The Requisite New Year Post

I'm ready to shake 2008 off my shoulders. Do you feel it? Gawds it's heavy.

What? I'm done with it.   I'm ready to strip it's grimy scrubs off my body, ready to scrape every cell that has any 2008 left on it right off my skin. *shaking head to toe like a maniac*

Get off me 2008! Go away 28 years old!

It's easy, you can do it too. Imagine 2008 is caked on your boots. Let this be our doormat. Let this be where we shake it off, the dirt and grime and stink and shit of it. I wish we could pound it like old school erasers. I want to spin and choke and dance in a cloud of it before it's gone.

Oh 2008! Give me a chance to twist and turn around you!  Let me hold you slippery and thrusting before I spit you back in your face.


For stomping on my cracked and needy hopeful heart…..  And for stopping.

For being exactly what I thought you'd be and me making you that way because I'm so scared of "happy"

For aging, fading, jading and johnny-come-lately-ing me another 365 days;


And now we come to a new page. We stand on that imaginary line between one made up year and the next. There are no more pages to flip past this year folks, buy your new calendar to fill in with the same fucking days.  Make your ever hopeful self improvement wishes. Call your family and wish them the same "Happy New Year" you're hoping for. Kiss your significant other with all the vigor of alcohol and confetti you can't seem to muster any other fucking Wednesday.

Not me. No changes here.

That's my resolution. I resolve to live 2009 exactly the way I lived 2008. All the false starts, and trying and giving up and learning and stubbornly refusing to let go of anything. I'm going to laugh and cry and yell and forget. I'm going to stand when I should sit and sit when I should stand and generally not lay down to sleep enough. 

Hello 2009! Hello 29 years old!

I can't spell  or type for shit! I don't want to speak another language! I don't "get in shape" and therefore never feel "out of shape".  I rarely read anymore! I drink nothing but mt dew all day every fucking day pausing only to smoke cigarettes heartily and with gusto! I don't even PRETEND to have any ambition to better the world or even contribute to the general cacophony of talents with my own other than my whiny masturbatory blog.

Oh 2009! Skipping all manner of foreplay I hop your rodeo ass prepared to last every day through. (jerking, whiplash and puking is to be expected)


My heart remains eager for a crack. Fool me twice. Fool me always and upside down.

My hope yearns on despite my intellect and knowing what's' "right" and "best" and "good" and "safe."

My body tick tockity tacks, knowing, growing, and flowing as many more days as I'm granted


Happy Dew Born New Year's Eve Day Everyone.

He Wrote in the Card This Year

He tapped and scratched on the back door nearly making me piss myself. I was sweeping the kitchen and didn't expect him home for another hour. I grinned at my own startled self while simultaneously giving him a half-hearted glare and went to let him in. He interrupted me as I asked what was wrong with his key by thrusting a giant bouquet of flowers under my nose with a big grin. "Happy Birthday!" He thrust the flowers into my left hand with the broom, "and I got you a big bag of kisses," He dropped a big bag of Hershey Kisses in my other arm, "aaaand a card!"

Now readers. I'm sure many of you know I don't care for cut flowers.

You might even guess that when I see cut flowers I just see interesting additions to the compost heap and wonder if I'll remember to empty the vase before it smells like dead ass. I do take the time to cut the stems and pour the weird powder in the water and place them somewhere high and out of sight so the toddler doesn't eat them and then I promptly forget about them until the smell I already mentioned forces me to seek it's source.

You probably realize that when I do want chocolate I want it with a passion that won't allow the time and clean up it takes to open fifty Hershey kisses.  Still, I might be able to bribe the children into good behavior and personal favors for a very long time doling out those little chocolate kisses.

You might even know I don't put too much stock in going to a store and grabbing a sentiment covered in pastel floral, hot pink hearts or goofy cartoons for $4.95. You might even know we have in our house every conceivable supply necessary to fold a piece of cardstock and write your own goddamn thought on it and do it very well.

BUT you don't know…... He did remember to sign it this time.

He wrote "I will love you forever."

It occurs to me that it may be what he doesn't know that makes that so fucking true.

The Hokey Pokey

The secret to maintaining the excitement of a new relationship in a long term one is very simple. Every person is different so I feel it is best to illustrate this in the form of a song and you can fill in your own wisdom.



You put your right hand in  (you got me!)

You put your right hand out (but wait, who am I?)

You put your right hand in..(oh here I am again!)... and

You shake it all about. (this shaking is important, don't slack on that. and please note; "all about" does not imply "all over town")

You do the hokey-pokey  *wink wink*

And you turn yourself around.  (they don't say so but I believe more hokey-pokey happens right here)

That's what it's all about!


(proceed with any and all conceivable body parts/behaviors metaphorical or otherwise but beware if both partners are singing the song at the same time things are not going to line up well.)

Just Stay

People ask how couples manage to stay together.  Right to their face, on the spot, they want their answer. I think it's a dare. They daring you to tell them what it is they're doing wrong in their relationships. Sometimes I take that dare but most of the time I just tell them;  the answer is simple and its not what anyone wants to hear.

Couples that are together for years are together because…They  just stay.

When it's bad. When it's good. When it works. When it doesn't.

They stay.

That doesn't mean it's a good relationship or a better relationship or that they have magic relationship beans. It just means they stayed.

There was a time when The man and I had a break up fight. It was before we lived together but after we'd been together a while. I've been trying to remember what the fight was about so I could tell this story but it's lost and I realized I don't need to remember. It's enough to tell you it was a deal breaker. It was a time when we were not going to stay.  Things were good and they were bad and it was working and it wasn't working….. just as it always is. The difference is that we stopped the relationship.

Mostly I think it was because we started studying to take our GED tests together. It highlighted the differences between us. It ran a glaring spotlight along each of our faults and perceived inadequacies. The ones we saw in ourselves and the ones we saw in each other. The question reared up; is this the person I want to stand next to, is this the person who will know me and understand me when no one else does?

Because that's something we can choose.  *smirk*

A few weeks went by and I was on my way to the community college to take the GED test. I got off the bus and  I have a vivid picture in my mind of seeing his maroon Cherokee swing around into the parking lot ahead of me and not being all that pleased to see it. I was surprised he showed up for the tests since he had pretty much given up on the studying as far as I knew.

It was an awkward meeting. "You're here!" I said, glad for him anyway.

"I went by your mom's and your sister told me where I could find you."

"You're not here to take the test?" I was confused.

"No. I forgot it was today."

"Oh."

"I miss you. And I'm sorry. I got you something."  He handed me the kind of box jewelry comes in, with the ribbon attached in a way that you don't have to remove it.

"You really shouldn't have…." I held the box out to him.

"Just open it. I'm not going to take it back." So I did. Opening the box, my eyes landed on the sliver outline of a heart. It dangled on the end of a silver chain.

"Oh. It's a necklace!" I'm terrible at receiving gifts I like. It feels guilty and awful and spotlit. It's just as bad receiving a gift I don't like. I have the guilties and the awful and the spotlight on top of being terrible at masking my facial expressions.  "Why thank you."

"Do you want to go get something to eat?" He asked eagerly, seeming to know that if he kept the ball rolling it would get big enough to smash any obstacles in the way.

"I'm supposed to go take that test you know."

"I could wait out here."  and he would have. He would have gone to get something to eat and he would have been sitting there when I got out. Of course I didn't go take the GED test that day. I knew I could pass the test whenever I wanted.

I wanted to try something I hadn't mastered. I wanted to stop looking. I wanted to be found.

 I wanted to stay.

More Under Here Somewhere

When I'm on. You know, ON.

When sunshine split's the top of my legs into an ass poets cry for not being able to capture it in prose.

When the balls are flying in the air, whack whacking in and out of my hands, and all three rings of our big top circus are lit up and roaring with amazing feats and magical wonder.

When it's him and it's me and it's all of a sudden a big we around the dinner table.

Then it's easy to know what we're here for. What we're doing. Who we are. What we make and why I'm here with him.


And when he grins or actually even laughs out loud and it's because of me. Not the ass or the circus or the way I hold all of this together, just me. I know we're the kind of related, the kind of  family that can get away with fucking; mediocre or not.

Then I want it to be enough. I know that it IS enough, should be would be could be if I let it.  I WILL it to be enough.  Like a child on those stupid spinning flat merry go rounds I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing my inner self out of my ever spinning head, watching from the sidelines but never ever letting my white knuckled fingers let go of any of it.

But I'd like him to confuse me. I'd like him to play fast and loose with my heart. I'd like him to use a word I've never heard in a way that adds a new crayon to the box in my head. I'd like him to spar and spear and throw me for a loop. I'd like him to wear me out and fill me in.


I think it drives me bonkers that he's always just him. Steady. Unmoved by my imbalances. Unable or uninterested in playing push and pull.  Rock like.

And I love rocks. Oh I do. I will lug a giant boulder home from another state if it's curves strike me as enduringly linear enough.  The textures. The solid heavy UMPH of them. I imagine they must hold surprises under their craggy skin. Mush or sparkle or ridges unseen by anyone else. Places that must just long to be brought into the light for one very special person to admire.

When I was a kid we'd pound rocks together, trying to break them apart and see inside. When they split you could hold them back together along the break and it was like creating the rock yourself. But on the inside a rock is usually just exactly the same as it was whole. Except now you have two rocks and they're broken and jagged on the side you broke. It might take a hundred years for the elements to wear it smooth in ways that make it it's own rock and  by then you'd never know which ones used to be a whole together.


Our outsides ARE our insides. Just worn down in interesting ways by the elements. That's why we love children  so much… they're still inside out.  Of course we wear them down anyway. We call it "growing up"


If you ever wonder whether a rock wonders about any of this .. Don't. Because if they do they do it in such a completely different way that your head will hurt just considering it. You will not find symmetry or recognition or anything except more rocky edges.  And also reels and reels of rock porn.

