The Secret's Out

Well, since Voldemort found out, it's time to let the cat entirely out of the bag. I just got back from Spain.

I had disastrous luck with flights on the way there. It started at the Akron/Canton airport in Ohio, where PGG and I were set to fly to Detroit at 11:40am. He would fly from Detroit to Lincoln and I to Amsterdam, to Madrid. I would arrive in Madrid at about 12:25 the next afternoon, Thursday, following an 8-hour wait in Detroit and 8-hour trans-Atlantic flight. PGG and I would sit together in the exit row for the short shared part of the journey. We checked in, got to our gate, waited a bit, and then...flight cancelled. Mechanical issues. Okay...

We were sent by shuttle to Cleveland (50 miles in a van with other disappointed people). Still happy, the 8-hour layover meant little changed for me except that I wouldn't get to fly with PGG anymore. He flew from Cleveland to Minneapolis, Minneapolis to Lincoln, without any additional problems. I waited eagerly for my 5:05pm flight. Boarded, and sat on the plane. And sat. And sat some more. The gray skies had grown burlier over the course of the afternoon, finally erupting into some snow or freezing rain. Something requiring the plane to be de-iced. A comical procedure where the plane sits and a crane thing sprays a giant stream, like that from a hose fighting a fire. First an orange-tinted stream, followed by green. Or possibly the other way around. After that was completed, we sat some more. By this time an hour had gone by. At last, the pilot spoke. "Errrr...we're going to have to de-plane, folks." Some bit about it being illegal to fly with the sort of problem the plane had in these conditions, something that would be okay if the weather were perfect. Great. Another flight canceled due to mechanical problems.

This time I was more anxious. I had less time to work with to get to Madrid at the same time. I got on the phone with an agent (as opposed to waiting in the hideously-long line of my former flight-mates). First, the woman directed me to a 7:35 flight to connect at Dulles...then realized that I'd have to get a ticket printed at a ticketing counter prior to boarding and oh, it was already 7pm. Okay, no problem, she found me an 8:45 on a different carrier. I'd connect in Washington, DC, and fly through Paris to Madrid on AirFrance. I was immediately placated, plus, I'd actually get to Spain 5 minutes earlier than planned.

That, is, except for the fact that this plane, too, was not without issue. We left nearly two hours late. I asked the attendant at the gate what I should do, and he was unsure but insisted that I'd be better off stuck in DC than in Cleveland. Fair enough.

By the time we got into the Dulles airport, all of the agents were gone. For all of the airlines. No hotel voucher for me. Worse, there were no more flights to anywhere connecting to Madrid until 5pm the next evening. I texted a friend who lives in the DC metropolitan area...no reply, at least, not until 2pm or so the next day. We had lunch. I had a nice interlude there, on the whole, although it certainly wasn't Spain.

I flew through Amsterdam as originally planned and arrived a full day and a half later because my oblivious self went to the wrong gate at the (humongous) Amsterdam airport.

THEN, when I talked to Ginny Weasely upon finally arriving in Madrid, she informed that she'd been pickpocketed on the Metro on her way to meet me at the airport earlier. 250 Euros...gone. She's been living in Spain for awhile now, this is her second year there, plus she's traveled around Europe a fair amount...and never gotten pickpocketed up until then. So we were being all extra cautious once she got to the airport and we were on the Metro together.

And then? I got pickpocketed too. 440 Euros and a considerable amount of Euros in change, about 50 American dollars, a Mastercard, Discovercard, and Visa debit card, and my driver's license.

Ouch.

Luckily the rest of the trip went well--and I am very lucky that Ginny is such a great friend to have covered the expenses.

Tidbits

The only good thing about Iowa: They have free wireless Internet at the rest stops. Both of the airports I've been in today do not. We shall see about the third later. And a fourth tomorrow.

On Friday, I gave TCO the rest of his stuff back. An Astronomy textbook, some socks and other assorted clothing, The Princess Bride DVD, tupperware, and other odds 'n ends including the pillow I wouldn't let him take in January. I smiled at him widely, a nervous reaction, and he just said, "all right." So anti-climatic. Such a beauty, that one.

On the upside, things with PGG are progressing swimmingly. This one, the sweetest one, this one who can tolerate Mira's screams...

¿Donde esta el baño?

How did it get to be mid-March already???

I'm guessing the 90 or so tax returns I've filed this season have something to do with it (in addition to my normal job duties, mind you). But man oh man...where has the time gone? So much to do...so little time...and I doubt I can learn Spanish in six days! Only six days left! Just four until we leave Nebraska! I think Torrin's nearly as excited as I am...

Love

Mira screamed for about two hours solid the night before last. PGG was here. "Does the screaming bother you?" I asked him, as he lay on my couch, seemingly unaware of her pitiful high-pitched wailing. "No," he answered, easily. I probed further..."you still want babies?" somewhat incredulously. "Yes."

Oh my...

South Dakota Synopsis

Mira calls the casino "silly games." "I wan' go play silly games, 'genn, mama!" We stayed at the Prairie Winds casino's new hotel Friday night (23 February).

Saturday we drove north and west a bit, on the twisty highways that travel by Crazy Horse and Mount Rushmore. The contrast between the cut-out, curving hills and rolling rocky formations compared to the flat nowhere land of Nebraska that we call home was stark. Torrin was struck by the comparative beauty of the landscape--at one time Sunday afternoon as we traveled through the area again, this time on our way home from Rapid City, he marveled that "I think I want to marry it!"

We spent some time in Pine Ridge, aside from the casino stay, as well as a jaunt seven miles north-ish to the site of Wounded Knee. Torrin was amazed by the dogs running wild. Trash proliferates, littering the streets and subconsciousness. It's like visiting a third-world country that just happens to be plucked in the middle of the United States. Graffiti disfigures traffic signs so that one cannot read the speed limit. Burnt down bungalows are left to rot, and frames of once-were mobile homes sit abandoned, their contents subject to the elements. Lawns are composed primarily of muck, trampolines are scattered like rodents, children cry in the streets, and there's high speed internet access in the basement. The cleanest building on the main drag was the Alltel store.

Go figure.

The Saga Continues

Just in case anyone is interested, I'm not speaking to either The Chosen One or Sirius Black anymore. The Boy Who Lived is done with me. I've crossed paths with him three times at the YMCA since the break-up. Funny, because during the 6-ish months we were together, I never saw him there, not a once. I've been going on Monday and Wednesday evenings regularly for months now. Then following our unhinging I saw him twice within one week. Per my recollection to comrades, he "acted like he didn't know me," but that's really not quite the case. The longer version is that his eyes crossed mine briefly and his expression shifted in such a way that his eyebrows raise, eyes go a bit wild, and a goofy somewhat miffed smile appeared. This is not necessarily indicative of happiness inasmuch as a gallant grin is his default reaction to stimuli. That boy smiled so much, it makes my cheeks hurt just thinking about it. That is what I miss most--his smile.

