I am not "spot on" today, and by this I mean I'm having trouble getting motivated to do Actual Work. This happens, and I know I shall recover and by my uber-useful self within hours. I had better, because I have a lot to do before the end of the work day - at which point I hop into the car and trundle off to BamBam's school for curriculum night and (yay!) the Book Fair.
Last night on the way to bed I opened a notebook and found a chunk of AHTH. Isn't it nice when you find yourself caught up in your own writing? I plan to post that chunk here, hopefully in the next few days.
My heart hurts, I wish I was home. I would let Pebbles cut up apples with a plastic knife, and we would bake them in a pie. I would put something in the slowcooker. I would open the windows and smell the crisp, fall air in my sunny yellow kitchen. I'd play Sorry! with BamBam after school.
But I cannot, and since I can't conjure any interest in rising freight prices or the current cost of RAM or video cards, I'm going to grab a pen and see what comes out of the end of it. There will be consequences, but hey. (shrug) Tomorrow is another day.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Oops
On my answering machine:
"Hello, this is Mr. C, you've done some work on my HP in the past. Anyway, this morning when I turn the thing on it just bleeps at me. I thought I'd get in in to you this morning, please call me back. (number)"
So I called, and I got his voicemail.
"Hello, this is Cindy from Itsy Bitsy Computers. You're welcome to leave your bleeping computer with us...(snrfl)...anytime...(choke)...sorry. The number is 555...(giggle)...see you later, bye. "
"Hello, this is Mr. C, you've done some work on my HP in the past. Anyway, this morning when I turn the thing on it just bleeps at me. I thought I'd get in in to you this morning, please call me back. (number)"
So I called, and I got his voicemail.
"Hello, this is Cindy from Itsy Bitsy Computers. You're welcome to leave your bleeping computer with us...(snrfl)...anytime...(choke)...sorry. The number is 555...(giggle)...see you later, bye. "
Saturday, September 20, 2008
It's the little things
Pebbles is outgrowing her size 18 mos pants. Fair enough, I guess - she's 29 months old.
*
When I was 2, I wanted to be a princess for halloween. My parents were young and broke, and they just wanted to use stuff they had around the house, so they dressed me as a hobo. I cried. They laughed. (They also sucked, but they were 20 and 23 years old. I've forgiven them - mostly.)
Fast forward...OMG...33 years, and I have a two-year-old girl. She's precious. I want to buy her the best damned princess costume you ever did see. But noooooo. Pebbles wants to be a MONSTER. RAHR.
*
When I was 2, I wanted to be a princess for halloween. My parents were young and broke, and they just wanted to use stuff they had around the house, so they dressed me as a hobo. I cried. They laughed. (They also sucked, but they were 20 and 23 years old. I've forgiven them - mostly.)
Fast forward...OMG...33 years, and I have a two-year-old girl. She's precious. I want to buy her the best damned princess costume you ever did see. But noooooo. Pebbles wants to be a MONSTER. RAHR.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Monday, the washing...Tuesday, headcold
Gawd, is it only Tuesday?
I'm sitting here at my desk, and I'm supposed to be checking that the petty cash has exactly $100 in it. However, there are only 2 pennies, and I need three more, and this has brought me to a full stop. I simply cannot cope with a crisis of this magnitude right now.
Periodically, I realize that my mouth is hanging open, so I close it, only to discover that I cannot breathe with my mouth closed.
The Dimetapp expired last year. Is that bad?
Must have picked up a bug from Susan.
Off to check under my car seats for pennies...
I'm sitting here at my desk, and I'm supposed to be checking that the petty cash has exactly $100 in it. However, there are only 2 pennies, and I need three more, and this has brought me to a full stop. I simply cannot cope with a crisis of this magnitude right now.
Periodically, I realize that my mouth is hanging open, so I close it, only to discover that I cannot breathe with my mouth closed.
The Dimetapp expired last year. Is that bad?
Must have picked up a bug from Susan.
Off to check under my car seats for pennies...
Thursday, September 11, 2008
911
"I think you'd better go down and turn on the TV."
I didn't like the sound of his voice, there was an unfamiliar thread in it - something was happening. Something big. Something I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
"Why?" I adjusted the flannel on my shoulder, and reached for the baby. He was two weeks old, sleeping in his carseat on the coffee table. I held him a lot in those days - usually only because I felt like I was supposed to do more than just watch him sleep. In this moment, though, I held him because I needed to.
"Just...just take the phone and go."
I went.
In the darkness of the rec room, just after 10 am in the morning, I stared incomprehendingly at a lot of smoke and the back end of a plane, sticking out of the side of the WTC.
"Oh, my God. Someone crashed." What an incredibly horrible accident.
"Yeah." He was talking, I don't remember what he said.
I shifted the phone and moved toward the sofa when suddenly the camera panned sideways. My postnatal brain took a long moment to understand...this was another plane. A second plane, and it was going to hit the other building. Only that couldn't be.
And then it happened. Right on the screen, in front of me, between one breath and the next, the whole world changed.
After we hung up I sat there in the dark holding my son, tears streaming down my face. I cried for the people who were already dead. I cried for the ones who were dying, for their helplessness and their fear, and for their families. I cried for my son, and my newly minted understanding that I couldn't protect him, not really.
I didn't know then what the outcome would be, and I'm not sure I fully know it now. I don't want to talk about that.
I just wanted to say that I remember.
I didn't like the sound of his voice, there was an unfamiliar thread in it - something was happening. Something big. Something I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
"Why?" I adjusted the flannel on my shoulder, and reached for the baby. He was two weeks old, sleeping in his carseat on the coffee table. I held him a lot in those days - usually only because I felt like I was supposed to do more than just watch him sleep. In this moment, though, I held him because I needed to.
"Just...just take the phone and go."
I went.
In the darkness of the rec room, just after 10 am in the morning, I stared incomprehendingly at a lot of smoke and the back end of a plane, sticking out of the side of the WTC.
"Oh, my God. Someone crashed." What an incredibly horrible accident.
"Yeah." He was talking, I don't remember what he said.
I shifted the phone and moved toward the sofa when suddenly the camera panned sideways. My postnatal brain took a long moment to understand...this was another plane. A second plane, and it was going to hit the other building. Only that couldn't be.
And then it happened. Right on the screen, in front of me, between one breath and the next, the whole world changed.
After we hung up I sat there in the dark holding my son, tears streaming down my face. I cried for the people who were already dead. I cried for the ones who were dying, for their helplessness and their fear, and for their families. I cried for my son, and my newly minted understanding that I couldn't protect him, not really.
I didn't know then what the outcome would be, and I'm not sure I fully know it now. I don't want to talk about that.
I just wanted to say that I remember.
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