And your rock will not wonder about you. Your rock accepts you exactly the way you are, if you can imagine that. Yeah. THE WAY YOU ARE. *eyes wide* On your lousiest day even.


I think all the elements love and hate the rocks and that's why they wear away at them any way they can. Try to tease them into being something else. Because rockiness is just so inert and perfect and implacable. I imagine myself as the earth throwing itself against his rockiness. I imagine I light fire and spray water and blow air across him waiting for him to reveal what's under his stony exterior. I imagine beaches of tiny rock laughing under the waves and sun and suck and ebb.

Of course I'm not looking for him. He's right there on the outside just exactly the way he is on the inside.

I'm looking for me. No, not this me. Some other me I'm not already tired of. Tell me have you seen me? Because I must be more under here somewhere.

Damn

Shortly after posting me last blog the power went out again and stayed out until about fifteen minutes ago. The funny thing about losing electricity is how long it takes to believe it. One moment you're musing out loud to The Man that the newscasters are either drunk or actually off their rockers now that we're a week into our twenty four hour coverage of the Arctic Blast of 2008, the next the television makes that sucking sound that happens when power stops in the wire and it's over folks. OVER.

So you all laugh and light candles and it's a jolly romantic atmosphere with the fireplace lit and the children's eyes all round with the wonder of it all. You think; who needs tv anyway? Every channel is those ridiculously sauced newscasters telling us what we already know anyway. I'll go run up and check my blog.

Damn.

Well. That's okay. It's really the silence that's killing us. I'll just turn on some music.

Double Damn.

Gosh. Oh well. It's getting cold in here, a long hot shower would really feel good about now…

Triple Slam Damn!

I lit nearly every candle I had. All thirty of them. Some white long, slow burning emergency candles and the rest a strange assortment of scents making our home smell like potpourri in a refrigerator. I saved a couple in case we would be doing this for a long, long time. I sat at the dining room table and tried to sew surrounded by ten of the candles. You really can't see much by candle light though. The children were going bonkers around me. Sliding their bodies along on the floor. Screaming obscenities. (Little Man has discovered the eff word and he LIKES it.) He climbed up into a chair next to me saying "I sit you Mama."

"Hey, Little Man! Can you say a wee mo wa a wee mo wa a wee mo wa?"

"No that's funny!"

"Come on, sing it with me, a wee mo wa a wee mo wa a wee mo wa a wee mo wa a wee mo wa" He finally decided to join me …

"weeemo wa wa weee weee mo wa wa"

"Help him Sis. A wee mo wa a wee mo wa a wee mo wa a wee mo wa…" and she did. She's done this before. I reminded her, "Now when I point at you I want to hear "hey hey hey!" okay?" and she nodded…. They continued the wee mo was over and over in a loop, I used my hand to keep them in time and then I took a deeep deeeeep breath of  air, getting ready to raise my voice in the high funny pitch for my lines "IN THE JUNGLE THE MIGHTY JUNGLE THE LION SLEEPS TONIGHT!!!" Little Man nearly crapped himself laughing. I gestured for them to keep the wee mo was coming "IN THE JUNGLE THE QUIET JUNGLE THE LION SLEEPS TONIGHT!"

I pointed at Sis and she came in with, "HEY HEY HEY! WHOOOOOAH! WHOOOOAH! WHOOOOOOOOOOOH!" I grinned with pride.

"HUSH MY DARLING DON'T CRY MY DARLING THE LION SLEEPS TONIGHT!!!" We sang ever song I could remember there in front of the fire.

Then I read four chapters of Little House out loud  and at about 7:45pm we all crawled under our mountains of blankets and slept the night through.

The Man Saves the Day

If they were choosing teams for power outages in the middle of Arctic Blasts and if for some reason I was a captain I would pick The Man right away. After that I could pick anyone and it wouldn't matter 'cause he has it covered.

This morning I hollered out from under the pile of blankets keeping the cold at bay "Heeeey! Baby!?!"

"What do you need?" He asked cheerfully. He was in his element. He had gotten up gawd knows when to light the fire that he said raised he temperature in the house by twenty degrees. Now the children were dressed in multiple layers of clothing (I could hump old navy for making fleece lined jeans right now) and munching on cereal and peanut butter on bread with their little boxes of juice beside them.

"Could you warm up the toilet seat for me?" I asked half joking. I felt I might wet the bed any minute but couldn't make myself crawl out from under the covers.

"Alright. How long do you want me to sit on it?"

"As long as it takes to get it piping hot!" As soon as he came out I dashed out of bed grabbing clothes and pulling them on this way and that, my skin balking at the cold and the layering all at once. The seat was moderately warmed up.

Soon as I was up and about The Man started putting his boots and outdoor clothes on. "I'm going to dig us out of here." he announced as though that were the natural thing to do. "We need milk and dew and more candles."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" I asked him doubtfully. The drift across the road was no small drift. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"To the store?" he asked

"To dig."

"Well. Lil Dew does want to go out and play so if you wanted to bring the kids out to play you could"

So he did dig us out. The neighbor and his son in law joined him with actual big snow shovels. Apparently the son in law and their family is trying to get to the airport to fly out today.  And I brought the kids out. About the time we were all out there kicking snow around and turning our faces out of the bitter wind the power came back on. We all cheered.

I made cocoa.

I started the dishwasher.

I sat on the heat vent.

I love electricity. LOVE IT.

He's getting ready to go get dew and whatnot right now. :)

What We Have

Dear Readers,

Let me tell ya what we have here.

We have feet of snow. FEET. Drifting up "taller than you Mom!" and "Almost as tall as The Man!". The road leading up to our house has drifts over it rising up higher than me. Daughter and The Man went out to play for an hour or so (the wind seemed to die down to a thirty mile an hour roar for a bit) and he dug out giant bear caves into the snow.

We have winds going at up to sixty miles per hour. The winds blasted freezing rain over all the windows facing the rear of the house until they were frosted like a shower door. The yard looks like a snow ball exploded in the center of a Christmas tree lot. Not because we have Christmas trees… because of all the branches and  evergreen debris scattered near and far.

We have some movies but the power flickers at LEAST once every forty five minutes making every clock flash 12 and forcing a person to restart the dvd and search for their chapter. Also Little Man yells "UH OH! IT DARK IN HERE!"

We have a toddler who hasn't had anywhere to run or shout except the hall, going round the dining table and through the kitchen and back round again. He says "Shingle gels! Shingle gels! Laffffing all the way HAY!" and he says "cundy! I want cannndy!" and he says "Sissser! Sisssssser, catch me, I hide and peek!" and also "it still knowing mama! It knowing outside!"

We have an eight year old with hair down to her bum. It is the perfect rope, curtain, handle, and noisemaker, for our toddler when he grows tired of his own hollers. She has eighty thousand toys but all of them are "boring." If we allow too much screen time (the computer, the Nintendo ds, the television, movies etc) she get that glazed eye look and takes twenty minutes to respond to commands AND has insomnia at night. (yes, yes she does remind me of me)

We have a man unused to being in this house twenty four seven. Unused to spending so much quality time with the children. Unused to The Dew without any Dew. He wanders around the house like those nutso polar bears caged down at the zoo. One moment crazily batting around random objects, the next staring forlornly out a window.

We have Christmas a mere couple of days away. No tree. Fewer gifts than planned. No holiday meal. Just the joy of each others company on yet another day frozen inside this house with little to do but exclaim over and over, "this is crazy! CRAZY!" because this is not normal NW weather.


PS xmas should actually be sooner because I'm eating may way through Santa's stocking candy and I cannot seem to stop myself. If the power stays on long enough we will make cookies so the kids have something left the 25th.

He's Says I'm More Opinionated Now

“OH!”

“What?” He looked at me, startled. We were finishing up our dinner at the table. All the kids had already finished and scraped and ran off.

“Nothing, I just meant to ask you something. I was writing today about how people change when they’re together and I wanted to ask you what you thought was different about me since we got together.”  I looked at him expectantly.

“Well. You’re more opinionated.” My eyes got wide and I laughed out loud. “Well, not that you’re MORE opinionated just that you actually say what you’re thinking. All the time.” He had that teasing smile on, but we were on thin ice at the same time.

“WHAT!?” I was frustrated already knowing he wouldn’t elaborate in a way that would satisfy me.

“What did you say had changed about me? Did you say you changed me? Was this another let‘s talk about how awful The Man is blog?”

“No, I think it’s partly just the timing of it. We’ve also aged seven years since we met. Almost seven years. Is it seven?”

“I think so. I think last April we figured it was six so this April will be seven. Don’t change the subject, what did you say?”

“I mentioned that you’re better at handling your temper, is all.”

“Oh well that’s true.” He pushed his bowl, now empty of stew, away from him, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

“Do you remember the time I got out of the car and walked off?” I grinned, laughing as I started to clear the table and walk stuff to the dishwasher.

“Yeah. I remember.” His eyes glazed, remembering back that far. He was helping load and rinse. “Now I would have just left you there.”  He slapped my rear affectionately.

“You would not.” I laughed, outraged. “ Then, why didn’t you then?”

“I didn’t think you would come back.”

“Well, you were right.” I closed the door on the dishwasher and pushed the button to start the cycle. “I wouldn’t now either.”

“You think so, huh. He put me over his shoulder and carried me toward the bedroom. “I think we should discuss this in the room where I’m in charge.”  When we got there Little Man was hot on our heals.

“What you dooooing?” He asked with eyes shining as if he were in on the cosmic joke. 'Me too! Up Daddy! Up! Put Mama doooown here!'

