Lex began nursery school yesterday. He handled it fine, while I was in tears by 10:30, feeling like I'd already failed nursery school. Guess that's normal — I had jet lag and my period working against me, and the environmentally friendly diaper I'd put baby in leaked out his butt, making two vertical smiles of baby-pee on his shorts, and the change of toddler clothes I thought was in the diaper bag was actually in my carry-on, which was at home, plus Monstro bitched at me for not having memorized his schedule (I'd made three copies of it, which were also in the aforementioned carry-on. Damn the carry-on!).

In other news, we are back safely from a three-week vacation. Turns out an old family friend, Dave Houseman, has bucked common belief by being the first person to write about my family's secrets. I think my aunt will be most surprised at this — the down south family hasn't been all that friendly toward me since receiving word of my MFA. Well folks, House was considerably more underhanded than I'd ever be, publishing an interview with my Alzheimer's-addled uncle without getting the other side of the story (like when he deserted his sick kid) from anyone in their right mind. Shoddy journalism, that. My grandma would be ashamed of you, House.

All in all, I'm jet-lagged and beat, yet buzzing from the grande Caffe Verona I just had, while typing this via

Wi-Fi at the closest Barnes & Noble to Lex's nursery school. Prayers appreciated.

Let me warn you that if Southwest Airlines rolls out its new San Antonio trial boarding policy nationwide, you parents of small children will be choosing to take your business elsewhere.

We hadn't been in San Jose longer than two miles before I saw the first “Mystery Spot” bumper sticker. Ten miles later, a Lee Industrial Catering taco truck. It's good to be home.

Sorry dear darling MFA/SJ buddies but I'm pretty wrapped up with parental stuff, not the least of which involves being the officiant at my dad's wedding next weekend, so a trip to see y'all is not in the cards this time. It hurts me more than it hurts you, I'm pretty sure.

Back to laundry!

I just received word that my play Lindsay Lohan's Birkin has been selected as one of the finalists for the 2007 Heideman Award, top prize for the National Ten-Minute Play Contest (which is a real contest whereto you don't Draw Cubby or submit a three Cheerios box-tops with your entry, thanks Dad). Each playwright can only submit one play and more than 1,200 entries were received this year.

So, between now and December 2007, my play will be considered for winter showcase production at the Actors Theatre of Louisville and also for the 31st Annual Humana Festival of New American Plays. This is what one refers to as a Big Deal. No matter what, even if they picked 50 finalists, that means I'm in the top… little-number percent of playwrights nationwide. OK, ten-minute playwrights nationwide.

It's a start.

Did I mention that the other day we'd put the kid down for a nap and later Monstro emerged from the shower. “Do you know he's awake?” I hadn't been aware of that, so I hung up with Anne and went to the nursery. And then I called for Monstro, because I knew he had the baby monitor on in his office (which is how he'd known the boy wasn't asleep).

Monstro walked in and took in the view: Lex had grabbed the plastic “jammie basket” from the top of his changing table, and turned it upside-down in his crib and used it as a step to get out of his crib and atop his changing table, where he sat playing the on-off game with the nightlight on the baby-monitor receiver. Happy as Buddha on the mountaintop.

We moved the changing table away from the crib the moment after we removed the baby from the changing table.

Do you all know that Anne of Illustrative Anne fame has a contract to publish an expanded version of her Master's thesis? Do go congratulate her on her blog. I'm stoked for her.

I'm working on a new “Finnegans Wake” blog for those of you who could give a tinker's damn about Joyce (hello Comtesse!) so watch for that URL soon.

Ugh, it's a bajillion degrees at 147% humidity and I'm going to stroll to my air-conditioned family room and park it on Futon Island for a while. Wonder if the blender cord'll reach?

My little one is catching on with amazing alacrity. Today we were looking at one of his “first words” books, and he pointed not to the cake but the candles on top.

“Candles,” I said.

He brought the book to his mouth and blew. Make a wish!

Yesterday I sent query letters to seven writers' representatives. I mentioned my past, present, and future projects for page and stage and screen. We'll see if anyone's brave enough to take me on.

The more I think about it, the more I like Finnegans Wake. With all three books I've tackled this year, I've trusted that the author is taking me somewhere, even if it seems like it'll never pay off. This worked better with Infinite Jest than Gravity's Rainbow, but my belief that Joyce is the master will staunch my doubt pretty effectively, especially this early in the game.

It makes me sad that more people don't give the Wake a whirl; it's funny and if you disassociate from reality from page one it's really not too terribly difficult. For now, I'm reading each page twice — once in the book (my paperback) and once online, with a Finnegans Wake online index.

I will keep you posted on this and other endeavors. I am having my hair cut today and intend to walk out of there lookin' like the most glamourous heterosexual mom in my town. Woo hoo!

I just finished the first 29 pages of Finnegans Wake and so far, I really like it. It's a dream, so I'm not getting bunged up if I don't get something, or if I miss the thread for a paragraph (or even a page). But the wordplay is so inspired and laugh-out-loud funny that I think this novel will be worth the trip.

I have found the best definition ever: Pithy: consisting of or abounding in pith

I received a rejection e-mail from The Cafe Irreal, who in no uncertain terms thanked me for thinking of them, but no thanks. The weird thing is, it was sent at 2:21 this morning. Pretty irreal, huh? Those wankers. 😉