A trip to South Dakota the weekend before last sealed the fate of Sirius Black. Or, in other words, I broke his heart.

Spat on, hoppin' fences, and physically crushed!

Nope...Voldemort wasn't involved...hardy-har-har. I'm a trifle tardy in reporting, but a friend and I went to the Linkin Park concert in Omaha on the 12th. As in, the kick-off for their current US tour. Originally I had hoped to go with the Boy Who Lived...

Back when he and I first started seeing each other, one of the first few times I came to pick him up from his house, he got into my car and Hybrid Theory was playing. He just sat there in awe for a bit...one of his many cute moments. Our music compatibility was high...cheesy sh*t and not-so-cheesy. But anyway...

I wrestled with whether I wanted to go to that concert, knowing he had bought tickets using my laptop a few short weeks ago. I didn't want to go only in accordance with spite. But the more I thought about it...it's not like HE was the only one who liked Linkin Park. Last time they rolled through Nebraska I wanted to go but didn't have a sitter for Torrin or something. So, the day before the concert I called up a friend (actually an ex, but no matter) and the next day we went. Our seats were horrible since I bought them last minute but we ditched those pretty quick and hopped over the barricade to go into the general admission area. We got right up in the front. Got spat on, crowd-surfed, and smashed around by strangers. It was great.

Basophils, neutrophils, eosinophils, monocytes, leukocytes...

I'm going to Hell; care to join me?

Hermione has reassured me that she'll get there first and get the party started. Apparently, most of my friends and acquaintances will be joining me. In fact, I've appointed myself Gateskeeper and took it upon myself to bestow upon one lucky individual a VIP door pass. Ah, the goodies that await that person. !

My human physiology class is in full swing. Midterm exam is on Tuesday. I still haven't started my graduate school application...really need to work on that. Unfortunately, I've been swamped at work, what with tax season on top of the work that keeps me more than busy the rest of the year.

Press Censorship?

I'm considering converting this to an invitation-only blog. This, of course, pertains to Voldemort. The Boy Who Lived is free to see anything I have to say. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Not so much. I'm sure he would interpret this as me hiding things, as usual, but this isn't about hiding something. It's about him abusing avenues of information with the intent of inflicting adversity. Then I think...well, by prohibiting him from viewing what I write, aren't I giving him another form of power, by allowing his nonsense to control what I do? Goodness knows, he controls far too much as is.

I've decided that the answer to that particular quandary is no.

Now we'll see if I take that step.

"I know what YOU love."

On the way home from the YMCA last night Torrin and I were having a conversation about things that we love. Torrin reported his affinity for food, his sister, me, his dad, and video games, interspersed with my requested replies. Predictably, Torrin and Mira topped my list, along with the sky. "I know what you love," Torrin probed. "And what is that?" I answered. Torrin replied resolutely, "[TCO]."

Lost in Space

1. Driving patterns creating wide rectangles, because I keep forgetting where I was going.
2. Then when I get there, I don't remember why I went there in the first place.
3. Do you know where I'm going?
4. I sure as heck don't.
5. As I strapped Mira into her carseat leaving daycare this evening: "Ok, Mira, let's go get Torrin now!"
6. Mira: "No, I wan' go pick up my [Mira's name for TCO] firs."
7. Me: "Yeah, I wanna go get my [Mira's name for TCO] too."
8. Mira: "No, not 'or [TCO].
9. Me: "Mira's [TCO]?"
10. Mira: "Mmmhmm."

"...makes me want to slap your face."

I've refrained, up til now from sharing the latest He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Drama. On one hand? It's embarassing, frankly, to admit I've continued to allow this utter B.S. On another hand, I'm afraid. I am afraid of many things, and, unfortunately, he is one of them. It's definitely not for the reasons he thinks. And as for now, I've gained additional grounds for apprehension. Greaaaaat.

So, onto that third hand I'm looking to acquire? I don't care. When I click that 'Publish Post' button, I am fully aware that yes, this is the Internet, and no, I do not have the settings such where only invited readers can view these pages. I've never attempted to conceal that fact that I communicate more clearly in written rather than spoken form, nor am I going to hide its proof. My dream is to find someone who can appreciate this (as opposed to the typical condemnation). I can try my best to make accomodations, but I can't promise change. I can only promise a valiant effort.

Voldemort wishes I would "change." Sadly, he doesn't seem to have the slightest clue as to what needs changing. In another turn of psycho-stalkerness, he composed a doozy of an e-mail message and sent it to an e-mail address which he had somehow hunted down and determined to be that of The Boy Who Lived. I was appalled that any acquaintance of mine would have to suffer through the receipt of that piece of work.

Thank goodness for friends. This is the reply I got from the ever-so-lucky recipient of Voldemort's nastiness: That's ok Jacinda. This proves that he is a major loser and probably suffers from some sort of mental problem let alone self esteem issues. I know what type of person you are. and that is a beautiful, intelligent woman. Take care Jacinda. I hope you are doing well. I am grateful for that friend, and also to Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood. Both are divorced single moms. Hermione has two, and Luna has three in her home. Hermione and I exchange stories of jealous exes on a near-daily basis, to the tune of a basket-full of laughs. In the meantime, the press is hereby censored from further ramblings pending consultation with The Boy Who Lived.

Upheaval at the Ministry of Magic

Both Voldemort and Harry Potter have taken to reading the Daily Prophet. Goodness knows what Rita Skeeter'll do now.

Back to baby food?

My poor Torrin. This isn't the first tooth he's lost. His bottom middle teeth are of the permanent variety and pretty much fully grown. But it's those top front teeth missing that are so darn cute.

Last week we went to the YMCA, nothing unusual. Torrin bought an apple. Again nothing unusual; the kids usually get a piece of fruit to nibble on as it's late afternoon/early evening when we go and they're always already hungry for dinner at that time. Except on this occasion? The top tooth had finally fallen out after a long, gruesome battle to remain hanging in his mouth. The tooth next to it is loose and one next to the bottom middle set is even loosy-goosier. Poor Torrin couldn't eat his apple.

We've just in the past handful of days set up Torrin's own gmail account. On Sunday I received this message from Torrin (three rooms away, mind you):

,hello
mom how are you,i cant eat a apple


torrin

Being the nice mommy that I am, I responded:

Poor little Wiggle-Toothed Torrin, maybe we need to feed you baby food! What do you think? Should we pick you out some jars of baby food next time we go to the grocery store? :)

To which I didn't receive a written reply, just a disgruntled, AWWWWWWW Mom!

The Only Good News All Day

One of our board members sauntered up to me at the office this morning...held out this picture:

Wow. I mean, WOW. This is my grandmother.