Mr. Long Haul

First you need to form a relationship that can last long enough to run into this problem. The key here is in knowing what you want and finding a person who knows what they want and in wanting the same thing at the same time. Easier said than done. I can't advise you on how to make THAT happen. The Man just fell into my lap. As my long-time readers know, he was a one night stand that wouldn't go away.  He also insisted that we eat out a lot and then sometimes we'd really live it up and have a drink even, so I suppose that was our dating.

One night he took me to Edgefield and after I attempted to set him on fire in the parking lot (very windy and I was smoking) we ended up in one of the bars inside. I actually drank two drinks. This apparently put me in a mood to give him what for and tell him what was up and how it was going to be. I know. I'm an adorable drunk. He might have been a lot more drunk. It's hard to say, he had the slight slur to his words but I know now the mere smell of alcohol and he starts doing that in anticipation of intoxication and even just a particularly good orgasm can trigger it so looking back I'm not so sure.

"You're just such a great mom. I love the way you're a mom. The way you do it. I think you're amazing to stay at home with her and the way you play with them and all of it." Yes, I nearly puked.

"The thing is. I didn't want this. I didn't plan this. But here it is so once I decided to do it, of course I'm going to do it the best way I can.  You need to know that you can't be part of that unless you're in it for the long hall. We can mess around when I have free-time but other than that the Mom stuff is nothing to do with you."

"What if I am in it for the long haul?" He asked staring at me. Totally called my bluff.

"Well. I haven't decided that you are."  I carefully avoided telling him outright that I didn't think he was "the one". No reason to be hurtful when it was just talk anyway. I sipped more alcohol. "You don't even have any idea what you're saying.  It's easy to think you want it. It's all sunshine and tiny adorable girl and fun trips to the zoo from the outside but the REALITY is something else."

"It's all I've ever wanted. Isn't it what everyone wants? Family. I work and work and work and I want it to be for something. Something more than drinking with my brother on the weekends and sleeping all the time."

"Well. I suppose it is what most people want. It's not that I never wanted it. Just that I wanted to do some other stuff first. And I wanted it IF I wanted it when I wanted it."

"What else do you want?" It was as if he just realized that for the three or four months we had been seeing one another he had been talking. About scaffolding. His family. His entire life. He had laid it all down in front of me until I knew him, could wrinkle him up in one hand and iron him out in another. It was that turning point. The place where it's either going to move forward or fizzle out. The place where it starts to be for keeps.

"That's just it! I don't even know! I want to want. I want to discover and move and grow and change. And I will. I'm just doing this thing backwards. Since she came along and they haven't invented a way to freeze embryos for a better time to have them I had to do that first. And it's nothing like I wanted. For me or my baby but I'm trying to create it the best I can, as close to the ideals I have about it as I can under my limited circumstances. Then when she's bigger I can start the other stuff."

"Well. I want it. I want you. The you, you are right now." I laughed at his seriousness. I couldn't help it, I had never seen him looking so intense.

"That's because you think you can order it like a side dish!" He stared at me uncomprehendingly. "You don't think anything much would change for you. You might play house awhile and if it doesn't work out oh well you'd move on. I'm IN IT."

"You're the one making me…. on the side or whatever you said."

"Yeah well. I'll think about it. And what happens when I want to do other things? Then what?"

"Then nothing. You can do whatever you want."

"I will hold you to that." I grinned at him and changed the subject to lighter material.  "Don't you want to tell me about scaffolding or something?"

"No. I want you to admit you hated this sweatshirt. That's why you set it on fire." I laughed wildly at his crazy accusation.

"I didn't set you on fire on purpose!"

"Admit you hate this sweatshirt."

"I don't! It's… nice. It looks very warm. What is that fleece?"

"You hate it. Always have."

"heh. It's best you know what I'm capable of right away Mr. Long Haul"

Strom Watch in NW

STORM WATCH TELECAST FROM MILD NW OREGON

Julie: Let's go now to Bill, our meteorologist for all the latest in this coming snow storm everyone is wondering about in the Metro Area.  But first, check out this footage from Seattle where this WALL of snow has just started to hit.

(video footage of  rather tame looking average snow.)

Julie: What you're seeing here is snow, that's right SNOW falling in a sports arena!

(five more seconds of snow)

Julie: Now let's get to Steve braving the elements out there in the West Hills, the place we usually expect to see the weather when it hits.

(video footage of Steve dressed in Columbia Sportswear with the West Hills in the background [ it's dark, he could have been anywhere, really])

Steve: Hi there Julie, as you can see I'm out here in the West Hills to show you guys what they're dealing with out here. There's a slight breeze picking up and about an hour and a half ago we had a couple flakes of snow falling…

(camera pans to show us the areola of light around a street light)

Julie: *newscaster camaraderie chuckle* Well, Steve it sure doesn't look like much is going on there yet!

Steve: Yes Julie, right now we're just not seeing what we expect everyone will be seeing in the morning which is the snow that has been predicted to fall here in the Metro Area this weekend. As I was saying we did see some snow flakes falling about an hour and a half ago right over in this area and some other debris drifting around in the breeze up there. However, as of right now all is calm and snow free up here in the West Hills.

Julie: *ingratiating smile* Well Steve, thank you very much for being out there in the cold and be sure to let us know if anything develops out there before the end of the newscast. Now let's got to the Trimet Bus Barn and see how they're preparing for the Snow Storm on it's way to the Metro Area.

Bus Barn Employee: Hi Julie, We've gone ahead and chained up all two hundred buses in preparation for tomorrow. Normally we might chain around fifty buses for a situation like this and plan to send those buses to the areas with the highest elevation but *shrug* we decided we're just going to be absolutely prepared for the weather and so we are.

(video footage of a bus tire being chained up in completely unsnowlike weather)

Julie: Well thank you for letting us know. You also said that buses should run on regular schedule for tomorrow.

Bus Barn Employee: That's right Julie.

Julie: Alright then let's go to Bill our Meteorologist and see what he has to tell about this coming storm.

Bill: Thanks, Julie.

(Video footage of ridiculous maps that Bill has colored giant patches on in pink and blue)

Bill: As you can see here, the pink areas are where I expect we should be seeing snow. As soon as those temperatures drop there should be snow. We have the cold. We have the moisture. Everything adds up to the sure possibility of snow.

(video footage of another map Bill has doctored with arrows going every conceivable direction)

Bill: We have winds coming in here (cold place that does have snow), there (another cold place that DOES have snow), all creating the perfect elements for a storm like the one I expect we will be seeing by morning.

Julie: Alright then, Bill. Now let's look at footage of what snow looks like in other places where it snows.

(two minutes of footage of snow in other places.)

Julie: Tune back in, in an hour for further updates on this coming storm as well as our broadcast tomorrow morning which will be starting one hour early and remember this station is THE station to turn to for all the latest in STORM WATCH TECHNOLOGY. Can we just take it to Steve one more time to see if the snow is falling yet in the West Hills?

Steve: Hi Julie. We did see a flake again, over there in the light from the street lamp but as yet that's about all we've seen out here.

Julie: Alright, Steve. I guess we'll all wait for tomorrow to see if the snow develops. Goodnight Everybody.

UPDATE:

Sorry I haven't been able to answer comments. I'm crossing my fingers this update will post. We did get snow here. It's the very cold dry kind that you can't really do anything with. The Man says it's a deal break and we have to move because all the wind just blows the snow right out of our yard and off the cliff in front of the house. There's like an inch or two in the valley (Portland) and next to nothing up here in Corbett. We've just been hanging out inside by the fire, playing board games with the kids and laughing our asses off at all the idiots driving around. The Man is giddy. He just loves cold and snow. I love watching the three lanes of traffic on the freeway. You have people going way too fast on the left, people going way too slow in the middle and people pulled over and spinning out on the right. AND there's the people who abandoned their cars to hitchhike. I guess they're thinking whoever picks them up will have more sense than they do. I would post a transcript of the helicopter guy but I'm afraid only Muddy shares my dry sense of humor.

Please

I think even if I was given gills and sent to live in the sea with the magical mermaids and live happily ever after,  I would always crave that suck-in-air-breathe quality to lungs.

Please

Strange coming from a smoker I guess. It sucks to smoke on acid. The cherry looks awesome but you can't feel it go in. The smoke and death and burn sensation is the whole point. I need to die a little to remember I'm alive. I need to live a little before I die.

Please.

I just have the one tiny piece of eternity. Can it be that I can't have a mortal life well-lived if I refuse to let go of that shard of forever? I wonder what I want more. I wonder what I wouldn't give.


Please

Dropping that piece isn't even possible. It's a silly game to pretend I ever could. A way to make it my own, to pretend I control it or you. I guess I have to just stop squeezing so hard. Open my hand and let it rest softly.

The Oil Guy Saw My Nipples Today

The kids let me sleep in today. First they snuggled around me and slept in themselves, then they even got up and poured cereal without me. I rolled in the warm covers. I just love that hot sheets with covers on top sensation. It's only ever like that in the morning when you're supposed to get out of them. I heard a pounding but I didn't think much of it. Little Man regularly pounds on things so unless there's a scream after the pound or the sound of glass it's not an emergency. Certainly nothing worth sliding out from under the delicious blankets. I was trying to stay in that after-dream-glow.

"Mom! Somebody is at the door!" my daughter said in the tone that conveys her superiority over me for being up and out of bed when important things are happening like a knock at the door.

"Wha? Who? Can you see who it is?" I asked as I hopped out of bed.

"It looks like one of those guys who was digging the hole." oh. The septic people? But the hole had been filled in. All our septic and hot water heater woes have been over for a week. Then I remembered… THE OIL GUY!

