Random Thoughts on my lunch break July 21, 2006

• You know it’s going to be a long day when you wake up with a Richard Marx’s song stuck in your head.
• A comment that I overheard on my way to work: “A woman alone in a store with all those strange men? You have got to whip out some wicked fierce nunchucks in that situation!” What sort of life does one lead where a comment like that even needs to exist?
• I wish they could invent a smoothie that includes bannanas that doesn’t taste like ass. Is it fake banana flavor? Old banana flavor? I’m not sure, but I just have to choke it down. *shiver*
• I am at the point in my geographical widowhood where men are looking pretty fine. I had a dream that I wanted to date David Spade (whaaaa????). He was totally into it, but we couldn’t get out of the pool. That’s pretty damn scary, people. Not that men don’t look fine most of the time…it’s just that I’m a very contented, beloved wife. I just don’t pay attention, because I’m not looking. I realized today: I’m paying attention.
• I don’t love Target like I used to. I used to easily spend HOURS browsing. I don’t know if Target has changed, or if I have, but I’m rarely in the mood to wander. I go it, get what I need, and get out. It makes me a little sad.
• Why is work always so much better when the boss is on vacation?

Ow-wow! July 20, 2006

OK. The first day SUCKED. The second day was kind of fun, because I thought, “Whoo-hoo! Look at me! I can take a bath and sip some wine without being harssed by a toddler!” The third day was a little less fun, because until I got to work I had no one to talk to. This morning, I woke up missing M something fierce. I miss the way our scents mingle while we sleep,  so that when we wake up there’s a trace of Beege on him and a trace of M on me. I miss curling my body into his when I’m just on the verge of waking up, so that every day begins with me in his arms. Shit. I even miss his snoring.

And I miss hearing Linnea’s voice call my name, or her little hands holding onto me, or even the way she tries to get out of trouble by insisting her misbehavior is funny (“It’s funny, Mama! See? HA!HA!HA!”).  I miss looking into her big blue eyes, and being silly with her, and I miss her bringing me her blankie and BabySister Monkey and insisting, “Snuggle me up, Mama!” when she wants to cuddle. I miss prayers every night that end in us singing the “Ice Cream Cone” song together before hugs, smooches, and eskimo kisses.

But it sounds like they’re having a great time–Linnea’s cousins (one 14 months older than Linnea, one six weeks younger) are both potty trained and have apparently taken it upon themselves to get Nea trained up good and proper. M said they’ve spent the bulk of their visit in their swimsuits playing the the pool together, when they’re not forcing their grandfather to read “Once Upon A Potty” several times a day.

They’ll be home soon (thank God!). Until then, I’ve got a whole legion of people who are going to hang out with me–we’ll knit, or watch movies, or go out to dinner, and almost always drink wine. It won’t be a horrible time, but sweet fancy Moses: I’ll be so happy when I see them get off that plane! 🙂

Travel down the road and back again… July 17, 2006

I saw a little piece of schnutz in a gift shop one day. The quote on it said something to the effect of, “A true friend is someone who know the music of your soul, and can sing it back to you when you’ve forgotten the words” I liked the sentiment, but left the little tchotchke there.

Today I put M and L on a plane to Texas for several days. When I got back from the airport, there was an email from my friend Pam. Just three words, “How are you?” To which I replied, “Craptacular. I just put my heart on a plane and sent it to Texas. I feel like I’m walking around with all my guts spilling out, but everyone is just too polite to say anything about it.” And Pammy’s response was to say, “I’m taking you to dinner. Someplace nice.” It was her way of saying, “Slap on a little lipstick. You’ll be fine.”

She took me to this fabulous little quiet restaurant and treated me to a very expensive four course meal. Ordered me goblets of incredible wine. And for hours we talked and talked and talked. And we laughed and we cried and we swore and we rolled our eyes and we shared our heartaches and our joys. Pam is such an amazing woman. She’s in her 60’s, and was my boss for a time. And we’ve just always gotten along–our lives just flowed together like water. She has never once crossed that line between being a friend and being maternal–even when I probably would have welcomed it, she didn’t do it. She is just one of the rare people I can totally be myself around, no holds barred, no thought or comment weighed for the hearer’s reaction. I just puke it all out and she just listens. And vice versa.

So as we were talking tonight, I just got to thinking about how amazing true friendship is. How reliable and rock-solid it is. How Pammy knew I would be floundering without my beloved ones, and so took me under her wing, gave me good food and good wine until I remembered that life will go on–even without the daily presence of the two I love more than life itself. How she didn’t take me out because she wanted good conversation, or a good laugh, but simply because I was hurting and she wanted to help. And I realized how rare that level of love and devotion are in my life, and how freaking lucky I am to have her.

So thanks, Pammy, for singing to me tonight.

Goodnight Nobody, Goodnight Mush July 16, 2006

Hi. I’m Beege. I’ve just wandered over from Blogspot…I like it here, better–nicer templates, for starters.

I’m the insanely proud mother of a tiny girl who is about to turn two-and-a-half. She is my Mini-Me. Except where she’s her father’s Mini-Him. She’s a good blend of both of us, I think.

I spend quite a lot of time reading books to her. Or rather, I spend quite a lot of time reading a few select books to her. Right now her favorites are anything that causes me to cast my face up to the heavens and sob, “No. Can’t we read something else? Please?! We read that all the ti-i-i-i-i-ime! To which my angelic fiend will plant her heels, put her hands on her hips and say, “We don’t listen to whining in this house. Read the book.”  It’s hell having your words parroted back to you, people. Hell, I say.

She’s also wicked smart. Talks like a four year old. They want to move her up a year in preschool because she’s so advanced. I have deeply mixed feelings on this. I’m sure I’ll share more in the coming days as I write through what exactly I think about that idea. As it is, my Beloved M is forbidden to mention anything of this to his mother. If she knew about it, all her wacky-ass over-acheiving insanity that made M’s growing up a living hell would be unleashed on Sweetie Pea. I can’t protect my baby from much, but I can protect her from that.

And, I suppose, if the only thing I protect her from in her life is the insanity of her relatives I won’t be doing half bad!