Purple swirly boots, no crack, it's almost March, and oh, poo, it's raining!

My name is Lisa, and I have a boot problem.

So there. I figure it's better than a gambling or sex addiction. And I don't even know that it's an addiction, since it's my second pair of boots in what, six months?

And this is a total tangent, but Saturday night we were doing a jigsaw puzzle, and it was midnight, and I was all, "Let's stay up all night! And do crack!"

And then of course I had to ask Nick what he would say if I actually did want to try crack.

He said we'd have a marital problem.

What about only once?

Still a problem.

Since it doesn't actually figure on my list of anything I want to do, we're fine. It's like swallowing the ring. I just have to ask.

So back to boots.

I bought this pair because magically out of the blue they appeared on Amazon and were totally on sale and just my size (sorry, if you're a six, I think I bought the last one) and plus I get free two-day shipping because I buy so many damn diapers from them.

And Corso Como is seriously the most comfortable brand ever. And while you'd think these boots would be more practical in brown or black, it turns out that you can match purple with pretty much anything. Or anything you feel like matching it with.

I've decided.

Also: holy crap! Tomorrow is March! And weather report in Washington, DC: It was beautiful and now it's raining.

Crappitty poo.

Up to your old tricks in Chapters Four, Five and Six

As a child, I was shy, and I read a lot.

I don't know if these are related - are shy kids more likely to retreat into a book? - but I preferred reading to just about anything. I don't read as much as I'd like now, but well written fiction is still one of my greatest pleasures.

Nick, on the other hand, was not a reader. He hated it. He reads a lot now - although not as much for pleasure as he'd like. But he was well through school before he liked reading.

So our Big J, who is not remotely shy, loves the books. Loves being read to. I don't know if this means he'll love reading when he's older. But he loves it when we do.

He's started crawling into Nick's chair with a book, acting all grown up. In this picture, he's holding a book I loathe - one about Eeyore losing his tail.

I never realized it when I was a kid, but Eeyore is clearly clinically depressed. He's such a fucking downer. It just makes me want to stab him and pull out all his stuffing.

Now, having been depressed myself, I know he can't help it, and really, some therapy and Zoloft would probably turn things right around for him. He might actually be fun. So I do try to be understanding.

But he irritates the crap out of me.

Anyway. It turns out that the Borders on 18th and L is closing and everything is on sale. It's near my doctor's office, so after my appointment I stopped in to look at their 20% off children's books.

I'd forgotten how much I'd adored the characters of my childhood. Babar, the charming elephant, who it turns out is a colonial oppressor. Who knew? Not us, living in, uh, India and Bangladesh...We still have all those Babar books. I'm excited for J to get a little older.

I looked for Bartholomew and the Oobleck and If I Ran the Circus - two of my childhood Seuss favorites - but didn't find them. Although truthfully, now that I've looked them up on Amazon, I see they're cheaper there. Which I suppose is part of the Amazonification of the world.

I did buy Madeline, because I loved those books, and I don't think they survived my childhood and all our moves. I hesitated, because she's a girl...but then I thought, am I really only going to read him books with boys as main characters? No.

I also got him Richard Scarry's Mother Goose, because J really enjoys those nursery rhymes, and Richard Scarry has such amazing illustrations.

There were so many books I wanted to get, but stopped myself, because I realized they were more for me than for him. Like, I want to sit down and read all the Ramona books. Sit here for the present! And A Wrinkle in Time. Oh, CharlesWallace!

What I realized while browsing was that I'm so excited to get into books with richer plots. Not that I don't love The Very Hungry Caterpillar, but there are only so many times you can read it and still maintain the enthusiasm for him becoming...wait for it...a beautiful butterfly!

I'm itching to see Eloise get up to no good at the Plaza, although truthfully, I fear she'll give Jordan ideas.

Do you have childhood favorites you'd be happy to curl up with now?

It's probably hereditary

I looked out from the kitchen, and saw that Betty was hovering at the front door, peering out every so often.

"What are you doing?"

"There's a man out there. He keeps walking back and forth in front of the house."

"Is he acting weird? Are you worried?"

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and headed towards the front windows to investigate. I totally pictured someone in a trench coat casing the joint.

"Oh, no. I just want him to go away so I can go out in my pajamas and have a cigarette."

The reason you should never listen to my advice

Image: Edward Gorey: The Gashleycrumb Tinies

I spoke with my friend Laura last night. She's the one I used to have all kinds of shenanigans with, and then she up and moved to California for love.

And I really like her husband, so I can't even be resentful.

So, one of the first things she said was, "In your opinion, does being an orphan mean you don't have siblings?"

She had me there.

In fact, it does not. Being an orphan means you don't have parents. So even if I'd married an orphan, there would be the sisters - my issue of the weekend.

Unless, of course, Nick's entire family minus him had died in a fiery car crash. Or one by one in a series of tragic accidents.

Which, of course, I would never hope for him. Or anyone. Never.

And I'd never suggest that you explicity look for a partner whose whole family had died in a fiery car crash. And definitely not someone whose family members had one by one met with an early end.

Not least of all because maybe that would mean your person was really unlucky, and they might be next. And then you.

What? I mean, you never know.

Also, it would narrow the dating pool so dramatically, and make it close to impossible for you to find any of your 26. Even if they did live.

Plus, the person would most likely be completely traumatized. And so there would be that for you to deal with.

What I'm saying is: never listen to me. I have no sense of direction, and no idea what I'm talking about.

Unless you're my husband or my son. Then I'm always right.

A plethora of completely unrelated topics

Face to Facebook
So I went and made a Lemon Gloria Facebook page. Like 15 minutes ago. I know this sounds idiotic, but I'm still not so clear on how it works. But I did finally figure out the Like button. So, uh, could you like me?

I'm not sure if it's helpful for LG to have its own page, but then I figure, it's like plastics. Not that I'm Mrs. Robinson.

Armpit twitch
I'm having this weird twitch on the side of my chest right at the edge of my armpit. The hell?

IUI
So the IUI was really easy and fast and we talked about New Orleans. It was kind of surreal, having this between-my-legs conversation about how my doctor is from an old NO family and goes to Mardi Gras every year.

And then he stood up and said, "OK, this went beautifully, and tell Nick he did a great job!"

And then I got dressed and went to Trader Joe's.

Oh! Which leads me to: How to make my day
So I was on my way to the checkout line and couldn't decide if this very attractive woman was trying to get in line so I deliberately walked out of the way in case she was...when she said, "Excuse me. Are you Lemon Gloria?"

And then we had this wonderful chat about online dating and marriage and babies and sleep and lack thereof. She showed me pictures of her gorgeous son. It was this totally unexpected little treat.

I've had a handful of people email me and say that they'd seen me somewhere but thought it would be weird to say hi...and I always write back and say, "Oh, I wish you'd said hello!"

Of course, if you do, you'll probably be subjected to a lot of enthusiasm and a hug, so if you're not so into that kind of thing, I'm probably best avoided.

Marry an orphan
That's the best piece of advice I can think of to the single people of the world. I mean, if you're interested in marital harmony, simplifying your life, and not having to remind yourself to breathe when you've just gotten out of an IUI and your SIL attempts to dump her rather dour youngest child on you for a day of free babysitting.