Shit. I was wearing Jammies. Girl boxers, thin t-shirt. Very appropriate for bed… not so much for answering the door. Or even being out of bed at all according to my nipples. I grabbed a hoody and made my way to the back door. The poor man standing there in the cold looked nice and normal enough, youngish but mature.

"Hi!" I sheepishly said so we could both pretend I didn't just crawl out of bed and he didn't witness my children climbing on chairs to retrieve their own damn cereal. I spotted the big oil truck and asked "Do you need me to open up the basement door or something?" what!? I've never had oil heat before, I don't know how this works.

"I already filled, I just need a check." he said, kindly.

"Oh! Of course, let me just.." I tried to coax my unruly giant bed hair back from my face. We've reached the point in bangdom that I need to decide if I'm already growing them out or trim them. There's no explanation for the size and grandeur of the rest of my hair, it just is. "Come on in!" I opened the door wide and began a hopping dance back and forth over a basket of laundry sitting there. The Man had informed me the oil guy would be coming and that I would have to pay him but I had no idea if he forgot to leave a check out of if I just wasn't seeing it. So I hopped over the basket this way to look, then back over that way to look. All the while feeling ridiculously underdressed and crazy like.

"Who is he!?!" Lil Dew stood next to me protectively with her own bed hair. Thankfully Little Man seemed to be fully engrossed in cartoons and breakfast and didn't come to check out the visitor or try to lend a hand with his "I'm a Doctor" skills.

"Never mind, go eat your cereal." I told her, smiling apologetically at the oil guy and grabbing the phone. I dialed The Man quickly. Luckily he wasn't on top of scaffolding unable to answer. "Hey the oil guy is here, did you leave a check out somewhere?"

"I put it in the drawer by the mail thingy." I hopped back over the laundry basket and shuffled through the drawer looking.

"It's not here!" I said in panicked tones. I was wondering what they do to someone who has an oil guy come out and then doesn't pay up. I certainly don't have the skills it would take to make that giant dollar amount disappear. I'd have to live with the guy a whole month.  (SLIB)

"Oh not there! In that other drawer where I've been keeping all the bills. I tucked it in there 'cause I thought you would find it there." The checkbook was there, under about fifty stacked envelopes behind all the kids school paperwork in a giant drawer we never use. *perfect* I practically hung up on him.

The Man had scrawled his name in the signature spot. I had to fill in the rest, asking the poor oil guy for help on every line. "Date? Amount? Who are you again?"  He was very patient and smiling even though in my half awake state I felt I was trying to write in another language and it seemed to take forever.

Finally it was done and I passed it to him proudly. "Thanks so much!" I told him.

"Enjoy this cold weather we're going to have with your new oil." he said. I'm pretty sure he wasn't talking about my nipples. I imagine he's just thrilled that oil prices have dropped, I bet it's very uncomfortable witnessing heart attacks and crying when you give people their bill.

 "Sorry about this." I gestured all around and hopped back over the laundry basket to help him out the door. "Next time I'll be ready for you!"

Yeah. My foot spends a lot of time in my mouth for "that's what she said" remarks.



The moral of this story is that being a kept woman isn't all fun and games. Sometimes you have to pay the oil guy.

And also that since oil prices have dropped so much it isn't necessary to show up at the door in next to nothing when your oil guy shows up. But you can and he'll probably tolerate it.

I'm a Doctor *pat pat pat*

"You may not hit. If you hit again you will have a time-out." I informed Little Man in my most serious mommy voice. I was crouched down eye to eye with him. Lately his patting is getting increasingly aggressive and he knows darn well it's just hitting. I see it in the glint in his eyes.

He reached his little arms up and put a chubby hand on each of my cheeks, squeezing my face until my lips were a fishy kiss. "I sorry Mama. I kiss you"  and he planted a wet half snotty kiss on me. "Mama?"

"Yes, Little Man."

"I pooped one more time. I sorry. I pooped one more time." He informed me seriously, his head tilted and eyebrows up appropriately.

"You don't have to be sorry. Maybe next time you could sit on the potty to poop. Let's go change your pants."

"In a minute." he parroted my phrase back at me. "I pat my head and my tummy." he hop-skipped around the house patting his head and his tummy. Obviously The Girls have been playing school with him again. "see!? Not hurt. Not hurt." He was patting himself nearly as fiercely as he had been me moments before.

"Be gentle with my baby." I admonished him.

"I not baaaaaby. I'm a Little Man." when he says his name like that it sounds like he's saying; "I'm a doctor" and cracks me up all day long. He uses it to excuse anything.

He might be climbing on top of his radio flyer inch worm to reach Daddy's coffee and upon being busted explain… "I'm a doctor! It's licious! I'm a doctor!"

Or he'll pull a chair over to "help me" cook. When I tell him he can't help cook at the stove until he's ten he laughs and reminds me, "I not TEN! I two six four, I'm a DOCTOR!"

After I finished changing his diaper he started the tough patting on my arse again. "Hey listen up. Doctors do not hit."

"It's okay. You okay. I not a DOCTOR! I'm a DOCTOR!"

Looking for a Good Plan

So… I don't want to alarm anyone who has perhaps escaped this realization but….

There's only one fucking way out of here. (life)

Anyone have a good plan to avoid this?

Yeah. Thought not. And NOBODY talks about it.

What if we don't talk about it because if we let go of that illusion of eternal living… of the days just going on and on and on…

It sorta means there's absolutely no reason not to do any fucking thing we want to.

For those of us not going to heaven, I mean.

So what's stopping us? 

Show Me Your Titties

It was one of the last times we were all together like that. After my parents got back together, before they split again. The five of us down at the Clackamas River in the  dog heat of summer. None of our family outings were purely for fun. This trip the siblings and I were also required to collect rocks for Dad’s growing rock garden. Not small rocks either, large boulder-like rocks that had to be hefted up to the truck one at a time leaving sand and mud across our bellies each time.

Still, it was nice, strangely calm even. We didn’t rebel against his request and he didn’t insist on instilling nazi discipline. We spent most of the time  wading in and out of the lazy spot on the river and lazing about on our ragged old towels. Our teenaged bodies were still unused to spending time with our parents, there was some awkwardness in all of us at noticing we were being noticed. Now and then speed boats would charge past, churning up the water, creating waves to make us alternately delighted and annoyed by the surges.

One particular boat had made a couple passes when it actually slowed to a cruise. It was overflowing with young men drinking and goofing off. Then it suddenly sped up, fishtailing around a bit before speeding away and as it went one of the boys on it shouted “SHOW ME YOUR TITTIES!” in a wailing laughter filled demand, in our general direction.

As the heat of a dark blush spread to both my sister and I’s faces we looked on in shocked amazement at Dad, standing just ahead of us knee deep in the water with his cozy covered beer in one hand and dark tinted police officer sunglasses on.  He raised his arms, the shorter style swim trunks in a bright turquoise color with tiny almost unrecognizable black fish  printed on them suddenly standing out, marking his age, and shook his man chest at them, his eyes were wild and large, his beer belly jutting out, wavy dark hair silhouetted against the blue sky.  “I’LL GIVE YOU TITTIES!” he shouted mockingly after them.

The tension we had hardly known on the surface was suddenly broken and we laughed till we cried, reliving it over and over as another of us reenacted it from our perspective.  It was the only thing that ever made it work for us, his sense of humor. Still is. Even without him.

Is it December Again?

It's time to decorate the house for the holidays. Not because I'm feeling particularly jolly or tinsel-lite, but because I keep forgetting it's December and I'm hoping garish decorations will center me in the correct time and place. My niece turned nine this last weekend. NINE. That's a big number. I have a nine looming in my near future as well. Today I feel like ignoring it, wonder why we can't all have some sort of small dog size house to go curl up in on days like that. Days that demand our notice, demand we take stock.

I have this thought that you can create a hole where there isn't one simply to stare into it and wish it filled. Like worrying a tear in the seam of a pocket with your fingers. Of course that matters little once the hole is there. Chickens and eggs and Who's on first. I don't like chickens OR eggs and am long past firsts. You can stretch a hole so big it becomes everything, an entire life just sucked in and lost. My pocket is gone anyway. I don't notice much until I have a moment, standing still and forgetful. Then I slide my hand in and it discovers no warm smooth edges no fabric sewn into a square to keep treasures safe and close, just my thigh in need of a shave. It also matters little if my hand misses the pocket or wishes for yours to cover it.

Does anyone else crave solitude to alleviate loneliness? Maybe it makes it easier to take, makes it make sense at least. If I must be miserable for gawds sake let it be logical! Let it be sound and sensible behavior! *snort* Go ahead and chase that tail around for awhile. Gets the days slipping by until you don't know what month it is anymore. Just hang a strand of lights to remind you Santa has shopping to do. *



*Persons writing this blog may be less melancholy than they sound. Also, they are not cheered by well wishes so save that for another blog.  ahem. and also.

Bah Humbug!

Size Matters

As is customary on talk shows when the writers run out of material* …….

Let's go to the mailbox, shall we?

We all get stranger friend requests. Now that Tom offers the option to type a short message to be sent along WITH the request there is absolutely no excuse not to.  (there is one excuse and when I do it be sure and ask me and I will excuse myself with it) My policy is to let them rot. If you deny them they come back. If you let it sit there in the box then in a week or two when they try you again it will tell them what an ass they are. Over and over. Automated you're an ass rejection. LOVE it. Anywhoot.

Today I popped in as I had been flagged as having NEW friend requests. *blush* I know, it's shocking how special I feel. So I see a chick.. Looks like a porn bot to me. You know the kind.. Looking for me to get to know them and then maybe pay them to see them masturbate on camera. As if I need pointers. *elbows nearest person knowingly* It's pokers I need not pointers. *triple snort*

 Then I notice her name. I won't give it here. But it's bracketed in such a way that it resembles MY NAME. Except it doesn't make sense on a few levels like mine does. (so what if I'm not supposed to admit it fucking rocks! My name does rock so there!)

