetened passion tea from Starbucks a few weeks ago? Totally acceptable. The little pastry I tried scarfing down before The Husband returned from getting us a cart at Target? I threw it away when he pointed out that it was probably as clean as the bottom of my shoe.

“What’s a leek, Mama?” Buttercup asks in between bites. “Do you know?”

“No, baby. Mama is clueless.”

This, of course, is when Buttercup spots the woman who handed her the parsnip. Before I can say a word, Buttercup gets her attention, tells her that Mama is clueless, and returns with a bunch of leeks as the woman walks away laughing.

Turns out leeks is the fancy word for green onions. Awesome. I feel so Fancy Nancy right now.

Update: Turns out green onions are actually scallions and I never got leeks in my Paradise Bean Burger. Whereas I once believed the kind woman walked away laughing because she thought Buttercup was so totally cute, I now realize it’s because she totally played me because I can’t tell a leek from a scallion. And yes, I learned this while bragging about my awesome Fancy Nancy line on twitter. Thank you to @lainasparetime for setting me straight. Pardon me while I go make vegetable flash cards to study before my next visit to the produce department.

** This post originally appeared on Bookieboo!

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