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So, my kid wrote a thing & it’s pretty darned cute

So, my kid wrote a thing & it’s pretty darned cute

BoogerMonkey’s in the first grade this year. His homework every week includes a writing prompt. This week’s prompt was to write a “trickster tale,” like the ones they’ve been reading in class. This is his story, about Mouser. I’m not sure it’s done, but it’s due tomorrow, so I’m calling it done. All spelling & such has been preserved.

It was early in the morning when when Mouser was geting up. He greeted the morning with his hi pitched sqeaking. Sqeak! sqeak! Mouser woke all the animals, even the non noctinal aninamals. “Be quiet Mouser!” they said. You’re waking us all up!” they would say. But one day, when no one was was was awake an od figure took a bite of the sun! When Mouser woke up first he looked up at the sky. A bite was taken out of the sun! But he greeted it any way. When the other animals woke up they were horefied by what the sun Wolf had done. What happend to the sun?!! Mouser tricked the monkys that there was a lot of bannanas at his hole. The monkys looked and looked for the bannanas but there were no bannas! When the monkys got back home their bannanas were gone! Mouser had eaten all of their bannanas! The next day, the Sun wolf came by again and took a huge bite again! When the others woke up they said, our Sun! All except Mouser. Mouser just laghed laghed. “Please help us Mouser they said. “Okay,” Mouser said I’ll see what I can do.

Allow me to wallow a bit, ‘kay?

Allow me to wallow a bit, ‘kay?

This may come as a surprise, but I really don’t think of myself as all that hotshit. I know I’m smart, that can be independently verified. But physically, I have a really really hard time thinking of myself as anything more than average at best. It’s only been recently that I can look in the mirror and honestly think I look good that particular day. I still have a hard time with photos. I look at them and can pick out every flaw, every bit that isn’t quite right. It’s all I see when I see photos of myself. The hair out of place, the glasses slipped down my nose, the zit on my chin, the roll on my belly because I’m slouching, the skin so pale I’m reflective in sunlight. The giant moles here there and everywhere. I’m the one using the camera, not the one in front of it, not usually. If I let you take pictures of me, it means I trust you completely. I trust that you will delete and/or destroy any images of me that are unflattering, images that show me in anything other than the best light.

That said…

A few weeks ago, I went to karaoke.

I was drunk.

I don’t sing, especially not in public, but as I was getting ready to leave, hoping against hope that my card had been lost, the hostess called my name. And I got up there and I flatly belted a horrible song, and left. And cried in the car.

Did I mention I was drunk?

So then, a few days ago, Mr. Serious gets an e-mail from the editor of a paper, who happens to be his friend. My picture made the story, can she have my name? NO ABSOLUTELY NOT. MAYBE IF YOU TELL HER IT’S PENNY LANE. OR ANNA BELLE. He calls me a wuss. “If you’re going to do something, do it all the way.” Uh, how about NO.

I’d rather not commemorate, publicly, one of the most embarrassing moments of my adult life, kthxbai.

They ran the picture anyway, sans name, which is sloppy journalism, if you ask me.

They. Ran. The. Picture. Anyway.

The completely unflattering (could I slouch more? And what the Hell is up with my hair? And I’m wearing the nice bra, why are my boobs sagging so much? And good lord why did they use the one with my lips pursed like that?) commemoration of the most mortifying thing I’ve done in years is on the fucking internet.

To top it off, the folds in my pants make it look like I have a boner.

And no, I won’t link you to it.

Dear journalists:

FUCK OFF.

No love,

Me

mothers don’t have time to be sick

mothers don’t have time to be sick

but I am anyway.  Likely won’t make it to the Yarn Harlot reading tomorrow night, unless this is a short-term bug.  Went to a potluck last night with the Seattle Attachment Parents group & Boogermonkey peed his pants by accident.  He’s never done that before, not since he started peeing on his own accord in August, so I didn’t have any pants for him.  Leah, who hosted the potluck, totally made me cry.  I’d asked her if we could borrow some pants & she not only gave Booger some cute (hand sewn?) pants, but 4 pairs of hand-knit socks her son had outgrown, because she knows I’m a knitter & I’d appreciate them.  After the week I’d had (PPD has settled in for a short stay again), I was totally verklempt.  Between the fish oil supplements, the B-complex, extra sunshine, & little  acts of kindness like that, I think I’m going to be okay.

If moving doesn’t kill me first.  Oh yeah, you didn’t know?  Llamaface got transferred to the Lloyd Center store after talking with his boss about how much he misses living near his family.  So sooner rather than later, we’re going to move to Portland.

The pope flies coach

The pope flies coach

So I got all excited about being able to blog again, and we had to leave town in a hurry for a stay in Portland. Llamaface’s stepdad, his mom’s second ex-husband and father to his three siblings, was hospitalized Thursday night with a massive brain bleed. He didn’t survive it. Mucho drama ensued, including a fight over organ donation (they finally consented), personal possessions (we got the fish, much to my dismay), and money (he had no will & the family can’t/won’t pay for funeral & medical expenses so his estate, such as it is, will be covering costs & that’s pissing off the youngest sister). We got back into Seattle late Tuesday and that brings us to today.

The pirates were tossed out of the water…

The pirates were tossed out of the water…

Ugh. Internet went Kablooey soon after Bumblebee was born. Basically, the people from whom we’d been pirating interwebz moved out of the building. I’ve been relegated to Llamaface’s computer, using his cell phone as a modem, ever since. Today I’m back on the MacBook (just typo’d MacBoob, haha), using his cell phone & a bluetooth transmitter as a modem that drops signal every minute or so. Supposedly, our DSL modem will arrive today and I’ll finally be able to make a real post, but for now I leave you with this update, to let you know that we’re all still alive and pictures will come soon, promise.

“Chemical analysis of incense reveals that it contains mind-altering steroids.”*

“Chemical analysis of incense reveals that it contains mind-altering steroids.”*

Classes start tomorrow, and for once I’ve actually done all the assigned reading for class. We’ll see how long this continues.

I need to go through another book that I bought for the close-to-the-vest project, because that’s directly related to the master’s project and I need to see what additional questions I might want to answer in the master’s project. I’m going to print out what I have tonight and give it to my adviser tomorrow because she’s my SLR&MM professor. OOOOOR I just checked blackboard. Class is not Tues/Thurs 2-4, it’s M/W 4-5:20. I’m an asshole. *breaks into Dennis Leary* e-mail has been sent to my professor, iCal has been changed, additional reading assignments duly noted. Ugh.

I have this nightmare every every term that I don’t show up for class, or I show up to the wrong class for weeks on end until it’s too late to change my schedule. This term, I didn’t have that nightmare and look what happened. *sigh* time to work harder, I guess.

Got one swatch for Interweave done today, though. I’m going to do two, one in the colorway I already used and one in the fire colorway. Fire swatch is done, wildflowers will be done tonight while watching Heroes. Block tonight, mail this week. Yay!


*Footnote in A Natural History of Love, which I’m reading for Sex, Love, Romance, and Mass Media