 It's something like Jad[ed]. And the avatar is headless. This chick took a picture of herself with her naval all exposed and looking all hookery! And used brackets instead of parenthesis! (totally wish I thought of that) possibly in an effort to emulate me!

***by the by - those people who say it's the sincerest form of flattery? Fuck that. Tell that to people experiencing identity theft. *nods with eyebrows up* eh? Eh? Eh? Oh shit I know it's no big deal . Pishaw.

This is the part where we laugh about me thinking this chick is a yucky porn botter and than realizing she's instead a pseudo Dew(ed). *gestures for everyone to join in* ahahahahahahahahahahahahahhaah!  "Even Dew(ed) admits she looks like a myspace hookah"  yeah yeah get it out of your systems.

My curiosity, piqued, I click away to get a look at her profile, wondering if she's wanting to be on the Dew(ed) slider or what.  That doesn't appear to be the case. I don't see any mutual friends. I have never seen her on the blogs I read. So I read her profile (what? I'm already there) and it becomes clear that she's dealing with having an eating disorder. No that's not right. She's an advocate of Eating Disorder as lifestyle. Yeah that's sounds more right. So I feel my friendship was targeted.

This pisses me off.  (now we get to open a big old stinky can-oh-beans)

I'm slenderish. I have always been slenderish. (ignores sister(d) raising her hand to point out baby pictures of Dew(ed) with her little infant halter top ROLLING up because of all the baby chub) Alright. Since around two I have always been slender. My mom is slender. My sister is slender. My grandma was slender. (not that one the other one) my point is, I don't DO anything to be slender. I don't exercise. I don't think about what I eat. I don't give a flying fuck about calories. I have never owned a scale.

I don't "deserve" it, but there it is.

And it just IS.

We're in a big danger zone here. I am aware that statistically Americans tend not to be slenderish. I know I'm out-numbered. But goddamn it I have a right to be heard!!! And I'm tired of the uncomfortable awkwardness of being forced to apologize for it.

Oh you think that's not how it is? Too bad you can't wear a skinny suit.

In any female gathering (and more and more it's men too) weight WILL come up. I have NEVER brought weight up. But it ALWAYS comes up.

My favorite is when they tell me why I'm skinny.

-because I smoke.
-because I starve myself
-because I must throw up after I eat.

Or how I'm going to pay for it in the end anyway.

-osteoporosis
-the cancer (from the cigarettes I smoke to stay skinny)

Or how I'm paying for it now.

-boobless
-yeah I guess that's it. (has little desire for boobs anyway)

So enough people. Stop harassing the naturally scrawny adolescent boy looking women in your life. Does it suck that weight isn't an issue for them and it is for you? File it under LIFE IS NOT FAIR and move the fuck on. You can bet they have their own problems. Oh and let them have those fucking problems instead of interrupting them to remind them they're thin and therefore should be blissfully happy  and without another care in the world the way you imagine you would be were you thin. REALITY CHECK PLEASE!

And now lets move on to the message box. I have a request for advice that I'd like you to help me answer. In the interest of protecting the guilty I'm leaving out their name. Picture an avatar with a guy (pretty well built) with his back turned flexing his muscles. His name might be something like "Smooth"

Here it is:


Subject:   : )
Body:
You are, like, unbelievably gorgeous!

Sorry if you get this all the time, but I need to ask, since you potentially have really good luck with this type of thing based on your attractiveness: does size matter to you and your friends?

Like, have you ever been with a guy that was so small you laughed or so big you did the whole "OMG!" thing?

Long story about why I'm asking, lol...



Yeah. So that's either going to lead to a penis enlargement sales talk or I'm going to end up accidentally stuck cybering again.  Why should I allow that when I have you to answer this young man's query?  Oh alright I admit it's rhetorical so we can all laugh about this suckers lame pick-up/sales attempt (I'm still not sure which it is)

*Dew(ed) is not actually out of material. Dew has so many things rolling around in her head that she can and even WANTS to write about. This is the truly bad kind of Writer's Block in which the words tumble like alphabet soup in the mind and come out… well a bit like alphabet soup, in that they're mushy and acidy and disgusting.  And the grisly bits of meat in the soup are the parts when I speak of myself in the 3rd person.

I Do Not

This marriage debate seems to be a revolving topic for me. It's the ducky in the tub; just keeps bobbing up again and again in it's cautionary yellow coat, with it's quacky grin and adorable life preserver taunting.

The people (fecking people) say  "You're already IN the tub! When will you just do it? What are you waiting for? Why NOT?"

It's a strange bit of human behavior that makes us validate our own actions by looking around to make sure everyone else is doing it too.  Oh except THOSE people. You know. The ones we don't want doing what we do and making it seem DIRTY.

No less annoying are the folks who want us to because it would fulfill their fantasy of the perfect relationship. They just want us to have our happily ever after, complete with white veil and train and not leaving out the large party with free alcohol for all the friends and family.

And now that The Man is completely confident I will not agree he can ask over and over and remain the steadfast knight just BEGGING to make me an honest woman. And I'm the asshole who says no.  No to signing a legally binding document&183; No to I do.  No to paperwork with fancy promises that are not even true NOW.

I stopped wearing the ring. The Ring. It hurt his feelings. It's also very small (compared to say a COUCH, it's actually a large ring) and easily lost in a move so I put it back on. On the right hand. Incidentally it fits my right ring finger much better, it's giant self doesn't roll around and scratch my other fingers as much. Anyway. It was my compromise. But you can't compromise on marriage, can you? You either ARE or you're NOT.

Here's the thing. I believe in marriage. I believe in vows. I believe in forever. I AM eternal. If I signed that document I would expect it to be true. If I heard those vows I would expect them to be fulfilled.  Until death did us part. Every moment that they were not true would slice through me and be shoved choking down my throat as is traditional with wedding cake.

Have you ever noticed there's a trick in it?  You each vow to love one another, in sickness and health, the bad times and the good, etc etc… But if one person does NOT. The other person is still stuck. Because that may just be the bad times they were talking about. And I would be stuck. Because I don't say a thing and not mean it. I don't quit. And I don't stop trying. Ever.

This does not mean I do not believe in The Man. Or if it does that's NOT what I'm driving at. I think it's more a lack of belief in the ability of humans to undertake such a thing. The audacity that so many sign those papers. Walk around sharing a name and then one day go back and sign other papers to make it all go away.

Well I say no. I do not. I am not. Married. I will not pull the plug if he's in a coma. I will not change my name. I won't share credit histories. I won't share property. I won't own The Man and he will not own me. I will not put up with anything I do not want to put up with on any given day.

Everyday that I am here, it is because I choose to be.

A Breakthrough

One true word would have kept me I think.

One sentence that was real.

I'd like to go back to when I had you. When I let you go.

The most important things are said in groups of three words.

How dare you.

I am done.

I love you.

And fuck off.

To the Top

There's always pressure when other bloggers come to visit. They want me to write on demand about the visit, about them. And the people reading want it too. Want to hear my impression of the people and the visit I guess. I rebel against this. For several reasons. For one… I don't really put demand on my muse. I let the bucket fill and I dump it. If this is going to be a job someone is going to have to start sending checks. For two… it's extremely awkward to everyone involved… I write the truth, but it's MY truth. You may not like my version. I have the sense and decency to not spill your beans on my blog without certain measures of kindness and decency. For three… plain and simple I don't like being told what to do. Puts up an immediate block. And four… some things are mine. Just mine. When I post it, it becomes something else. Something shared.

Still. It also bothers me from the other side that I CANT always spill, even at my own demand. That it may also be that I'm backing myself into a corner with my self-imposed idealism and rules.  Blarg. Fuck if I know why I'm even explaining myself to you. It's my goddamn blog. I guess my point is. If it comes out of the bucket I'll post it and if not it isn't personal.

************************************************************************************

Most people you hang out with, you're watching their masks. You get to see their various costumes and some are better  at playing the roles they've picked than others. I'm not here to say that's wrong. This is a tough mutherfucking world and we all do what we have to , we balance our own books and decide what we need to do to survive. Some of us even get to live.

But there are others.

They're self-possessed. They've walked the coals of their own psyche. They don't need you to tell them who they are and they don't need you to agree with their own assessment of who they are. They are. And you can take it or leave it.

Loree is one of these.

I'll take it.  Because those are few and far between. And they make excellent friends.


*************************************************************************************

We started at Latourell Falls. It may be my favorite waterfall here in the Gorge. Simply breathtaking. Loree brought the dogs and I got to walk Nadine. She encouraged me to hustle and it was good.  Stretched me all out until I felt taller, felt resilient. I suppose the only shortcoming Latourell Falls has is that it doesn't have much of a trail to hike. It wets your appetite and then you have to go somewhere else to sate it.

So we got back in our cars. Rachel was riding with Loree and the dogs and I was tailing them in The Man's Jeep.  I've found I enjoy the curving  scenic highway. Turning this way then that, with this extreme beauty all around. It's meditative. I'm pulling a blank on the name of the next one we stopped to look at.. I want to say Sheppards Dell but am too lazy to figure it out. I'm also wondering if it wasn't Wahkeena Falls. I'll let Loree come and tell us. Then we followed the trail from there that plops you out at Multnomah Falls.

Multnomah Falls' major drawback is that it's a tourist trap. Easily accessible from the road, snacks and a gift shop. There's a hike to the top, takes you  up 600 feet in 1.2 miles. It's all switch backs of course. A somewhat narrow path whipping back and forth, you're made dizzy by the views of the Columbia Gorge and the lack of oxygen. Well. Don't count on that… that particular high might be a bonus just for smokers.

