Smile, you're on Candid Camera!

My daughter spent a little time in the basement with her daddy. He's been disassembling the transmission to our vintage VW Bug and she got a spot of transmission fluid on her finger. This is the snapshot that followed. :0)

So while she spends "quality" time with her daddy taking walks, painting, and flipping the bird, I have been reading. I am almost done with the third book in three days. They are all dismal with very little sunshine, but I feel almost like I did when I was little. Like I can't put the books down. I love that feeling.

Night all
Heather

Shed this outer layer and be free

My wish for my next life


If it is possible to have a next life, I wish to come back as something very flexible. Can I come back as wind? No obstacle would stand in my path; I would simply blow around it. How about a ribbon on the end of a child’s stick? I could fly through the air gracefully at the whim of a little one. I wouldn’t mind being clothes hung out to dry. The breeze and the sun on me as I bask in and absorb it all. Water, I could be water, with its fluid movement and the ability to wear down anything in my path given enough time.

Tonight I will dream I am these things. Tonight I will peek into a world with no restrictions, no limitations. Tonight, I fly, I bend, I flow!

Crying over spilled milk

I called birth to three about my daughters speech progress. I was making sure I was doing all I could to get our communication to it's highest level. The other day I was teasing her in the kitchen and telling her to give me "my" spoon. She kept saying 'mine' and then, apparently fed up, shook her head, placed the spoon behind her and said:

Don't take my poon.

Going to sleep last night she rolled over and said (while holding her chin),"MMMmmm, Lesseee."

I think she's coming along.

My son played at his friends house all day. He cried and hid when I came to get him. I even tried to bribe him with McD's. He said, " I wanna go to Toys R Us". Little shit.

So with Fazoli's and McD's in hand, I returned home.

I parceled out food while on the phone with my father-in-law. This entails trying to listen over the squeals and background noise of the poopers. I try to block it out. But the noise that prompted an end to our conversation was a pouring sort of sound. I looked all over the table, nothing. UNDER the table were the entire contents of a McD's regular milk jug.

I AM TIRED. But sleep comes less than two hours from now.

Night all.
Heather

Things Done Wrong Lately

No posts for days.

I labeled all the original Valentine's for the youngest boy with the name's of the recipients in the FROM box.

I bought a purse with Tinkerbell on it. Aurelia has confiscated it.

I bought a wallet to go with the purse. It turned out to be a cigarette case. (Lesson learned: don't shop with a two year old.)

A total lack of checking with truly loved family members.

There are a few things I may have done correctly:

I rebought AND relabeled Valentine's for the boy. He seemed to prefer the newer ones.

CASA volunteering.

Telling the kids I love them EVERYDAY.

Making time for myself.

And there are some decisions that remain to be categorized:

The decision to forego standard dress and try out custom made Indian (East, not Native American) attire. Something tame and modest. And not wedgie-riffic.

Deciding I think a hysterectomy is the most all encompassing solution to my simply annoying female issues.

Thoughts?
Heather

My dad's girlfriend

This is the picture my dad would pull out of his wallet. He would tell all the kids it was his girlfriend just to watch them scrunch their faces. It is actually a picture compiled of different peoples facial features. Notice the eyes are different. Anyway, this picture scared the hell out of me. But my dad was like that.

He hired my aunt to sniff the farts out of the seats of his car when she was little. He used to fart in church and say loudly "Oh Faye!" which never failed to mortify my mother. He is the worlds most notorious pull my finger man. But he came by it honestly.

My grandfather, my dad's father, would tell us we were Shinn kids. (This was an insult mixed occasionally with being a Myers (my mom's maiden name), a Wiseman, or a Bishop.) If we got hurt playing, he would furrow his brow and ask why we had hurt his buddy. But most unforgettable to me was EVERY Saturday night. I always spent Saturday night at their house. My brother had Fridays. Hee Haw was a Saturday night staple and there was a woman who wore rag curlers and a tattered moo-moo. My grandpa would always say my mom had dropped me off at their house to go to work (as the Hee- Haw woman). Now I knew he was pulling my leg, but my brother would get fired up!

Apparently, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I say things to my children (and other people's children) that are clearly in jest. But today my daughter was being evaluated by birth to three. The lady was showing some pictures and getting her to say the names of the pictures. Most responses were some unintelligible generic word and a few clear ones thrown in. Then I heard Aurelia say very clearly and quicly MOMMY. She wasn't looking at a woman's picture. It was a picture of ..............

a clown. That's my girl.

Heather

I think I need a shower

I have been exploring some ways to get a better nights sleep. We replaced the girl's single bed with a queen size mattress (plenty of room for mommy's fat arse.) I have been taking my medication like a good girl. And then I decided to go to the chiropractor. I asked my doctor for a suggestion, alas that one was not in my insurance network. So left to my own devices, I consulted the all knowing phone book.

No X-rays were taken, no real cracking took place. This doctor is a fan of the pretzel adjustment that I despise. She also pulled my ears to check my sinus something or other and knucklerubbed my clavicle. A little odd. Not to mention that her lipstick was noticeably outside the lines of her lips. By a lot.

From her "adjustment room" I was moved to a "massage room". Bobby was the man of the day in his convict scrubs and black steel toed boots. The room was ice cold and Bobby had the unsteady aura in his hands of teenage virgin. I came away smelling like massage lotion and feeling a little soiled. Let's be clear, I love massage therapy. I am totally for chiropractic care, but I am certain that there must be a standard to follow.

And after Friday's surprise vaginal ultrasound I am just a little too violated for any further strangeness.

Heather

Books rock

When I was a little girl, I loved to read. I loved to read in a way that was a little abnormal. No matter where I was, who was there, what was going on I would rather be reading. I didn't read a single type of book. I read anything that I could get my grubby paws on. Many books were beyond me, but I read them anyway. Some would have been snatched from my curious little grip if my mom had found them. Others were an introduction to what the world is really like outside of your comfortable home. One of my early favorites was a book called One Child by Torey Hayden. It was part of a collection of Reader's Digest condensed books at my grandmothers. Even this book was a little sugar coated. A little girl named Sheila was badly abused and in need of special education. Torey was a teacher in special education at that time. One part of the book describes how they read the book The Little Prince byAntoine de Saint Exupery. The taming of the fox was related to the taming of Sheila. I had never read the book, but it seemed a fitting tale.

Fast forward to this past week.

I have been reading a book to Daniel at bedtime. A few chapters a night. It's called The Little Prince. It didn't down on my feeble mind that this was THE book.
Last night we read the chapters that included the taming of the fox. I almost cried.

As I was reading, Daniel said, "Remember his volcanoes. They only come up to his knees." And they tell me he needs to work on comprehension. Pshaw. He needs to love what he is comprehending and he loves mommy time.

Since books work in circles for me, I have now reserved all of Torey Haydens books available through the library here. I plan to have Cory read them. It may also revisit that piece of me that has always wanted to get in the dogfight for kids.

Books used to be like Thanksgiving for me. I would just keep piling it in and never be full. I miss that feeling.

Night all.
Heather