The ghost of front bottom left incisor

Oh, little tooth. You were the first one up and so you are the first one out. You will be missed. I’m sure your adult counterpart will be a worthy substitution, but your vacancy will be ever-present in our hearts and our minds forever. Rest in peace, wherever you may lay.

I think she finally got sick of me asking if I could wiggle her tooth for her, so she just pulled it out herself. She says it just popped out, literally hurling itself from her mouth into her hand several inches below while she was in another room, but I think she just yanked it out to get it over with.


I’m sick and tired of these freeloaders hosing off us. No job, they don’t pay rent, their food is served to them and their clothes are washed and folded. Heck, they don’t even BATHE themselves. Sweet life, huh? They literally have to do nothing to earn their keep but be cute every once in a while, and even that’s not mandatory. I’m insanely jealous. They fight with each other, they just chuck their dirty underwear wherever they see fit, and they whine an awful lot. Sure, they’ve got a lot going for them – they can be sweet, they make me laugh, and they make for a great excuse to watch G rated digital animation – but that can only take them so far.

There comes a time in every child’s life when they have to start earning their keep. For my kids, that time is now. They now must do chores, or face the consequences (no reward at the end of the week and a look of grave disappointment from their mother). Dun dun duuuuun.

A complaint, some gold, a rant

I’m that sort of tired where your eyes burn and the skin and muscles and blood in the area surrounding your eyes also burns and you feel like if you don’t go to sleep RIGHT NOW your eyes just might burst into unholy flames then and there and that might just be a sweet relief because surely you’d pass out from the pain and any sort of unconscious is sleep enough.

But it’s not from lack of trying because I’m going to bed at a reasonable hour and waking at my usual alarm-driven hour. My nights have been fitful and restless, which is part of the trouble, but it is the days that have run me down. Work has been busy. I don’t talk about work here because I like being employed, but if I remain vague enough, I think I could safely say that I am exhausted and it is because work has been busy, for a variety of reasons.

It puts the lotion on it’s skin

Alright, I have a confession. I have no idea how to take care of my skin.

::watches all the men turn and run out the door::


Anyway, I don’t. I’m 32 years old and I wash my face with what I assume is meant for teenagers. That is, when I haven’t run out and just use whatever’s in the shower that will foam. Bar soap, liquid soap. I’ve been known to use shampoo on occasion. It’s the worst when I’ve run out of facial cleanser (that’s fancy grown up lady-person talk for face soap) AND I’ve run out of my regular soap and I have to use AH’s soap, so I spend the rest of the day smelling like I rubbed my face in a man’s armpit. A fresh, clean armpit, but a manly armpit, nonetheless.

A feel sorry for myself kind of day

A coworker told me yesterday, in one of those moments that required wisdom, that we should never beat ourselves up about a mistake. Everyone makes them, even those don’t who want to admit it. Chances are, whatever mistake you’ve made can be corrected. It’s just a matter of sacking up and fixing it.

I’ve felt lately like all I’ve done is make mistakes. Poor decisions, inappropriate reactions, and mistakes. I’ve been going too fast or too slow or not at all, backward when I should have gone forward, looked down when I should have kept my head up, lost in my own thoughts when I should have been listening, yelling instead of speaking. I’ve been angry, just angry, and I have no idea why.

People stuff

I asked the Internet if they preferred an excerpt or a full post in their feed reader and the overwhelming majority said full post. So that’s cool. I just switched it because I’m pretty sure that’s probably why my stats and comments are down. If I were one to pay close attention to those things. Which I’m not.

I mean, I LOVE comments and I certainly don’t mind days that prove fruitful, hit-wise, it just isn’t something I bother myself with so much that I ever do much about. So I switched to full post and I expect a dramatic rise in pageviews and comments because whatever the Internet says, I believe. And if that doesn’t happen, my advertisers will be greatly disappointed.

You know what I’ve been thinking about? Besides people stuff? Actually, this IS people stuff, so I guess that’s the answer. People stuff. Specifically, babies should be ugly. There are too many people in the world, right? Probably because babies are cute.


Christmas, AMIRITE? It came, it went, and I forgot to take any pictures to prove it happened at all. I toted my camera everywhere I went and kept forgetting to actually use it. We have the photographs in our minds that show we were actually here and there, smiling and having a wonderful time. We have the gifts we received and the extra weight from festive chocolates and several turkey dinners as evidence of the last few days, and yet my camera card has but a few carefully staged shots taken as an after-thought.


I think I have noise anxiety. I Googled “sensitive to noise” and followed the rabbit hole and landed on noise anxiety and now I think I have it.

When I come home, especially after a particularly busy or stressful day at work, I’m a beast. I’ll admit it. Not always and I certainly don’t intend to be, but I am. And while blaming something or someone else for my mood and behaviour is sort of lame, I’m pretty certain I can pinpoint the volume of my house in the evenings.


Before Christmas and birthdays, we do one-in-one-out with the toys and books. I’m very strict about this and go a little nutbar about it, where the one-in-one-out becomes one-in-ALL-OF-THE-THINGS-out. Every toy they don’t play with, every toy that’s been broken, every toy that found it’s way into our house by way of Happy Meals. Ripped books, baby books, books we’ve read to death. Everything Must Go!


When they cross the threshold of some places, their mind shuts off and whatever nibbling of a demon that lies in wait within every child takes control. There is no longer a difference between indoor and outdoor voices; there is only CAPS LOCK. There is no longer walking or standing or sitting; there is only running, full-tilt. There is no longer patience and courtesy and manners; there is only chaos.

On a good day, they have pure, unadulterated energy coursing through their veins, urging them to maintain constant movement. Their bodies are perpetual motion machines, fueled by oxygen and chocolate milk and fishie crackers. On a good day. When they cross the threshold of some places, they become pint-sized nuclear warheads, detonated upon entry.