Feeding my listing addiction...

• Brother has such snappy eyes. They snap and sparkle and shine. They are such the window to his soul. Unfortunately, they are so captivating that sometimes, when he tells me these long, drawn out stories that really only matter to second grade boys, (Bad mama alert) I never really remember what he says. But I remember the look of his face and his snappy snappy eyes.
• Jelly Bean has a great smile and a great laugh. But, we noticed this weekend, he has wee vampire teeth. Holy Twilight! Also, those things must have hurt like a sumbitch coming through. No wonder he was so testy, oh, a million years ago. Mayhap I should have paid more attention?
• Brother got a special award for good behavior last Friday and his picture was taken to be in the paper. So, I called the school to find out when it would be in the paper. They don't know. GAH. So, I am supposed to just buy a paper that I won't read everyday until I find it? Unhelpful.
• Jelly Bean is such a little reader. Don't you just love how two-year-0lds want to hear the same story over and over and over and over and...*Ahem* You get the point. But he does love books. I got the kids a couple new books from the library discards at Brother's school. It is fun having new stuff to read that was only a quarter.
• "Why, Miss Librarian, don't you have new stuff to read alllll the time?" Because I have a library fine I haven't paid yet. Shutup.
• I have the best husband in the world. Y'all. Really. He is so cute and helpful and funny and has this amazing heart of gold. He tries so hard and I just never give him enough credit. He cleans the yard and mows the lawn. He changes diapers and never fusses when the baby busts in on him when he is taking a rare nap. (Me? I yell and tell him to lock the damn door on his way out of rescuing the littles from the fire-breathing mama.) I mean, sure. Deep deep down somewhere underneath the pot o' gold, he has a fault or two. But they are nothing compared to the fault cesspool of nastiness I claim as my own.
• We made these over the weekend. I find them quite amazing because when you make them and put them into pans, they look like giant misshapen doughy balls and you think inside your head that there is no way they are going to come out at all like they do for her, with their spirally gorgeousness...and magically, they do! Wow. The wonders of a magical oven, or recipe...or something. And they are so so good really. But. I ate way too many. And now I never ever ever want to see another cinnamon roll ever ever again in my whole entire life. Ever. Even if it is magical. Bleach. Gag. Pppttttfftt. Gross.

Broken-Winged Bird

Yesterday I had a depression jag a la 'hurting my own feelings', i.e. getting upset about something I can't control without any precipitating event.

Well, there was kind of a precipitating event. My children's smiles. Last night I was putting away dinner and Brother was doing homework and he was telling me this story about school. I have no clue what it was about, but I remember he thought it was hilarious. I can see in my mind's eye how his face lit up when he came to the punch line. I can hear him trying to finish while choking back the laughter. I can see the moment the humor hit him like a tidal wave of sunshine blossoming out of him in belly laughs. I remember not seeing the humor in the joke, but reveling in the beautiful expression on his face.

And then later, we were all sitting on the floor in Jelly Bean's room while Brother was reading his textbook aloud to us. And Honey was tickling a little teeny Bean, who was wearing some bloomer type shorts over his diaper and nothing else. I can see his small pale body scamper away from Honey, chortling all the way. I can see the pure joy in his grin as he scoots just a little closer to Honey, hoping for another tickle.

These kids are just so precious. And I miss it. All day long, every day. I miss it. Someone else looks at their grins and hears them laugh. My memory is so poor. I feel like the past few years have flown by so quickly and all I can remember is past work projects or conferences or research. I can't remember my kids.

So, after the homework gets done, the stories are read, and the kids are tucked into their respective beds, I have my fit of melancholy. It seems I do fine most of the time as long as I am distracted. I focus on work or school or Brother's school or helping Jelly Bean's daycare decorate for Halloween. I think about dieting and exercising or some other navel gazing activity. I read book upon book to escape. But in the end, the wounds are still there. There might be a bandage over the surface, but they have not healed. They are still as raw and festering as they ever were. I just don't know how to give up this dream.

The Early Bird Bakes Cookies

So, my birthday is coming up and a series of events coupled with Honey's inability to not give me a gift once he has actually purchased it means I have gotten all of my loot.

Firstly, there were some hair clips in pink and black. Which I like. I like hair doo-dads.

Secondly, there were a pair of dainty pearl earrings. I have a thing for pearls. I read once that they were for tears, which sounds lovely because they can be for tears of joy as well as tears of sorrow. But then, I remember that tears are really watery snot. Kinda ruins that. Oh, well. Still like the earrings.

Finally, the Grande Dame, Piece de Resistance,


So, I made some cookies. And pancakes were mixed. But tell me, what do YOU do with this thing? I feel like I am underestimating its capabilities because from the way some folks talk about this thing, it should make me be able to fly. Or be invisible. Or clean my house. Or something.