Let me back up, clarify for a moment...my mom and dad are BOTH adopted. My mom's birth parents' identities are known to us; my father's aren't. My mom's biological mother, the woman pictured above, was named Beulah Grant Saunsoci, an Omaha Indian. My mom's dad, whose name I just learned this past summer, is Manuel Castro (of Mexican descent). But I've never seen a picture of either of them. Until now. I was blown away. Torrin got the formal explanation of adoption this afternoon. He'd had no idea that my mom didn't grow in our grandma's tummy like Aunt Joyce and Uncle Chris did. But she's still her mom. Then on the other hand, Beulah? My mom makes that face. She stands like that. My mother, who at 43 is five years older than Beulah ever lived to see. Thank you so much to the woman who brought in that picture, a woman who is my biological grandmother's first cousin.

Someday, I hope to see the photographic faces of my mom's dad and my dad's parents, too. His father is rumored to also be Native but we have no concrete evidence of that other than hearsay.

Sweet Dreams Are Made of These

Who am I to disagree?

I really didn't intend to leave things off in such cliff-hanging form. It just worked out like that...sometimes life is a little bit like the movies, I guess. I've decided that the best way to attempt to explain Sirius Black using his own words. I wish I had the older texts in my phone, because there were some really good ones...SB has been on my MySpace friends list for a few months, but I met him a few years back. He sent me a message in early December saying that he had seen me on TV (your truly beautiful, I saw you on tv the other day and you seemed kinda nervous, but to me you were a Super Star! I want your autograph). He asked me for my phone number. I gave it to him, simultaneously clarifying that yes, I did have a boyfriend of whom I was enamored. Sirius was respectful of this. He sent a sterile, short and sweet text on Christmas: Merry Christmas.

I continued texting him for the next few days through the initial Boy Who Lived weirdness, culminating with the Break-Up-Or-Something-Like-It on New Year's Day. This of course triggered a wooing-while-pitying reaction from SB. I received messages about how he thought we really had a great dynamic, even things like him considering me as a prospective future wife, but regardless of what happened he wanted to be my friend always...

I've travelled the ocean and the seven seas...Everybody's lookin' for somethin'

The following are some more recent texts (spelling errors intact):

:-) I like u a lot baby, i know u love another man, but i feel fortunate (11:31pm Mon 07 Jan)

Yeah no need to apologize, we don't owe each other anything, ur stuck sweat'n another man, while i'm sweatin' u, i need to just chill and let u get ur head str8. (9:10pm Tue 08 Jan)

Once i fall in love with u i would have a hard time with u seeing him, i almost expect it right now though, but i know u love him, and i'll be gone a lot. (9:10am Fri 11 Jan)

But just stay in contact with me, and don't have it in my face, and i'll be able to just deal with it. (9:11am Fri Jan 11)

Nothings defanate, but i plan on being connected to u for life, even if only as friends, if we cannot, then i hope it isn't my doing. (9:22am Fri 11 Jan)

I thought TCO was going to chicken out on me two nights in a row. As previously mentioned, he returned to town on Friday night. Late that night I heard from him, and he said he'd come over...but then his car died. Okay, fine. We agreed to talk the next night. But he was going to go out with his "brother"/friend/roommate person (Viktor Krum'll do as a pseudonym). Whatever!In a fit of jealousy-twinged spite I decided that I, too, would be going out on Saturday night. And I did. I met up with Sirius Black and played a game of pool with him and met some of his friends. Then I went downtown, by myself, to my stand-by going out spot, a bar with a dance floor that plays mostly electronic dance music. One of the door-guys is someone I met through my son's dad six-ish years ago and am friendly with. A friend I met through a friend is also a regular there and it's typical to see at least one other person I know. This is a big deal for me, because I'm socially avoidant, but like being around people, if that makes sense. I'm afraid to initiate conversation, but I don't relish solitude.

Anyhow, after that I headed over to my friend's house, whom we'll refer to as Neville Longbottom. Neville is a buddy from high school. We've never dated. Took Creative Writing together, happened to have a good pal in common, and have been friends ever since. I drove out to pick Neville up 4 hours west of town on December 30th. There was a big to-do concerning Neville and Voldemort a little over a year ago when I comitted the grand felony of allowing Neville to babysit Mira. Neville dealt with the situation beautifully; Voldemort made an ass of himself. That's off-subject, though. Suffice to say, Neville's my homeboy. Neville was hosting an after-(bar)hours social gathering, or as more commonly referred, a keg. I felt I was approximately 87 years old, standing in that room with a bunch of bright shiny faces, many of which appeared to be pre-pubescent. I found a girl there that I'd had a class with a few terms ago and we commiserated about an insane left-wing hippie purple-pants wearing flutter-bug instructor. I left Neville's house and promptly drove by The Chosen One's apartment that he shares with Viktor. By this time is was nearly 3am. Viktor's car was not in the driveway, but the windows were alit, despite TCO's claim earlier that evening that he was tired and sick. I flicked a text in his direction and was soon in their apartment.We didn't talk. A few words is all. One can guess the rest. This morning, I appeared as though I were mauled by a pack of vampires.

This is so definitely not a pattern I want to fall into with the Boy Who Lived. As much as I do not want to let go of him entirely, I have far too much respect for him as a person to have a pseudo-relationship. No matter how unintentional, those sorts of things end up with both parties feeling used.

Some of them want to use you...
Some of them want to get used by you...
Some of them want to abuse you...
Some of them want to be abused...

Waiting.

He ended up buying a plane ticket. He's supposed to be back. Perhaps now. I don't know.

Two nights ago he called to inform me of his plans. Every time the phone rings and it's him, I'm slightly shocked. Installment 2 of the Great Confrontation's closing made it sound as if we weren't going to talk at all until we were in the same state again. I've received instructions from a good girl friend of mine that I shouldn't first contact him unless he tries first. So far I've violated that order twice, but with good reason; or at least, sort of good reason. He's called most nights. Last night, he called at 1am (he's a night owl), disappointed because his friends and relatives had bailed on going out with him again. I'm not sure how much stock to put into the fact that he thought to call me in that situation.

Even more crazy? As I was on the phone with him, I received a text message from said Other Person. Said Other Person, whom I think I shall refer to as Sirius Black, is someone I've known for a few years and known of since I was a wee sprat in junior high school. Someone who has suddenly crossed my path a few times in recent months. Someone who is professing...

Oh shit. The phone rang. TCO is in town. !

The other half?

Has a name.

And it's probably just as complicated as it sounds.

Regrettably, I'm still alive.

A lot has been going on lately. A lot, and also not much at all. I've not really been sharing because I'm not sure how much I want to share. Only a precious few know the full story. Even a few who think they know the whole story don't really know precisely the fragility of the matter.

