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.

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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.


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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.