Two thirds of the way up I was panting. The people coming down are all full of themselves, looking at us going up as though we were out of shape wimps though they had just been us half an hour prior. Nothing on my body hurt. My body feels young and nimble and strong and inextinguishable. I just can't breathe.

"FUCK YOU MARLBORO!" I shouted to the trees, but they had no sympathy for the foibles of man and addiction.

We all just kept walking, up and up and up. No one had said that we were going to the top or half way or anything. I'll confess; it never occurred to me that we wouldn't go to the top. It still boggles my mind that when we were aaaalmost there someone said "are we going to the top?"

"I think we're almost there." I said with no real idea that we were almost there other than the fact that we'd come far enough that we damn well should be.

"You said that awhile back" Loree pointed out. I shrugged, still feeling it had been true enough and would be true enough when we did get to the top. "It's getting dark." She had me there. It was getting dark, we were already surrounded in shadows and on an overcast day like that the difference between dusk and dark is subtle and then suddenly startling. When you're on the side of a mountain, that is.

"Alright." I shrugged and we all turned to go back down where we came from. Our feet doing the enforced stomping of a downhill hike. "I mean…" I paused "I've never been so close to the top and turned around before but that's cool."  I know. I'm a sarcastic asshole.

Loree made a snorty noise. More throaty than nasal. She shook her head. I laughed, clomping along in my too-big-for-me snow boots.  Then Rachel said "She's going up! She turned around!" So we all did, jogging a little to catch back up with her. We really were almost there.

"I have a flashlight." Loree said as if that had decided it for her. And so it did for all of us. We went to the top. I hate to be the one to tell people, in  that I don't want them not to go to the top, but the view point is rather pointless. It's the same view you've had the entire hike up and it doesn't really put you directly above the falls (for good reasons like blocking the view from below and safety I imagine) so it's kinda lame but you still have to go to the top. You just do. We all did the appropriate gazing and then headed back down.

Loree said "I'll probably never come up here again." I assume because it's so anti-climatic at the top.

Rachel said "Next time I'm bringing short people. They make me feel fast." I assume because she had to double time our long strides all the way up.

I said "We didn't HAVE to go to the top."  'cause I'm an ass. No assumption there.

Flash Dancing and Cupboard Kissing

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:

When you cruise by my profile so you can read the comments (oh come on - you know you do, that's why I had complaints when I hid them), you're going to hear my profile song. It's rousing. You're going to want to get up and flash dance.

Lord knows Little Man and I did.

Flash Dance: To pump ones legs up and down while swinging your arms in a running motion with fingers taut, together and outstretched. The faster the better. At some point the dancer finds a way to lean backwards on nearby objects imagining a splash of water being poured down on them from above.

Of course… Little Man and I improvise. We go where the music and hilarity take us.

This evening we were particularly pumped. I was baking and cleaning and sewing and nesting and periodically caressing the bird in the fridge wondering how the fuck I would know if it was thawing fast enough or if I should give it a Luke bath in the sink. I turned on the tunes to distract Little Man from clinging to my ankles. That's right; he's discovered the joy of being dragged around the kitchen monkey-stuck to my lower legs.

He particularly likes my current profile song; "Holding Out For a Hero" by Bonnie Tyler but we do this often. He initiated the flash dancing… and then we warped it into running back and forth from one end of the kitchen, grinning and high stomping with our arms pumping like maniacs as we passed one another in the middle, laughing as our socks slid on the turns.  Then he was running into my arms and I was swing dancing him before setting him back on his slippery feet to let him get distance only to do it again.

Then I remembered the way I used to jump over The Girls' heads when they were his age.  He was running toward me and I ran toward him our faces glowing with the joy of the moment and

 Up up up!

I went clear over his head. There may have been a few Footloose arm pumps mid-air. It would be logical that there would be.  I did get that moment.

And then BAM !

Adorable toddler head slammed full run into the cupboards just behind the place I had been standing moments before.

*guilty*

The Man came running from the living room to find me cradling screaming little man in my arms, he buried his face in my neck and it was minutes before I got to wince upon seeing the huge bruise on his cheek and forehead forming. "Were you playing Conquistador with him?" The Man laughed at my misery.

Isn't it strange how IMMEDIATELY the music changes after a moment like that? How it is suddenly so loud and banging and horrible?  Don't worry. That goes away. Little Man and I are already flash dancing to it again. He hasn't attempted to run into my arms again yet, though.

SO when you open up y profile and the seductive beats and rhythms of the music begin to make your muscles twitch with the desire for movement… take a moment. Clear the area. Make sure you're not going to injure anyone before you give in to it. And when you plan to jump into someone's arms make sure you have meaningful eye contact first.

AND NOW YOU MAY RETURN TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING.

A Scrap

Last Sunday I was at the old house, packing up my desk. The desk was a gift from The Man for Valentine's Day one year and probably the best gift he ever gave me.  He built it with plywood and 2 by 4s and it's not fancy or anything but It's ginormous. I can't even reach the back when I'm sitting. It's L shaped, I can spread all my shit out and make stuff on it. I like to have everything spread out when I'm working on something, like to be able to just reach for ribbon or ink and have it be right there.

My point is…. It's always… disorganized and jumbled looking to anyone not in my head. It was my clutter zone. ALL ME. Scraps of paper, empty pain cans, altoid tins, bits of fabric and ribbon, ancient photographs hanging out right alongside current ones as if the people had ever met, pressed flowers and leaves, little notes from my daughter, ticket stubs, old record covers, signs, stuff, LOVED stuff, etc and so on.

I don't get to have a desk like that in the new house and that's okay. But packing that stuff always makes me more melancholy than all the rest. The rest is really props. If that makes sense.

Now I have to figure out where to put all of it. What to keep. What to let go. What's me and what's not mine at all.

The Man has a box like this. It's the size of a man's shoe box. Has some childhood photos. Pictures of his nephew as a baby and him as an awkward boy. Pictures of him living in Hawaii and him with laughable giant lamb chops. Pictures The Girls have drawn for him, a tiny scrapbook with pg13 naughty pictures of me, random invention drawings and the like…And every pay stub he's ever earned.

I don't know. It says something. The sum of us maybe.  Eh. I imagine going through this stuff will stir shit up for me. (as if I need help with that) I imagine blogs will follow.

For now, here's something I found in an otherwise empty journal.



We never had one another as much s we did when that's all we had. I paced across my dreams of what I could do with my life as a warrior treading hot coals. With you on my shoulder. Your inconsolable cries drowned out the hiss and smell of burned flesh and I knew I could go anywhere, do anything necessary for you and it wouldn't be enough.

Unless

Unless falling through the crack is closer

Unless I let go

The shattered ragged beats and breaths inside me

Fingers tightly gripped on self-tied knots,

The pull of the pendulum, the art of arc.

The crystal twilight madness of the air

Between my rock

Your hard place.

Bending knees, bulging arms, forward thrust, ripped raw demand

Aching or breaking for that body slam of grabbing on

Of end and beginning. Of knocked loose and free.

Unless I let go.

Unless falling through the crack is closer

Let's Hang Out

"I keep thinking I could go out. Meet some guys at the pub or play pool somewhere or something." he started out. I rolled my eyes when he said "play pool". It's secret code for "strip club". To be fair, here in Portland it's tricky to go out and play pool without seeing naked ladies. And in case you're wondering. I don't give two fucks about naked ladies. It's the porn industry that bothers me. I'd rather he had an affair than support any part of THAT. He continued; "but really I just want to hang out with you. I wish we had a sitter."

"Yoooooou dooo noooooot. What are you trying to butter me up for? I told you, you should go out. I want you to."

"No! I do. I want to hang out with you!"

"WHAT?" we were both already snickering at the ridiculousness of the conversation. "How on earth would you know that? We don't hang out." and it's true. Not without the kids and the house and all that. THAT'S what we do. We do that shit really well. But hang out together? Just us? What would we do? What would we talk about?

"Well let's try it! Let's hang out!" By now I was literally on the floor hysterical. "You don't have to laugh so hard." he was a bit offended by now.

"SIX YEARS" I gasped, holding my tummy. "After SIX YEARS you think you might want to hang out with me."

"Almost seven." he said. "I'm slow." I managed to peal myself up off the floor and stand up in front of him.

"Alright. I'll try and figure out a sitter and we'll hang out. See what happens."

Write on Through the Block

I've been wrapping back up.
Tucking the covers in around myself; preparing for winter.

Your absence.

The fucking holidays.

There's something in your face that belongs to me. The shape and movement of your hands; the way they own me. It's a small stone rubbed smooth in a pocket of my heart.

Meanwhile there's so much to do.
And so I do.


Just like one of the tiny flying star parts of dandelion fluff. Set aloft on someone else's wish.

Standing out on the front porch in the dark the world seems to simply drop off in front of me. I'm quite sure the universe is cart wheeling off into space and there's no stopping any of it. The clocks or the growing or the changes or the ache.

Fear squeezes anything good left in a persons heart right on out. Drips down to their feet, cementing them wherever they might be.

It doesn't stop us from spinning, tossing, turning .. Floating about on someone else's hot air.

I might just need another layer, a thicker quilt. I might just be cold again.

The New Old House

The house we lived in before was newer. It was smaller. It was brighter. It was located in the perfect spot. (other than schools)

It was easier.

Let me tell you about the troubles we have had with new older house in the last two weeks.