TCO and his mom came to eat dinner with my family on Christmas Eve. Besides their being served severely out-of-date Dr. Pepper this seemed to go fairly well, or at least as well as I could have hoped. The next day, Christmas, was also Sir TCO's 21st birthday. The morning my children and I spent at home, unwrapping some gifts, until Torrin's grandpa arrived to cart him off to Tecumseh (small town about an hour away) for an overnight stay. Mira and I went over to TCO's house for breakfast after that, staying until her Waste-Of-Oxygen dad came to pick her up. That afternoon, he, his brother, TCO's roommate, my mother and I went to see a movie. Alien Vs. Predator, which was dependably gory and unnecessarily heartless. I went back over to his house for dinner. After a couple of hours spent lounging around watching movies he dropped the bombshell that he was hitching a ride back to Wisconsin with his mom and brother the next morning.

Ummmmmm. Okay.

Well, not really okay. I was pissed. I had been looking forward to this boy's 21st birthday for several months by then. Some possibly fabulous plans for New Year's had been made and fallen through, but I was eagerly awaiting spending the night with him regardless of a lack of luxurious locale. Yeah, so, piss on that, missed that boat.

That night, I had had a texted conversation with Torrin's dad, which ended with Torrin's dad saying he was surprised TCO had not said that he loved me, and that he should've said it by now. Young, inexperienced, or not.

The next couple of times I talked with TCO on the phone he stressed that is was important for him to spend time with his family. Okay? This is a point of contention how? Have I ever expressed contempt for spending time with family? Of course not. I like his family, I would never prevent him from wanting to visit them. My problem was being ditched last minute. At first, he seemed responsive enough. He was somewhat apologetic, sometimes at least. But gradually he stopped responding to texts. That's been a key means of communication between he and I over the past five months. I started getting suspicious that something more was going on. My texted messages became less friendly and more contrary. Finally, while at the theatre with my son on New Years Day I sent a message asking if it would be better if I did not text at all. His reply? He didn't know how to answer. I responded that that was answer enough and I would leave him alone. Inside, I crumbled. I'd thought that maybe he just needed a break, some time to himself, but this was seeming more serious than even that. I sent a frantic text to another friend, whose biting reply cut to my heart. Doomsday wagering battle, brain sloshing around, bubbles wavering in my blood, I imagined the worst. Later that evening, I sent TCO a message asking if he wanted to come to my house to get his things, or should I just drop them off?

That night my phone rang. My heart sank. All that time I just wanted to talk to him, and kept getting no reply...this was what it took to get his attention.

We were on the phone for about three hours. The discourse opened with his preface that he hadn't wanted to do this over the phone, but...he'd been frustrated for awhile. Frustrated that I couldn't talk about things that upset me, frustrated that I couldn't do things with him whenever he wanted, frustrated that this frustrated him. Said he felt selfish, since he knows I have kids and he knows they are the most important thing to which I must attend. Said he wanted to be able to just be with me, while concurrently understanding that I just can't do that. And then I complicate matters by not being able to talk.

I'm a pain in the ass. I realize this fully, but I don't know how to fix it. My brain shuts down. I can't think. When I am upset, it takes eons or millenia to formulate a coherent thought. Sometimes something pops into my head fairly punctually, but those are the sort of thoughts that must be fully evaluated before being approved for discharge. I'm not exactly sure why. I think it's a culmination of many factors, including having poor role models (my mom is also horrible about talking about things, although in a slightly different manner) and as a defense tactic. In my relationship with Voldemort, my responses tended to elicit uproarious and occasionally violent replies, no matter how diplomaticly I attempted to craft my statements. Everything I said was viciously contorted. An uttered truth might validate a slap across the face, but at the very least anything I offered was met with cruel accusations and criticism of my character. Experiences predating Voldemort warped my perceptions of normal relations between men and women, further muddying clarity.

I've never been good at arguing. Never in my life have I relished a good debate, due to the fact that I simply can't keep up. I was always labelled as a smart kid, in the gifted program, advanced classes and such, but "quick wit" has never been a characteristic of mine. I'm able to understand and evaluate, but not immediately. A therapist suspected that there may be a neurological cause. That I don't know, but I can say that the speedy shifts of subject in heated discussions leave me drawing a blank. And when there's a live person, emotions barred, before me awaiting an answer, the pressure builds. Whatever I want or believe is totally secondary to first knowing what I am supposed to do. I only want to know what is expected of me.

Even more frustrating to the opposing party, I generally feel that it's obvious what I want. Expressing what I want or how I feel about something seems silly because isn't it obvious? I just need to know what to do. Tell me what you want me to do. Shoot, look at my profile on Facebook, in the About Me section. "First, you tell me what you want to hear, then, I'll tell it." Given no parameters, I'm lost.

And now? I am lost. The conversation on New Years with TCO was inconclusive, although it seemed evident to me that he wanted to break up...so...why should I bother saying anything? His mind was already made up, and I'm not going to change his mind. I'm not persuasive. Isn't it obvious? Isn't it obvious that I don't want to break up with him? I guess not. And he throws in there that yes, he did love me, he was in love with me. Wasn't that what I wanted?

Yes, it was.

I was struck by how everything he referred to between he and I was past tense. He loved me. He was in love with me. He wanted it to work out. Around 3am he gave up. I was tired too, but saying goodbye? Was like granting my approval of the relationship dissolution.

Our conversation the next night produced similar results. My silences were shorter in length and fewer in number, but still present. I'm sorry, I'm frustrating. I don't mean to be, and I don't know how not to be. I only wish I knew earlier how seriously it was affecting the dynamic. I'm agreeable, I want to do the right thing. What is the right thing? If you really love something, let it go? I've always been too selfish for that. Maybe I don't say it, but I feel it.

I haven't yet said that I love him too. Because I'm not in the past tense in feeling that way, but I don't want to be the only one who does. In the past couple months...I've wondered, it is worth it? Should I try harder? What is really going on here? I don't want to unnecessarily put myself out on the line for a cause that noone else believes in. I wasn't going to be the first one to utter the l-word (truly a four-letter word). I'm much too much of a chickenshit.

Lost.
Love.
Lost.

He's still in Wisconsin, working on a way back. I've offered to drive; I shouldn't have. Not that I wouldn't do it, not that I don't want to help. I do, but my offering exposes me a little bit more. Maybe too much. Now, when I need to leave him alone.

(And this is only the half of it.)

December Photo Project: Day 25

Yeah, I'm slow again. But I'm crabby. That's my excuse. Work was good today. Few clients came to call so I was actually able to get some things done that have been lying around neglected. The pic is me wearing my new robe from TCO which is nice and fluffy.

December Photo Project: Day 24

Mira and Torrin in front of our "Christmas Tree." I didn't put up the "real but artificial" tree this year. Mira isn't the problem...the cats are. They knocked it fully down three times last year, and I ended up putting it away before Christmas even happened. Maybe next year we'll give it a try again.

