What a difference

Having the kiddos actually take a nap can make. Momma needs some time alone every day and yesterday I was just TOO crabby. Feelin' better today. All that mysterious crap on the blog entry was just too much coffee too little free time.

Missing

I kind of miss my old "anonymous" blog where I could bitch and moan and snark when things weren't going my way and get sympathy from friends and total strangers. People who don't really know me so when they say a situation is f-d up I know I'm not just paranoid or being too sensitive. But it would be too much work to revive it. So, I'm lazy and depressed, so you gets nothin'.

Maybe ya'll can just give me sympathy without knowing why? It's for sucky things. That you would totaly go "aw man, that's lame."

Stuff I can share: Andrew's working this weekend, and babies have been HELLIONS. They refused to nap. They made a mess that I chose to ignore for a while until it became obvious that continuing to ignore the mess was going to cause said mess to get really really bad. Thank the Goddess that we have Madagascar 2 on DVD because that has made them contain their mess in the general area of the TV, although I really should go see what Sean is up to now. He sounds industrious, which is generally bad. Sigh.

What I Learned There

Stealing an idea and modifying it a little bit from the wonderful Jo(e) who wrote about what she learned in second grade, I thought I'd see if I can remember something I learned that was important in grade school. Hey, maybe this will turn into an annoying meme. (I doubt it. I don't have that many readers. Now if Jo(e) picked it up, maybe it would go viral because she's totally a rockstar.

Anyway:

• preschool: do not pull the decorative wax candle that looks like a foamy beer off the counter onto your head. It will hurt. You will lose your hair as your mother tries to pick all the dried wax out of your hair witha comb. You will scream when she comes near you with a comb for a long time.
• kindergarten: it feels good when your mom comes to get you after school. You can walk home in the warm Indian summer together, holding hands, while you tell her about your day.
• first grade: when it's the bicentennial and your school does all kinds of "Colonial" activities in honor, and your class makes real butter by shaking and shaking and shaking a jar filled with rich cream and then spreads the yellowish goo on saltines, that butter will be the best butter you'll probably taste in your whole life. Uber-butter.
• second grade: don't pull on the beak from your cool puppet of an ostritch. When your mom says she'll take it to Grandma's to get it fixed, you'll never see it again.
• third grade: mixing raw egg, vanilla, cinammon and bread in a bowl does not make French Toast, even though that appears to be how mom makes it. But the dog will LOVE it. And your love for cooking, for pleasing others with the food you prepare, will be born out of the preposterous mix.
• fourth grade: moving very far away to a new place where you don't know anyone kind of sucks.
• fourth grade, the second time: because you moved, your mom asks if you can be "held back a year." It sucks again.
• fifth grade: don't write "Kim Loves Vance" all over your notebook, even if you do. Because when someone else spots the heart with his name in it, you will be teased, unmercifully.
• sixth grade: moving sucks again. And when you kill a spider in the girls' bathroom & all the other girls swear you ate it, you'll figure out that you really don't like it in Louisiana.
• seventh grade: reading. reading. reading. the library. long long rides on your bike. horses. horses. horses. poetry. funny letters to your sister.
• eighth grade: when the much older slacker failed a lot of grades but looks-kinda-like James Dean or John (Cougar--at the time) bully on the bus picks on you and/or grabs your butt, and you try to fight back, even if you try to get him with your nails & purse, you will only end up losing the fight and getting a black eye. And no, putting raw meat on it does not help. Nor does putting makeup your mother got from the lady in the trailer next to you. Everyone will see your black eye anyway.
• ninth grade: this time, moving is kind of cool. Florida has beaches. You can actually get just a little bit of a tan if you go every single day. And lots of freckles. And go with your mom to the movie theater that sells beer (to her) and nachos and wear surfer shirts & have other kids not totally hate you.
• tenth grade: the hot air while you stand outside at night for marching band practice, combined with hormones, cute boys, stadium lights, dandelion seeds on the wind silhouetted against those lights is a heady mix. And the music is kinda cool too. You really like performing in band wearing the uniform that smells like dry cleaning solution, standing up so straight it makes your back hurt, playing your heart out on the clairinet. The thrill of competition. But really, it's those summerish nights and daydreams about the unobtainable boy of the moment that is the best part.
• eleventh grade: getting contact lenses and joining drama club really makes you feel normal. Even though you're still Not.
• twelfth grade: do not date that guy. That one. With the stupid blue paint in his hair last year. Ever. And, also: you're not going to listen to your older self when she tries to scream this back over the years at you at 4 in the morning.

Hmmm. I like how that came out. Feel inspired? Come on. You can do it. It actually got harder to remember specific things by school year as I got older, which is weird.

things that are bad for you

Since the babies were born (3 years-ish) I haven't really sat up all night for no reason. Yes, I've been up with sick babies, or back when they were teeny tiny to feed them every two hours (that was fun!) But early on, I learned that when you have twins, you can't risk them waking up and you not being rested. They'll double team you and you won't get any sleep, so you take it when you can. It's bad for you to be up all night, and I almost always regret it anymore. Gone, I guess, at least til the kiddos are teens, are the nights of staying up til 2 am reading or watching movies or whatever it was we used to do when we stayed up all night.

That habit has lasted me a while. I hardly ever have nights where I get up in the middle of them, not able to sleep. When I do, a lot of the time I even just lie there in bed, thinking, resting, making myself go back to sleep eventually.

But tonight, the combination of a brain full of fuzzy monkey-brain thoughts plus a sore shoulder (the remnants of the sore neck from last week) and an annoying cat have made me need to be up. I surfed a new graphics website to see if I wanted a new "profile" picture (maybe) and played around there. Ate too many pistachios (they're right next to the laptop). Am drinking a sparkling water. Listening to the cat's bell from his collar jingle as he roams, as restless as I am.

Change is afoot. Things will be happening in my "household" that make my life different. Not in a bad way, and in a good way in almost 90% of the change. But there is that lingering 10% that will make me sad. I'll think about whether I want to go completely public with my change. Again, it's just a thing that I'll be changing about something that has made me sad, with the major intent of making me feel better overall. So. It makes you think, and think, and need to get up at 3 am and write elusive blog posts that will have people saying WTF?

Hah! You know, that's bad for you.

Facing It

I just wrote & then deleted a whole post on how weird the "alternate universe" of being "friends" with people on Facebook can be and how it can send you careening back into Junior High.

Twice. And then deleted most of it. Twice. Sigh.

In other news-- I am not watching the Superbowl. But not because of and real objection to it. I was just busy. And even the allure of the commercials did not draw me away from a fire, a happy cat lying on the marble in front of it, grading pretty decent papers, and my yummy red beans & rice.

...... if you want to read the rest of this, and you think I might be willing to share privately, in which I give way too much in details, check with my Myspace page, email me, or call me. I just don't feel like it.

That is all. Thumper, be quiet.