*The hot water heater was leaking. The Man came upstairs from the basement to inform me of this and I said "Should we get a bucket?" and he laughed at me. When I went downstairs the hot water heater was pouring hot water out like a fire man's hose. So we call the property management company and they send a plumber who informs us the hot water heater was set at the highest possible temperature and pressure. He "fixed" it and now it just leaks a trickle. 

*sobs*

Do you know what it is like going back to regulated temperatures and pressure when you thought the glorious past was regular? We were all taking showers one after another! I was sanitizing the sink with boiling water from the faucet! I could fill the bathtub for muddy toddler man in under thirty seconds!


*The roof is leaking into the attic space and missing shingles. They sent a roofer. No word yet on what's going to happen with that.  And to be honest it doesn't effect us much as far as stress goes since it's not our house. The roofer didn't seem to know that though and my cavalier attitude looked like home owner denial to him. He said "Mrs. McPeterMan the roof is missing shingles all over.. This is not just one spot needing a patch!" I smiled and said "Sure, okay, just let me know if you need anything. And I'm not actually the Mrs." shutting the door between us. Ahahahaha! Let him put THAT in his pipe and smoke it.

*There were bugs. Apparently the owner decided to open all the screen less windows and air the place out the night and day before we moved in. So the house is filled with these crawling flying bugs.  I think they're called Boxelder bugs but don't really know. Bugs don't really bother me but sharing the house with an entire colony sort of sucks. I've directed The Man to spend fifty percent of his home time on insect removal and they're nearly gone.

*The sink was DISGUSTING. White porcelain installed in 1971 far as I can tell. I figure they put it in when they were installing the orange colored wood cabinetry. Listen people, I had a stainless steal sink at the last place. People would comment on it's cleanliness. I cannot live with a stained sink. So I looked up cleaning tricks online, scrubbed it out with white vinegar and rinsed… than soaked towels in oxiclean and left them against all the walls and bottom of the sink for half an hour or so then scrubbed that off… it was spectacular. Some chips still there but the grime stains were gone. Then a day later…. What the chuck!?! Nasty. Know why? NO DISPOSAL. But my family hasn't adapted so… yeah. Pretty fucking gnarly.  IF anyone can explain to me why we can't have a disposal because it's a septic tank without mentioning shit that would be great.

*We moved into a bigger place because we needed more room. Before we had a three bedroom with barely a dining area and a garage we were multi-purposing for several uses. Now we have rooms we never go in. Like the toddler's bedroom for example. It's ALL THE WAY upstairs and some days that might as well be in another county. I think he misses his toys. Whenever people come over he begs them to make the journey up to his room with him. Then there's that middle room up there.. We don't' know what it is. And there's a breakfast nook which I love but we don't really have enough chairs… so breakfast and lunch the chairs are in the nook and then before dinner we drag them into the dining room lol

*GAS. I need it now. I'm burning fossil fuels like never before between the heat and the drive. I've filled my tank more times in the last two weeks than I used to in six months. Of course a lot of that is due to the fact that I'm still running to the other house and my vehicle has the hitch so it pulls the trailer loads of shit here but still….. It's a lot of effing gas.


Eh. Guess I'm done. Not really complaining.. Every place and house has quirks to get used to.


UPDATE!

I looked the bugs up... they are Boxelder bugs and sweet jeezus these other weird little red bugs I've noticed are the BABIES! OH GAWD SOMEBODY HELP US!!!

"Boxelder bugs are primarily a nuisance because they enter homes and other buildings, often in large numbers. Fortunately, they do not bite people and are essentially harmless to property. When abundant, they can stain walls, curtains, and other surfaces with their excrement."


*screaming*

Yawning Monsters

The days have been long. The time change and getting up at six am will do that to a person. Yesterday evening I was particularly exhausted. Extra tired mostly because my brain had thought Monday was going to be a day off … an extra day in the weekend. SO when, on Sunday evening, we realized that was incorrect it set off a whirlwind of unexpected activity that seemingly hadn't stopped for one second until that moment, Monday night.

I was sitting on the love seat, piecing a quilt. The Man was sitting on the overstuffed chair staring into space the way he does one hour before and one hour after he sleeps. Little Man was running laps around the house in his new pajamas.

"I hunnngy!" he announced. My heart skipped a beat in anticipation of going back in the kitchen to make another mess. We DID eat dinner early… well. On time. So I thought he might actually be hungry. But my Little Man always misunderstands the signal for tired and calls it hungry.

"No. What you feel is tired." The Man informed Little Man. "Just look at the guys on your pajamas! They're yawning." I looked up to examine the boy's pjs, having no recollection of any yawning from when I bought them. There were little monster looking things with sharp horrible teeth, mouths wide open to take a bite all over my baby. I'm not kidding, they're footy pajamas and the little guys are the entire pattern. I grimaced at The man.

"I never noticed how awful those are! I just saw silly little creatures in fun bright colors and the words ON SALE next to them. They must have been on sale because they're Halloween pajamas." I said already laughing. "My poor baby! We put him to bed in monster covered Jammies?"

"Look at 'em," The Man directed and demonstrated the evil wide open mouths, adding scary arms "They're horrifying"

"Commear baby!" I pulled a thumb sucking Little Man into my lap, turning him sideways like a wittle baby. "Be my little sweetie baby! Awww… look you are my little baby, my last baby." Little Man struggled to sit back up. "That's exactly what you've always done, even when you were a baby." I told him, laughing. "Now take your monster covered self and get to bed."

He scampered off to the bathroom to brush his teeth with the girls. They finished before him, bolting out the door and up the stairs. "I finished!" Little Man announced to them proudly while they were in mid-flee.

"Good for you!" The niece sassily responded. She turns nine in a month and WOWZA the terrible tweens are on their way! Or rather… all of our sarcasm is finally making it's escape from her sweet disposition self.

"Poor Little Man," The Man lamented. "He's going to be one tough sob."

"No. He's always going to be a big softie marshmallow hiding in monster pajamas, just like you." I teased The Man. He stood up in front of the chair, getting up out of the chair like an old man and then suddenly posing in mock muscle man positions, revealing the very real muscles that had recently popped back out prominently due to work. Little Man and I oooohed and aaaaahhhed in appreciation. It was obvious The Man was about to fall asleep on his feet.. it was after seven thirty after all. "Better get you guys in bed," I sighed "Your monsters are yawning."

Little Blue Dune Buggy

The truth is we haven't really moved yet. Oh we took most of our stuff to the new house and we sleep there, cook there, and so on. But technically we also still live at the other place. Or at least our filth does. That and the contents of the garage and backyard. Heh. Maybe that doesn't sound like much. HA!

Just want to pause here a moment and remind anyone who may have forgotten that it was The Man's idea to move like this. Okay, let's carry on.

So last weekend, after our first week in the new house; The Man makes the remark "Why don't you go over there during the day and clean up the house?" As in why hadn't I been already.  After all, the boxes had unpacked themselves AND took care of the kids, enrolled them in school and whatnot. They were special boxes.

Yeah. That's a whole other blog that I'll not be writing.
Any hoot…

So this last week my days have gone like this. Get up two hours earlier than I'm accustomed, prepare two kids for a school day, chase toddler begging him to let me dress him, drive kids to school, stop back at home to finish dressing toddler and myself. Then hop back in the car, drive half an hour to the old house,  clean as much as I can in two to three hours, get back in car and drive half an hour to get to new house so I can make lunch for toddler and put him down for a nap early enough to not have to wake him up (cardinal sin in motherhood is to have to wake a sleeping child) in order to go pick the girls up from school.

A nap he won't feel like he needs due to sleeping in the car for about an hour.

*sigh*

Thirty minutes of winding car commercial roads in a car seat is just more than my boy can take. He passes out to escape the tedium of it I think. So I've started doing anything I can to keep him awake. Detailed conversations regarding trucks and airplanes and making silly noises and me going "LITTLE MAN!" to jerk him out of his head droops.

Then he discovered The Presidents of the United States of America. This was a fluke, I misplaced my iPod and was sick to death of repetitive radio so I hit cd to see if one was in there and lo and behold an old mix cd was… I hit play and we're grooving to the sounds of Little Blue Dune Buggy.  Little Man fell in love.

FYI you can listen to Little Blue Dune Buggy approximately 13 times between the new house and the old house. But, the only thing making it bearable is the adorable little boy singing along in the backseat.  And you have to sing along as goofily as possible. Try not to dance the car right off the road. You know, for the first five times you listen to it. When you still like it.

*reminds self AGAIN to burn a Presidents of the United States of America cd with other songs on it before tomorrow*

Fences Make Good Neighbors or I'm Tired of Dealing With This Shit

There are no fences in the country.

As far as I can tell everyone owns dogs in the country.

They know they own a dog or more likely dog(s). They feed the dog(s). They let the dog(s) out periodically throughout the day.



And the dogs shit all over our yard.

Then they come open the back door up and call for the dog to come home. Or the dog hangs around for awhile, roaming our yard until it decides to go home.

They MUST know the dog defecates. The also must know that it is NOT leaving the land mines in THEIR yard. Their beautiful, green, groomed yard, free of flies, stink and animal excrement.


What the fuck!? What the fuck I say! WHAT THE FUCK.


Earlier this afternoon The Man was outside splitting wood. I did hear swearing but I assumed it was part of the grunting and chopping. Nope. He stepped in dog shit four times. He actually found dog shit ON some of the wood. Those of you who know The Man can probably imagine the shade of red his face was as he told me about this. He wants to go talk to the neighbors (on both sides of us) about the dog shit.

"Hi! We just moved in and we already think you're inconsiderate assholes! Let me tell you why!"

I'm hesitant.

I'm sure they would prefer to live with the illusion that their pet doesn't shit. After all, they don't see it shit. It could be any dog doing it. HA! I can gaze out of my picture window to observe anywhere up to four dogs shitting in the yard at any given time!