December Photo Project: Day 23

Yeah, yeah, I'm running a bit behind. Things get crazy during the holidays...and today is also a certain Special Someone's 21st birthday. :) This is Mira reading with her great grandma.

December Photo Project: Day 22

One view of the Crazy Christmas House at 42nd & Cleveland Avenue

December Photo Project: Day 21

I didn't feel overdressed wearing a leather jacket and light knit gloves. Is 40 degrees fahrenheit (4 degrees celsius) really that warm?

December Photo Project: Day 20

Someone's going to be disappointed on Christmas morning.

December Photo Project: Day 19

Six families down, eight to go.

December Photo Project: Day 18

So far...$275 for gas station gift cards...$260 at JC Penney for teens' clothing...$130 at Bath and Body Works for gift cards...and $3095 at WalMart for everything from socks and underwear to Fairytopia Barbies and Little Tonkas to microwaves and coffee pots. And don't forget diapers and Christmas trees. The receipt above was for the second run through WalMart. You can only fit so much into a cart at a time, you know.

December Photo Project: Day 17

View of the State Capitol with Sunset Sky this evening from Elliott Elementary as I picked up Torrin from his after school program.

December Photo Project: Day 16

Full blast

Fair warning: This is a vent, cranked up as high as the heat will escape...

Dangerous Driver
It figures that I post about being a 'dangerous driver,' and then the next day I get a ticket. In all fairness, I would like to report that any images captured while driving are always at a stoplight. You know, when the car's not moving. But anyway. Last night TCO and I went to the movie theatre to see a movie that we didn't get to watch because it was sold out. So, Mr. Movie Buff TCO was all aggravated by that, then there we are, minding our business, driving home. In the snow. And ice. The ice that's been coating the ground since Monday/Tuesday, and melting, freezing, and re-freezing ever since. And the snow, some of which had been there before the ice encased it Tuesday early in the morning. It started snowing around 8pm. Big, fluffy, flakes, the kind that make very pretty glittery snow and further disguise the ice. We went to a movie that started at 9:45, so it was pretty late by the time we got out. Snow blowing everywhere. Driving slowly, both for purposes of limited visibility and possible slick spots lurking beneath the surface, I approached an intersection cautiously. I noticed two police cruisers, and stopped until it was safe to cross the road. We get to the other side, and one of the police cars whips around in a parking lot and starts following me. Ummmm. Okay. Keep driving. Three blocks (and stop signs) later, he turns on his lights and aims his spotlight at me.

I got a ticket for failing to obey a traffic device. Apparently at that first intersection I mentioned, there was a sign that said "right turn only." Okay, fine.

I have two bones to pick with this. One, visibility was very poor. It's not like I totally ignored convention. I came to a complete, slow, stop, drove carefully, etc. Two, IF I had seen the sign, I assure you that I wouldn't have disobeyed it in front of TWO police cruisers. Come on. Isn't this a prime opportunity for a warning?

No, I still don't have a lawyer, but I need one.
Basically, all I've determined is that I am legally the custodial parent, but since no formal visitation has been set, I'd have to go to court to get Mira back if Voldemort decided to be a [insert foul swear word here]. I need a lawyer to get anything done. I'm also poor as hell. I may have a professional-sounding job title, and the work I do could be construed as higher-level, but the truth is that I make poverty wages and have zero benefits. I am loathe to trust the over-worked, under-funded prowess of legal aid but I have little choice at this point.
Voldemort actually revealed this evening that he has looked into trying to get full custody of Mira. You know, since I'm a sex-craving, STD-spreading, child-abusing prostitute.

He and his brother (who, coincidentally, is friendly as pie towards me) borrowed Mira this afternoon. When Voldemort brought her home, he noted that my house smelled like pot (marijuana). Then he asked me, "so was your boyfriend smoking pot?" and promptly left.
Uh, no, dipshit. You're the pot smoker. Actually it's been quite lovely having a boyfriend who doesn't smoke. I don't know if he still smokes it, but I know that he was at least through the summer of 2007, and had off and on throughout the five years which I've now known him for. It's been an an ongoing battle between he and his psycho-depressive self, and it's been a means of self-medication. When we went to Chicago in June/July to meet up with a bunch of my Internet Mom Friends? (that's the true IMF, I tell you, far more valuable than the International Monetary Fund). Yeah, one of the times when he left the house he went to find a frisbee golf course and he got high with some guys he met there.

So, in true adolescent form I send him a text a few minutes later which said, "You'd know the smell of pot better than me anyway!" Yeah, I shouldn't have sent it. It just pisses me off how he will totally ignore me when I try to talk to him (about MIRA, mind you, when he's picking her up or dropping her off). Then, when he does talk, it's to wedge in a sneaky jab. As soon as he left (which coincided with his pot comment), Torrin asked, "How come he always asks dumb questions, mom?" Good question, Torrin, good question, but not one I can answer quickly or concisely, beyond "because he's a sad, sad man." Or "mentally-ill," take your pick.

He responds by completely ignoring the marijuana conversation (probably a moot point anyway) and asking, "New TV?" See, there's a cardboard box on the porch by my recycling bins. An empty cardboard box that once housed a nice decent-sized flat LCD TV. It's not mine and it's not in my house. But Voldemort needed to obsess about WHOSE television it is...um...who cares?

Why, oh why, was it Torrin's dad who moved away, and not Mira's?

December Photo Project: Day 15

December Photo Project: Day 14

Yeah, yeah. I'm a dork, and a dangerous dork at that. I like to take pictures while I'm driving, apparently. This is the ornament that hangs from my rear view mirror. It's a medicine wheel beaded thing I made a couple of years ago. It's colorful, which makes me happy. Another thing that makes me happy is lights reflecting off of the surfaces of wet streets. That's been a secret source of joy for me for the past several years. It's the one thing I enjoy about rain and ice on the road.

December Photo Project: Day 13

Today: A Series in Geese. Taken this morning as I was on my way to Wal-Mart to replace a stolen Operation Santa Claus gift.

December Photo Project: Day 12

Yesterday, I didn't even get dressed.
With public schools cancelled, work starting late, Mira's daycare closing early and a sheet of ice covering everything it just didn't make sense to go through the production of getting everyone presentable. I didn't even go out and get the mail. I did salt the sidewalks and take the recycling to the curb prior to 7am, however. I also cooked breakfast for lunch (scrambled eggs and sausage) and made my first ever pot of chili. An onion, a green pepper, tomatoes, kidney beans, chili seasoning, cumin, red pepper, and oh yeah, hamburger. I don't know that I've ever cooked two kinds of red meat in one day. That's highly atypical in this household.

Anyway, all of that hiding-insideithe-house business meant that the Thawing of the Ice Cube that was once My Car was left for this morning. Bright and early. An entire hour from start to finish. I mentioned I missed my garage? Yeah, you could say it's more like mourning sometimes.

