There are no roses in Palm Springs. At least, none that we saw. So if we couldn’t stop and smell those, there was only one thing left to do: – We had to pause and contemplate the cacti. (Note: Rand is growing out his facial hair and having way too much fun doing it.)
(No, wait. Nevermind. We totally don’t.) – Despite being thirty-cough-cough-hack, Rand and I live our lives like we are perpetually in our twenties. We stay up late, we sleep in, we make cookies at 10pm and watch cartoons while they bake, our home gradually smelling more and more like vanilla. Actually, I don’t think people in…
… Aaaand I’m back. Ideally, I’d return from my nearly month-long hiatus with something incredible to share with you – some fantastic travel stories, or a first draft of something exciting, or a preview of some amazing project that is about to launch. But I got nothing. Sorry about that. Instead, I’ve spent the last…
Despite a few rather notable exceptions, I’ve found I’m not a big crier. I have nothing against it, mind you. I think tears are rather good for your skin, and they can be rather poetic and lovely and necessary, like when Emma Thompson totally loses it at the end of Sense and Sensibility. – It’s…
– Philadelphia was hard on Rand. Don’t get me wrong: it was well worth it, and he was grateful for the experience, but damn it, it was hard.
I went to L.A. and brought him a toy train on a string. I figured it would go over well, and it did. I wasn’t really surprised. He is my brother’s son, after all. He dragged the train around with him, and then he showed it to Rand. –
I’m sorry for the lull in blogging, and the long delay in recounting the highlights of our Philly trip. I promise to get back to all of that tomorrow. Today, though, I wanted to tell you about something that happened during our weekend jaunt to California. Because I think the full force of it hasn’t…
The thing about being married to a nine-year-old-boy who’s trapped in the body of a 34-year-old man is this: you are the only one that really knows him. – See, he’s done a pretty good job concealing the fact that, at heart, he’s still nine-years-old. He’s been hiding it from everyone for the past (counts…
I have a deadline tomorrow, and I’m caught between working on the project that’s due, freaking out that the project is due tomorrow, and then wasting time surfing the internet because I can’t seem to focus on the project that is OMG DUE TOMORROW. So that’s why I didn’t really get a post up today.…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
Available Now!
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