In my opinion they already know damn well what they're doing/allowing. I have little faith that a talk from The Man would change their behavior. And then there will be awkwardness. Because… it will escalate. It would HAVE to. It's some sort of alpha neighbor thing.


On the other hand… I can't live like this! We are outside people. My kids are runners! They go outside and play! I go outside and play! I do not want to clean up dog shit. If I did I would have a fucking dog myself.


I trolled the internet looking for solutions.

Suggestions included :

Shoot the dogs in the ass with a bb gun/paintball gun when they're in the act.    

*blank stare* …. Right. I'm going to start shooting guns and suddenly be able to hit a dog in the ass And continue to tell my children not to hurt animals?  Besides, I don't blame the dogs.

Pour a bucket of water on the dog when you catch it in the act.
Seriously? I'm going to stand around with buckets of water and chase dogs all day? Right. Cause I have that kind of time. There are surveys to take people!

Bag the shit up and put it on the offending neighbors porch.

Oh. That do unto you as you have dun unto me thing. Yeah. That's intelligent. I might as well write up a note that says how grateful I am to clean , bag and deliver their dogs shit for them as well.

Take a shit on their lawn and see how they like it.

Clearly this person was unbalanced. Still. I like it.

Sprinkle cayenne pepper (and numerous other such things) on the spots the dog goes.

None of those ideas are very practical in a rain forest. It's washed away hourly.

Pour bacon grease/bits on the piles and hope the dog comes back and eats it all. Grin while you imagine the kisses they're getting next door.

Okay first… *throwing up* and second … oh gawd that's funny… and third I really don't need my toddler, the mimic seeing that.


and finally… Collect your urine in a mason jar and pour an invisible fence. Dogs are all about scent. They will stay out.


This makes sense to me but I'm not a fan of beginning my canning career in this way. I don't think even The Man, the kids and I together can produce enough to line the property. And once again.. It's rainy here. Still. The Man is excited about this. You know, alpha male, marking territory… it's all right up his alley. I believe he said "I think Crispy and Sock (his brothers) would contribute in milk jugs!" Fantastic! heh. It's touching, right? Other than the nastiness?



Thoughts? I know I have animal owners and lovers on my sub-list. Go ahead… explain yourselves. I will warn you my opinions on the topic are passionate and unyielding.

Supah Mayan

We were in a random Troutdale subdivision, trick or treating. Little Man was in prime form. Oh lord you can't believe how adorable this boy is. I swear he's a gift. Oh I know, everyone says that. And all the babies are. In their own way. But this boy. My gawd…. I can't even tell you.

He's dressed as Superman. He likes to say Supah Mayan! He likes to run with his arms out, his hippy hoppy steps leaping across the ground .. He flies. My daughter has wanted to fly since she was old enough to verbalize it.. At least. But her own brain needs to know how it would work, needs it to be REAL. I hate that I know that comes from me. But Little Man. He DOES fly. He does. He might crash. But he also flies.

So there we are, marching along on the side walks in surprisingly balmy fall air. He refuses all offers to help him carry his mushy fabric pumpkin filled with sweets. "no Mama! My canny! I do it!" He shuffles and runs to keep up with the girls, crowding to the front at the door, shouting "ticker teat!" and "Happyween!"

I'm giggling madly because the only other option would be to lie down and bawl just to be next to his joy. And I'm not that girl. I'm not. It's just that he's that boy.

Along comes another little boy, maybe a year older but not much bigger than Little Man. He's also dressed as Superman and we all comment and remark about it. "another superman! Look Little Man!"

Little Man walks a few feet away, pointedly looking in the opposite direction. He refused to acknowledge this other little boy! He even muttered, "I Superman!" before running off to the next house.

Ahahahaha! Can you believe this kid?






Yeah. I made him.

Mellow Yellow (Aunt D) demands that I edit this. and she's right. I forgot some key funny cute moments.

The bag! My gawd the bag! the pumpkin bag thing... someone gave it to him last Halloween and it even has his name on it. It's a decent size and people were loading him up with candy, even as he grabbed giant handfuls for himself, rudely. He's only two, he could barely carry it but he refused help. Finally he's dragging it on the ground and admits to me "I caint dew it Mama! I can't!" So I say do you want help?" and he reluctantly says "yesh" so I put my hand on the handle, to carry the bag between houses but he will not loosen his vise like grip on it so I'm holding the pumpkin bag with him dangling off the end of it. This was unacceptable to him after half a block so he gets the bright idea that he should put the handles over his giant head and wear it on his front. He stretches and tugs and gets it over and then pats the thing on his chest ... SO PROUD of himself at this idea but then he can barely walk, hunched forward with the weight of the bag pulling at his neck1 And this entire time he's grunting and groaning, making man sounds. ahahahaha!

the best time ever.

TRAPPED

Well readers. Last night I attempted to get laid. I sure hope you're happy with yourselves. Everyone knows that if you TRY to get laid the results are always comical. Not comical to yourself of course. Not for weeks or years anyway.

What happened was he was nearly so asleep I couldn't wake him. But I was already naked and it was too cold to hop out of the bed without him so I kept trying. Then things were going along okay but we were still in the bed and on the other side of the bed (laying across my pillow 'cause that's where he likes to sleep) is the toddler.

We woke him up.

DAMMIT!

And the poor kid was so confused he thought it was morning, started demanding cereal! "I hunngy, Mama! I eat!" So I scrambled to find my damn underpants and tank and went out to the kitchen to put some butter on a slice of bread for him. He staggered out in his new footies and wobbled into a few walls before refusing the bread and trying to get back in the bed. So I got back in bed with him. But he was all wound up and crawling all over. He would appear to be almost asleep, I would be almost asleep and then WHAMMO! Small toddler crawls off the end of our GINORMOUS bed. I have no idea what time it was when the baby and I finally fell asleep. I'm pretty sure The Man remembers almost none of it.

But all of this I could get over. Am over.

I woke up this morning… and HE'S GONE! He left me a note, he and Little Dew are at the other house cleaning up.

Oh I know. You're thinking that's so awesomsauce.

I'M TRAPPED HERE YOU A_HOLES! He has the car seat in MY car which he took because I had the intelligence to choose a car with a hitch.

I have no cigarettes and I'm stuck on the edge of civilization with a small baby who wants to know where his sisser and daddy are. And I have NO idea when he'll be back. It could be 5 pm! I'm supposed to go buy school supplies today!

ARRRGGG!

I miss the city.  Don't tell The Man.


Do you suppose I could build a car seat out of cardboard boxes?

Did I mention I have no phone?

I do have a backpack for putting babies in. I just don't think I can carry Little Man that far. Eh. Give me an hour and I just might.

UPDATE! So.... I take back the name calling. The fucker just pulled in. .... I may have over reacted... what with feeling trapped.... oops. Of course if he has cigarettes it's immediate bathroom blow job time. but that's unlikely.

Random Bits With a New View

* There are stairs. The good news is, my ass is already feeling the difference. Woot! The bad news is I'm on the edge of a mental breakdown from the stress of trying to keep my toddler from hurling himself all the way down them. And those are just the stairs to the upper floor! There are also stairs going down to the basement, a place I feel I need rarely go to but happens to have the washer and dryer in it. I don't let the kids on those stairs. I have to wait until I'm mostly certain they're not about to die on the other stairs, grab a basket of laundry and shut the door tight behind me before gripping the railing and carefully stepping down them.

* It's big. And drafty. So it's cold. Because it's oil heat. I know, we're insane. When I say WE I mean The Man. Apparently we've already consumed an INCH of oil. So I have to keep the heat down low. I dress myself and the kids in layers. I know I've mentioned I already did that in the warm house. My layering has reached new heights of lumpy frumpy craziness. It's bayad, people. I'm wearing fucking UNDERWEAR! Then when The Man gets home he happily builds a fire and we all huddle together in the living room like it's little house on the prairie! My gawd it's only October people! It's not even cold yet! The Man loves it of course. He has an internal furnace.

*I bake everyday now. For two reasons. ONE, it means I get to "slave" over a hot oven. Oh delicious hot air! Oh how I love you! I could just crawl right in there and bake myself! TWO, I'm starving. It's because I'm cold. I've lost weight, trying to keep warm. I don't know for sure because I haven't been on a real scale in two years but I can tell. So it's necessary for me to consume muffins and cookies and cake and biscuits regularly throughout the day. The children are thrilled of course. The Man also finds this behavior highly endearing, calling me Betty Crocker for three hours until he figured out I was sending him death glares for it. Then he shrugged and ate another chocolate chip cookie.

*There's no sex in the new house. *gasp* I know. LESS sex than before? CRAZY! The thing is…. I can hardly sleep with my eight year old so far away (upstairs) let alone the baby. So he's still sleeping with us. How can I tuck him in his bed up there and wonder all night when he's going to wander out and fall to his death down the stairs? But he's been sleeping with us for a long time. The real deal breaker is The Man's too tired. He's back to building actual scaffolding. No more sales position for him. He couldn't take all the lying. So he's worn out. I gotta tell ya though, the bulging muscles are not bad. Not bad at all. I swear to you people, he's rippling.

* I went down to the Corbett School the other day with all three kids to pick up the paper work for enrollment. The kind woman at the front desk took one look at me and the three kids and said "If you fill these out here and turn them in, they can start tomorrow"     ahahahahahahah! She could see the desperation in my eyes!! Ahaha! I laughed and told her Monday would be fine. The school is beautiful, the hallways are wider than most schools and then they open up to these group areas with tables and stuff between the classrooms. It's hard to describe the way you can just feel right in a place. But we did. And that's what it's all about folks. The school. *wraps quilt tighter around self*