But it was a good day. No, a great day. I was voted onto a board. I am now a member of the Board of Directors of the Volunteer Partners. Several families showed up to receive their free Operation Santa Claus gifts. And I got a call from one of our funders. They're giving me (I mean, my program) 7 or 8 grand, in addition to what they've already given. My task? Pick ten needy families and give them a wonderful Christmas.

That's an order I'm glad to take.

December Photo Project: Day 11

ICE STORM
I must say that I am continually disappointed by the winter weather photographing opportunities immediately available around my house. Our yard is pretty small in back (and nothing's in it, it's unfenced) and in front it's essentially non-existent. Then the added problem of it being too dark to focus well this morning but flash, as always, washing out detail. The second, somewhat eery facelike image is Torrin's bike covered in snowy ice with some shadows projected by the porch railing.

But, the "good" news is that's there's no school today. That's "good" as opposed to actually good because it means I can't go to work. It wouldn't be so bad to have Torrin tag along with me to work, but it appears that the drive to Mira's daycare and my place of employment would be.

And Happy Birthday to our Auntie Joyce.

December Photo Project: Day 10

OPERATION SANTA CLAUS
Fully underway at the Indian Center! The National Guard delivered presents this morning, so now it's up to me to disseminate them to their proper owners. A few families' gifts did not arrive. A few other families have been or will be adopted by more financially sound ones. And I get to orchestrate the whole thing...

December Photo Project: Day 9

Heading north on 27th street at Vine.

December Photo Project: Day 8

Kitty Sumiko's got it goin' on. He's in the know. Heck, if I could crawl in the dryer and snuggle in warm clothes, I would.

Sumiko is my lesser-liked cat. Actually, The Chosen One hates him. TCO doesn't care for cats, and Sumiko is somewhat passive agressive and a bit socially avoidant. Nothing extreme. He is still a good kitty, very tolerant, and causes little trouble. He is also the prettier of my kitties, with his snowy white fur with beige splotches and icy blue eyes. He's got a bit of that Siamese-almost-cross-eyed-ness going on. He's just the one that you're more likely to trip over when you're in my house.

December Photo Project: Day 7

These pictures were all taken at work this morning. Animal tracks in the snow and the powwow grounds, snow-covered, o'course.

December Photo Project: Day 6, Beware of Naked Baby Bum

Okay, so the picture on the left is the official DPP pic of the day. You'd think with all of the snow that blew around today I'd be able to find something more interesting to photograph than the pine cone wreath on my porch. Well, sorry to disappoint but it is what it is.

Heh. The next picture is here 'cuz I think it's funny. As has been mentioned previously, Mira looooooves Hey-dee Paw-der. Not quite as much as Monsters Inc., but pretty close nonetheless. And c'mon, who doesn't love a bit o' baby bum?

I also love how long her hair is getting. It's not as long in front as the back...I did trim her bangs twice when she was a wee one and I was still afraid of styling her hair. That 'n, you know, gravity, shape of the human head, etc. :D

December Photo Project: Day 5

These are my pretties in my living room. My mother said that they were pussy willows, but really, I don't know. They were a Christmas gift from my favorite auntie two or three years ago, a specific request from Avant Card, which just happens to be my favorite store.

Oh, and we have pneumonia. Me and Mira, anyway. Torrin appears to be fine as of yet. Go figure.

December Photo Project: Day 4

NEW IN DECEMBER:
Having to scrape frost and/or ice off of my windshield every morning. For people like me who are always running late, this is a highly unwelcome addition to the agenda. I had a garage once, when Torrin was a baby. Winter is when I miss it the most.

This picture was taken from the inside of the car looking out the front windshield. Sunshine hitting the left side made a nice glare and melted the frost enough to see the tree outside (but not enough to melt beyond the need of the loathsome ice scraper).

December Photo Project: Day 3

PBBBBBBBBBLLLLLLT.
That's the sound of me deflating. A sad, limp, empty balloon.

Yeah. So. Anyway. The Boy Who Lived showed up just a bit ago. Started making some food, and I was doing something in the kitchen. Shuffling stuff around but not really getting much cleaning done, the usual.

"So," he says, in a get-down-to-business tone. Then proceeded to ask me if I really wanted to go to Las Vegas with him later this month (it's his birthday). Well, duh, of course I want to. I've never been to Vegas, and I've never really traveled anywhere with non-family sorts before, except for a couple quick jaunts to Kansas City. I'd love to go to Vegas, especially with him, especially to celebrate his birthday...but he pressed on. Wanted to know if I could guarantee that Voldemort wouldn't cause any problems while we were gone.

That's when my heart sank through the heels of my feet and landed somewhere in my downstairs pot-smoking wannabe-rapper neighbor's apartment.

The Chosen One says he's been looking forward to this for so long, doesn't want to worry about Tom Riddle screwing things up. Point taken. I can understand that. But I can't control Voldemort. He may as well have just asked me to stay home.

December Photo Project: Day 2

I'll offer full disclosure at this point that I hate Christmas. It seems only fair to admit this as the DPP swings into gear. My Christmas Hatred has nothing to do with Christ or Christianity; my complaints are entirely separate of those concepts. I hate Santa, I hate the greed, I hate advertising directed at toddlers. Every year I tell Torrin that Santa isn't real. We don't watch television in our house due to my high dislike for marketing to children (that and the underlying oversexualization of everything). It makes me angry when people come in to my office complaining that they can't pay their utility bills, so they'll have to return the $500 worth of video games/video game system that they bought for their child...WTH? Priorities, people?

Anyway, today's picture illustrates what is easily my favorite part of being a mother to two children...seeing them laugh and play together. The kiddos featured above are having a blast playing in my bed, four-and-a-half years' age difference, opposite-gendered, and all. In spite of my ill will towards the Santa Season, I think that these little things are among those contributing to what should be the larger theme of the holidays--family.

Santa brings out the best in children...

Or something like that, LOL! We went to Wal-Mart yesterday (O, let me count the ways I hate thee, bless'ed Wal*Mart..) and the goofy 20-Something-Santa-With-Fake-Beard was sitting there in the girls' clothing for free pictures. Mira's never sat with Santa and it's been a couple years since Torrin did, so I thought "what the heck," and plunked them down for the sans-charge photo op.

This action set Mira off like a car alarm, wailing. "Please, smile for Mama," I pleaded with her, to no avail. Santa called out, "Just snap the picture!" We got the printout, and Mira wanted to see it. "LOOK!" she cried, excitedly, "Mira no smile mama!"

Yeah, I know. I know you didn't smile for Mama, Mira. Thanks for noticing.

