Item the first–my aunts and I went to visit my grandpa in the care home yesterday. It was great to see him, and he was very lucid.
That’s the short version.
The long version is that Time is a sadistic mother fucker, and I know when he starts taking strips out of me, I’m gonna be pissed off. Grandpa was a tall man, over 6’2″, and hale–broad of chest, handsome of face (he actually looked a little like a very very young Paul Blackthorne when he was in the military) and absolutely razor quick of mind.
Seeing that strapping body reduced by illness and that razor quick mind caged by his body was heart breaking. But he lit up like a little kid when we gave him ritz crackers and peanut butter (a family favorite food) and chocolate ice cream. My aunt urged him to get in the wheelchair at least once a day–he said, “That contraption is my nemesis.”
I said, “Yeah, grandpa, but heroes get up and fight their nemesis every day.”
Because he’s always been larger than life, you know? He’s survived four plane crashes, two brain tumors, WWII, Korea, four daughters and one son (in the 70’s no less) and I’ll be damned if a wheelchair is going to defeat him.
But I think time has his number, and it makes me sad to the nth degree.
Other than that?
Ladybug is evil.
That’s the short version.
Dad got home and Ladybug had pen on her face, no shirt, and was coloring her brother’s homework with a sharpie while I got her dinner. And that’s par for the course for the little shit. I adore her, but she’s gonna kill me when she hits 15. THAT’S the long version.
The Cave Troll is tired–short version.
He keeps falling asleep early and I can’t figure out if it’s the weather (fucking drought) or the age (he could be growing) or if he has a horrible, painful disease (because it’s my greatest fear and it comes out and chews on my calf muscle at least twice a week per kid) and I’m just too much of a distracted mommy to notice. That’s the long version.
I lost my wallet. That IS the long version, because I think I know where it is, but I don’t want to hope. And if it is where I think it is, I just proved my departments worst fears about my flakiness, and I’ve got no defense. That’s okay, I wrote two books about how linear thinking that doesn’t respect creativity and womanhood is evil. They can look me in the eye and tell me I get paid to teach to the test all they want, but the fact that it is morally wrong and short sighted on society’s part is in print under my name, and I’ll stand by it. Okay, I lied. THAT was the long version. It didn’t help me find my wallet, but I feel better. (Note to inquiring eyes–I have no personal animosity towards the people who are urging me to ‘teach to the test’–but I am pretty upset with that particular focus in education right now, and it’s damned hard to buy in when I’m fundamentally opposed to the product.)
Someone got closer to claiming the socks! Short version.
Andrea read my book and liked it and amazon is up for reviews now! Longer version.
I’m sorry for subjecting you all to my insane insecurities–I really am. A bad review just went up for Wounded, and I took it fairly well (I broke nothing, I promise) and my skin is getting thicker every day. But when you rip yourself open to let your entrails be read like runes, there is a certain fear of pain and rejection… I mean, beauty may be internal, but when you put your internals into the external and they’re rejected? That just hurts. I look for the good reviews so I can deal with the bad reviews without breaking into tears and swearing off writing forever. They give me strength, what can I say? Thanks for putting up w/my insanity though–I truly do appreciate the support. (That version wasn’t just longer–it was hella boring. Subject closed.)
Samurai just opened up a new KAL –and yes, it was my idea. Please don’t send me rotten fruit–send me a single sock instead!!! (Or send one to your matched person–that would probably be best!!!) Seriously–this could be fun–it could end Second Sock Syndrome forever! Visit samuraiknitter.blogspot.com and see what it’s all about!
And that’s not just the short version– that’s the end!