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Things we do...
Wednesday, January 25th, 2006 06:33 amGoodness, it's been a while. I'm just as bad with my ink and paper journal. Except, you'd think with that one, I'd have the ability to hide away to write in it, but nooooo... the Little People find me, no matter where I go hide! "Mom, where's the peanut butter?"
"Have you looked in the cabinet?"
"No. I looked on the counter."
"Do we keep the peanut butter on the counter?"
"Well...no..."
"Where do we keep it?"
".... in the cabinet."
"So...you should look..."
"Um... in the cabinet." Pause. "Mama... what are you doing?"
At this point, I either give one of my ridiculous answers, "Painting my bellybutton blue so I can do the naked hula on the neighbor's trampoline," or, depending on how frustrated I am from trying to find the privacy to scribble in my journal, and how snarly I'm feeling, I might shut it, stand up, and say, "nothing, I am totally available for your search for peanut butter."
With this journal, however, I am stuck in the Burrow (our family room) in full view of both Little People, one of whom cannot read yet, for which I am thankful at times, but that window is narrowing! And then there's that radar in the butt thing. You know, you have kids, and there's this radar in your butt that corresponds to an antenna in their heads. It goes off whenever you sit down, whether it's to talk on the phone, read a book, or just relax and recover. It sends a signal to the corresponding antenna, which immediately alerts the child, "Mom's sitting down! Better go see what's she's doing!" If you're on the phone, this leads to elaborate pantomimes to find out who you are talking to, what are you talking about, and can you possibly get up to (a)turn on the TV, (b)make us a sandwich (Poof! You're a sandwich! They hate that) or (c)I've got this funny lump on my elbow and it makes creaking sounds when I do this, and it's really bothering me, because...oh... that's my joint?
I guess the point I'm trying to make is the Husbandly One, and the kids make writing an adventure for me sometimes. Of course, they also give me good material, too. I'm still trying to work up the nerve to post some of my work here. Don't worry, I'll manage it, it's just... getting used to the idea. I'm not worried about rejection, just... popping onto a favorite fiction sight and finding my own work staring back at me and I never posted it. Okay, Auntie, just breathe, just breathe...
"Have you looked in the cabinet?"
"No. I looked on the counter."
"Do we keep the peanut butter on the counter?"
"Well...no..."
"Where do we keep it?"
".... in the cabinet."
"So...you should look..."
"Um... in the cabinet." Pause. "Mama... what are you doing?"
At this point, I either give one of my ridiculous answers, "Painting my bellybutton blue so I can do the naked hula on the neighbor's trampoline," or, depending on how frustrated I am from trying to find the privacy to scribble in my journal, and how snarly I'm feeling, I might shut it, stand up, and say, "nothing, I am totally available for your search for peanut butter."
With this journal, however, I am stuck in the Burrow (our family room) in full view of both Little People, one of whom cannot read yet, for which I am thankful at times, but that window is narrowing! And then there's that radar in the butt thing. You know, you have kids, and there's this radar in your butt that corresponds to an antenna in their heads. It goes off whenever you sit down, whether it's to talk on the phone, read a book, or just relax and recover. It sends a signal to the corresponding antenna, which immediately alerts the child, "Mom's sitting down! Better go see what's she's doing!" If you're on the phone, this leads to elaborate pantomimes to find out who you are talking to, what are you talking about, and can you possibly get up to (a)turn on the TV, (b)make us a sandwich (Poof! You're a sandwich! They hate that) or (c)I've got this funny lump on my elbow and it makes creaking sounds when I do this, and it's really bothering me, because...oh... that's my joint?
I guess the point I'm trying to make is the Husbandly One, and the kids make writing an adventure for me sometimes. Of course, they also give me good material, too. I'm still trying to work up the nerve to post some of my work here. Don't worry, I'll manage it, it's just... getting used to the idea. I'm not worried about rejection, just... popping onto a favorite fiction sight and finding my own work staring back at me and I never posted it. Okay, Auntie, just breathe, just breathe...