December Photo Project: Day 1

This winter tradition comes via The Prairie Box and is a nice way to spice up the December Doldrums (and give new meaning and purpose to writer's-block-ridden-blogs). And so, here I present my first contribution to the project. The picture at right was taken just a half an hour ago at our front steps. My happy lil' lavender flowers made it spunkily through Thanksgiving, standing proudly upright, but their run this year is now officially complete. I look forward to their return next spring; I am especially fond of these little fellas because they were my first successful planting project. We had irises and baby's breath in front of our home when I was a kid but my mother is not a gardener (or a cook, or seamstress, knitter, crafter, etc) and I didn't really learn about growing green things, neither in-home nor in-yard.

Happy to be home...or am I?

We got back into town around 10:30pm last night. While I am relieved to be home, in my own house, with our own things, our own food, both of my babies, etc., I am not entirely thrilled to be here.
It's all part of the larger frustration mill, churning away. Of course, there's Voldemort. But then, there's other things, too. Like the unpaid internet and natural gas bills. Oh, if only I were a prostitute like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named thinks, I'd have no outstanding debts! (Whatthebleepever). Then there's work. I get paid crap to do crap. On one hand, I really like that at the end of a day I can sit down (yeah right) and think, wow, I helped this-n-that-person, however-many-people today and be able to attach something tangible to that. Two families are getting free packs of diapers, about twenty will get free christmas gifts for their children, two people received vouchers for gasoline. And that's just today, in a few short hours. Then there's also the sadness...the people we couldn't help, or the people we did help but shouldn't. The ungrateful folk. The people who get mad because there's a $17 limit on the free christmas gifts, or the ones who call to say, "don't help so-and-so with their gas bill." Then I think about how I should be done with graduate school by now, instead of not-even-applied yet. How I'm thousands of dollars in debt with both credit and student loans. But I pay for YMCA membership and recycling services? I spent ten bucks on another pair of shoes for the Buffalo Dinner last weekend, but I haven't paid my phone bill? I complain about how I have no time, then I spend hours on the Internet and preoccupy myself with my way-too-cute boyfriend? Really, I don't have time for a boyfriend. But surely the happiness makes it worth it? Then Voldemort swoops in for an attack, complicating things...or at least causing a nuisance.

Sometimes, I think it would be most diplomatic to bow out, to extricate myself from the situation, pack up, and move away.

Would the problems follow? Surely, they would.

Locals: You can watch me on TV!

I forgot to mention this last week. I was asked to read for a series done by our public libraries, this one, the American Indian Heritage Read-in. After much deliberation I opted a speech-of-sorts given by Alfred Gilpin, tribal chairman of the Omaha Tribe in 1954 (at which time the Omahas' sovereignty status was threatened) per the suggestion of my grandfather. Apparently, I'm also related to that guy, but I don't understand precisely how.

I was, of course, mortified. I hate public speaking.

In elementary school, I was once sent to the Principal's office for refusing to speak when called on by the teacher. In fifth grade, when it was my turn to give a presentation, I attempted to hide under my desk. In eighth grade, upon being asked to do a report in front of the class, I first began nervously laugh, uncontrollably. My teacher was just beginning to look really angry when the laughter subsided into sobs and tears.

Okay, so things aren't that bad anymore, but my favorite part is still when it's all over and I'm safely in my seat.

For those of you who are local, you can see me on channel 5 at 6pm and 10:30pm tomorrow, Friday 23 Nov 2007, and 9pm on Saturday. :) Another reader of note in the program is a co-worker, technically my boss of sorts, who also happens the 'brother' of The Boy Who Lived.

All Grown Up

Yesterday afternoon, my son boarded a plane. All by himself. The flight attendant asked him if he wanted me to go with him to get his seat. "Nope. I'm okay," he replied, cool cucumber that he is. He acted in a similarly independent way on his first day of kindergarten. We pulled up at the school, and I turned off the car, ready to walk him to class, take pictures of him, etc. Before I have a chance to gather my things, he took off, slamming the door shut and calling out, "Bye, Mom!"

The plane he flew on was super tiny. Like, even smaller than the last plane I flew on to or from our hometown (our airport is quite little, with only two gates). Nevertheless, he arrived safely at his destination, a few minutes late (what plane isn't these days?). I blithely assumed that ear buds fit all ears. Well, they don't fit childrens' ears. I thanked the powers that be for finding a mysterious $20 in my pocket earlier that afternoon (a huge blessing, as I am soooo broke right now) so that I could spend it on overpriced headphones at the convenience pod nearest his gate. He spent all of today with his dad and will tomorrow as well. His return flight takes off Saturday morning.

Update: Tom Riddle vs. Harry Potter

I'm somewhat chagrined to report that I have not taken any absolute action in respect to Voldemort's prying and pestering, aside from not answering his calls or texts.
On Tuesday afternoon, Torrin, The Chosen One, and I departed from Lincoln. Mira stayed in Lincoln. She was to be staying primarily with Voldemort's mother, known as Merope Gaunt in the HP series. I made no arrangements with Voldemort personally but it was understood that Merope would coordinate the efforts between she, Voldemort, and Tom Riddle Sr. (Voldemort's dad, who is not dead in this story).

So, we're driving through Iowa. Iowa sucks. But, all seemed to be going pretty well. The drive was progressing favorably and The Boy Who Lived was doing an excellent job at initiating and maintaining conversation (not one of my fortés). My phone rang...Santeria by Sublime, which has become (unfortunately for Sublime) Voldemort's anthem. Since Mira could have conceivably been with him, I felt it was fair to answer the call. "Let me talk to your boyfriend," he demanded. I said no and hung up on his dumb a$s.

We stopped in Dubuque for gas, as has become the custom. Torrin was passed out in the backseat by this time. We were just about to leave, when the phone rang again. Morbid curiousity won out over logic, and I answered, taking off for the service station's restroom and ditching The Chosen One as he opened the door to re-enter my car. God, that was rude of me.

But not nearly as rude as what Voldemort had just done. I said hello, and Mr. Riddle replied cooly, "I just got off of the phone with your boyfriend's mom." Then, he said her name. She has a distinctive name. The blood drained from my head and I sought refuge in the bathroom. "How did you do that?" I wanted to know. Voldemort was not satisfied with this reply. I'm not sure how he expected me to react, but he gauged me incorrectly by supposing that I only wanted to know how he found it out so that I can better "hide" my "tracks next time." He considers it a sort of public service that he called The Chosen One's mom to warn her about me. Says he was on the phone with her for half an hour.

Seriously, WHAT THE FÜ(K.

What kind of crazy son of a fool (no offense Merope and Tom Sr.) calls up his ex-GF's mother to make himself feel better.

I'm not even sure how Tom Riddle got that information. I've been pretty careful to not slip any identifying information to him (duh) or his mom. We're pretty sure it must be internet-related, possibly off of the local University's studentfinder via Facebook (to get his name).
At this point one can probably gather that I am definitely p!s$ed off. Come Monday you can be certain that I will verify that there is a document stating that I have legal physical custody of my daughter. Until then, I try to forget that the whole thing happened so that I can enjoy the weekend. That waste of oxygen is not worth my time spent worrying.

