Remember When Driving Was Fun?

My niece turns sixteen next month which, frankly, is sending me over the deep end. I remember holding her as a baby, playing with her as a toddler, changing her diapers (ha ha, kidding. I've never changed a diaper in my life). Now you're telling me she can drive and will leave for college in two years? Nuh-uh. Nope. Sorry, I refuse to accept it. 

I mentioned my angst to BFF Trisha who shared that her friend's daughter recently turned sixteen and it's been a bonanza for the neighborhood. They've got this girl running errands 24/7 - dropping off kids, going to the store, picking up dry cleaning... she's the new neighborhood pack mule. 

I remember that feeling of being 16 and looking for any reason to escape into the car. Going to the store for mom was a pleasure because you got to be in the car.  How long has it been since you've slid behind the driver's wheel and appreciated the fact that you were ALONE, in a CAR, and thought it was just the coolest thing ever? Remember the glow of omnipotence that came with turning the radio to whatever channel you wanted, as loud as you wanted? That feeling that anything was possible because--hey baby--you were in the car.

I can't even remember the last time I was excited to get in the car. It's such a no-brainer activity. Which is too bad because it certainly can't hurt to appreciate the fact that I have a car, I have money to put gas in the car, and I have the freedom and flexibility to drive said car almost anywhere I want.

I'm going to try to capture some of the excitement of being 16. Instead of challenging Blair to rock-papers-scissors fights when a last-minute run to the store is needed, maybe instead I'll leap up, grab my purse and keys and yell, "I'll do it! I'll go! I'll drive to the store!" 

Then I'll crank some tunes and revel in the fact that I have this whole car to myself, just like a grown-up.

And I'll take the long way home.

Cheers,

Dena

Cooking Early: Pros & Cons

My routine has changed a bit in that this past month I've found myself exercising more in the late afternoons, around 4-5 pm. Since I still do most of my workouts in Greensboro, this means I've been getting home around 6 pm and guess what? The last thing on earth I feel like doing when I'm tired, hot, and sweaty is to stand over a stove and cook a healthy meal. This has meant a lot of PB&J or bad snacking dinners.

My solution? Cook early. I take a break after my morning writing session and, where before I would exercise, now I find myself chopping onions and sauteing mushrooms around 10 am each day. 

The good part is that I love having a meal ready to eat when I come home tired and hungry. I dig into the fridge and bam! Three minutes later food is on the table. 

The down side is that there's something not quite as satisfying as reheating food in the microwave vs. serving it hot from the pan. Also, I find myself doing a LOT of preview "taste testing" of our meals. Eating Black Bean Cocoa Quinoa (sooooo good, btw) and roasted brussel sprouts with garlic and lemon at 10:30 am? Sure! Why not? I'm eating forkfuls of each while standing over the kitchen sink, so the calories from this side meal don't count, right? Right??

Anyway, it feels... I don't know... almost ridiculously luxurious to have the option of cooking the evening meal before I've eaten lunch and sometimes--if I know my day is going to be busy--before I've even had breakfast. 

Does anyone else do their cooking at odd hours? 

Cheers,

Dena

Who Moved My Mouse: The Russian Edition

Good news! My editor e-mailed yesterday to say that my newest book, Who Moved My Mouse? A Self-Help Book for Cats has been purchased by Exmo Publishing House, a Russian publisher. Soon, all of Moscow and St. Petersburg will be abuzz about the funny cat book written by that crazy cat lady. 

I hope. 

Cheers (and vodka shots all around!),

Dena

Smug Marrieds: Random Post

Cleaning off my desk today, I found I note I'd made to myself this past winter for a blog post. Blair and I are the typical couple in that I'm always cold and he's always hot. We're in a constant battle over the thermostat and when we'd go to bed in the winter, I'd complain about the sheets being freezing cold.

I've always wanted flannel sheets but Blair protests that he'd flat out melt in the bed if we got them. So we go to bed one chilly winter night and I'm kicking the sheets with my legs, trying to generate a warm spot. 

"If you ever die, I'm getting flannel sheets," I said. I turned and smiled at him. "Do you ever think about things like that? Like the small, simple changes you might make if I died?"

A slow grin spread across my husband's face. "Daily." 

Huumph. I think I remember now why I decided not to post this...