all before breakfast
A 6-year-old, a 2-year-old, a teeny tiny, a book-in-progress, freelance work, harassing friends with email and facebook and tweets (@haikumama), 1000+ posts to catch up on in the reader, a boob riddled with evil germs… yes, I have plenty to do.
But I can't shake that antsy feeling. So I'm going to start writing fiction on twitter. An authorly test. Can I create a cohesive work of fiction through a few posts a day? Maybe. Do I have a plot figured out? Characters? No and no. Will it be interactive? Don't know yet. It's going to be an exercise in extemporaneous fiction, I guess.
I don't promise to stick with it. I don't promise it will be good. But I do promise to have fun with it.
Want to peek in on the experiment?
he's nursing so great!
it's all awesome la la la!
oh boy, should have known
If you take a tennis ball, coat it in pain, drop it in a tube sock, attach that tube sock to your body, and hit the pain-coated ball in a sock many many times with a baseball bat, then you will sort of know how I feel this morning.
I woke up with a deformed, diseased teat. Well, maybe not diseased, but I wanted you to have the full Ren & Stimpy image of this thing. Flies buzzing around; visible throbbing; sad, glazed, bloodshot eyes helplessly taking it all in…
Holy crap, yo, this boob HURTS. HU-URTS. HUUU-UUURTS. At 12:30 AM, it was fine. At 5 AM, deformity and pain had set in. What? It's like those horrible commercials for Cialis where the announcer cheerfully talks about seeking medical help if your erection lasts for four or more hours. My letdown is lasting for four or more hours. Only nothing is coming out. Just letting down and letting down and hurting and hurting and pretty soon I will have a boob the size and shape of the world's largest bunch of grapes stuffed inside a tube sock. Grapes coated in pain. Forget the tennis ball.
It hurts so bad I am shaking. Not feverish. No chills. But shaky from pain. And when I try to nurse on that side? Well, I'm sure you've heard the screaming. It's a good thing I took those birthing classes seven years ago, so that I could learn how to visualize Hawaii while nursing on my deformed pain-coated grape bunch/tennis ball in sock boob.
It's making me cry and I have a very high tolerance for pain. Innumerable broken toes, a torn ulna collateral ligament, three babies… and this is fucking making me weep with pain.
Ren & Stimpy can have their boob. I want mine back.
scruffy Tim Riggins
and frakked in the head Starbuck
see you guys tonight
217 days it's been. 217 DAYS. And now those frakking fraks and their frakked up search for a frakked up Earth are frakking back!
And so is Tim Riggins.
If 30 Rock was on again tonight, my head would explode.
it's not just a song
highway to the danger zone
Yesterday, the wee one got to disassemble a blender, and work on making a noisy-alarmed treasure chest to protect his important stuff. It was his first Tinkering class! It was also a lesson in knowing your own personal limits (am I scared to try that?) and in testing boundaries that are finally OK to test (it's OK to try that!).
It was a good lesson for me, too, about trying to not be so hyper about letting him out of my sight. I mean, in the car on the way over there, I had the standard chat with him. Be polite, don't interrupt people, call me if something happens, and most importantly, don't be crazy. I ask him to not be crazy a lot. He gets so excited about things that he jabbers at extremely high decibels and runs in circles and crashes into things. I am less worried about him doing this, and more worried about other people yelling at him for doing it. (Getting yelled at by other people really freaked me out when I was a kid.)
But then we got there.
Rope swing, skateboard, kids everywhere laughing and playing and eating dirt and running around. His big eyes boggled. I think I saw them actually shoot out little stars like he'd turned manga for a second. Tinkering class is a place to BE crazy. It's a place to be a kid, to explore and play and loosen up and do things that seem verboten but aren't (hold onto a rope and jump off a platform? Yes! Take apart this DVD player? Yes!) He was thrilled.
I was thrilled, too. Sure, my instinct was to constantly shout things like, "Careful!" and "Watch out!" but then I left so he didn't have to worry about me.
There are these movements now… these "let your kid be a kid" movements. Like Slow Family Living and Free Range Kids and, of course, the original Tinkering School. There's Maker Faire and the Stunt Ranch. It all sounds so wonderful, not just for the kids, but for parents who still want to be kids, too.
I admit I kind of enjoy being a little uptight, though. It balances out my laziness. I mean, really – combine 1 part lazy, 1 part uptight, 1 part worrywart and add a sprinkling of play time and things balance out nicely. At least for me, it makes me feel like a better mom to know I can give a look of consternation at the dirt on the carpet, even though I will probably not do much about it. That's not a judgment on other parenting styles, just me admitting to a hang-up I have. Too much June Clever as a kid?
Anyway, Tinkering class was a hit. I'm so glad the wee one signed up for it. It's going to give him an outlet for his curiosity, and it's going to give me a lot to think about.