One week later

The transfer is now complete. I've copied and pasted all of the posts which appeared on the previous site to this not-so-new but way-updated blogger account.

Giving up on Yahoo! 360.

From now on find me here (instead of the previous site, http://www.geocitie.com/toiledelanuit/index.html).
I've given up. I didn't want to move to one of the other blogging websites but this one gives me so many errors that it hardly makes to keep updating here. The two posts directly preceding this one will be accompanied by the as-promised-pics when the posts are copied n pasted to Blogspot you'll be able to see them.
Saturday November 17, 2007 - 01:36am (PST)
Comments
Hell to the yeah. If only so I can more easily stalk you. YEAH! :) And holy crap on a plane? By himself? GAH! JUST GAH!!! That's very grown behavior! How will you stand it!--M
Sunday November 18, 2007 - 06:14pm (PST)
Author: anonymous

did it eat my f-ing comment?--M
Sunday November 18, 2007 - 06:15pm (PST)

My baby!

The transaction is complete...my baby is boarding a plane and flying solo to see his dad next week!
Six years old, and his first plane ride will be alone! I'm mortified but relieved and proud! It's been rough for Torrin without his dad around. He used to go to his dad's house every day after school. It hasn't been quite a whole month yet since his father moved, but three and a half weeks feels a lot longer when you're six and bored without your papa and best buddy (Torrin's friend, Aaron, 7 moved along with Torrin's dad). Fourteen hours, without stopping, is how long it takes to drive to Torrin's daddy's new locale. I'm not entirely opposed to making the drive, but coordinating the effort with other schedules and such makes it more difficult. Further muddying the visitation waters is the fact that there are no direct flights from Lincoln, Omaha, OR Kansas City to either of the airports within about an hour from Torrin's dad. Torrin will be flying from a state which neighbors his dad's, from a city about 2 hours from my Thanksgiving destination.

Friday November 16, 2007 - 10:46pm (PST)

Comments
Wow! I am sure everything will go well.--amber
Tuesday November 20, 2007 - 06:18pm (PST)

The sun has gone to bed and so must I.

The Sound of Music, stuck on repeat in my head. Ahh joy. I think it's about time Torrin saw that movie, come to think of it. Anyway.

The picture at left is my youngest sister, Sophia. She and I have the same father, and she's 19.5 years younger than I. I'm just hoping that she is the last. Now that my mom's had a histerectomy (due to a dermoid cyst), I don't have to worry about her procreating anymore. After I had Torrin she had fancied having another child herself. I suppose she feels robbed of her motherhood. I took off at 13 and her sons, two of my brothers, went to their father's custody shortly before that at the ages of 3 and 8. They are now 14 and 19, the oldest of my siblings. The rest are my father's progeny; a sister, age 12, brother, age 8, sister, also age 8, and the aforementioned 4-year-old. Three of those four have the same mother and live with their grandmother a couple hours away from here. They are all great kids in one way or another. The 12-year-old sister is a standout. She's one who may end up being well-known for her talents in the future, and I can't call her 'little' anymore because at last comparison she was at least as tall as I, and she's likely to end up much taller.

My kids have a great time playing with their aunts and uncles. Mira is especially fond of all three of her aunts, and Torrin likewise loves his uncles, although the youngest, the 8-year-old, is his closest comrade in terms of interests and play.

Harry Potter and the Loud TV

Mira says lots of 'new' words all of the time now (it's actually rather alarming and startling considering that Torrin was only using about 5 words at the same age), but my new favorite as of yesterday is this little gem:
"Hey-dee PAWder!" (Translation: "Harry Potter," with a British accent).
It's also alarming how she has suddenly turned into a little couch potato. She loves watching movies. As soon as we get home in the evening, she asks to "Ah wash Mon-Sink, Mommeeeee!" ("I watch Monsters Inc., Mommeeee"). And, let's be honest, it's waaaay easier to cook when she's absorbed by the Boob Tube instead of screaming, hanging on my leg, like she used to. Torrin wasn't such a media mogul at this age, but then, he was an only child then, and didn't have the Big Sib influence deal going on.
We went to see Bee Movie yesterday. It was all right. Cute, somewhat contrived, but all right. I think I don't like Reneé Zellweger, though. Can't tell you why. It must be the voice. And Mira behaved for nearly the entire duration of the film. She didn't try to run away until we were less than 5 minutes from the end credits. She referred to the theatre as "big TV" and "loud TV."
Today we went to the YMCA, as we always do on Mondays. Well, the theatre we visited just yesterday is across the street. As we skirted by that disastrous corner, Mira cried, "Ah loud TV!" And when I said, "No, Mira, we can't go see a movie today," she responded with, "PWEEEEZE!" She's learned that whining-repetitive-please thing. Not cool.

I did what? (Fri 09 Nov 2007)

What exactly am I doing? I'm always busy, rushed, have no free time. I haven't sat down a drawn a picture, painted, beaded, scrapbooked, nada, in probably a year. Something like that. I know for a fact I haven't done any scrapbooking since before Mira was born. But what exactly am I doing? My house doesn't stay clean. I do cook dinner every night, but it's nothing special. Yesterday evening, for example, I didn't finish writing letters, send thank yous, wash the dishes, or fold laundry. The only thing I accomplished was catching up on the past four days of newspapers, since for some reason or another I haven't had time lately for that either. I feel terribly out-of-the-loop and uninformed when I don't read the newspaper. Gotta keep up with who's getting married, having babies, going to jail, and writing ill-informed letters to the Editor.

Friday November 9, 2007 - 09:26am (PST)

Comments
If you can figure out what you are doing...pass it onto me. Except, um, honey, you have an out of the house JOB that counts for time spent. WTF is my problem? ;)--M
Saturday November 10, 2007 - 08:18am (PST)

Go ahead, laugh at me. (Tue 06 Nov 2007)

Why?
I bought Britney Spears' new CD.Well, no, wait, edit that statement. I didn't 'buy' it, I 'got' it. With a Best Buy Rewards certificate. Yes, I think the girl has lost her mind (if she ever had one to begin with, that is. Hey, that might be the problem. If she never had a brain how could she be expected to behave rationally?). I definitely wouldn't want her to be my mom and I don't want to watch her lip sync or wiggle through a music video. But I'll listen. I do enjoy occasional fluff.

Tuesday November 6, 2007 - 01:11pm (PST)

Comments
And, worse, I like it! Teeheehee. There's one song on it that drives me batty but is also creepily catchy. I seriously feel like slapping her when I hear it though. (It's call "Piece of Me.")
Monday November 12, 2007 - 06:24pm (PST)