First let me assure my readers that the mouth that kisses my daughter does not spew forth words commonly found in the gutter. I’m more of a literary curser. But this is all I had to say this morning when I; me, and not the three year old did this: I turned on the faucet in the bathtub to soak a blanket and went out for a walk with Emm to return to a nice flood in the bathroom and kitchen. After figuring out how I was going to get rid of this water…thanks to my handy little rag mop and pail with the squeezie thing…and after Emm spent the entire time sloshing around the floor in her little green crocs exclaiming “too many water, mommy!”, I’m here, a good thirty minutes later, lamenting the thread of recurrent absentmindness that trickles through my existence. Yeah, this isn’t really all that unusual in my little life. I can handle the big stuff, but day to day stuff, well, my mind takes a wander off to some new brilliant idea and something like the bathtub incident usually happens in the mean time.

Which is why I didn’t drive for a good ten years. And this is why, when I turned 40, it was a cause celebre of ecstatic welcoming instead of the day in the dark that was C.’s birthday when he turned 40 almost exactly six months after me. I’d always figured that one of these days, some booboo of mine was going to cost me more than a ruined rug or a scorched pot.


Speaking of birthdays, it is dear Mom’s birthday this week. We will celebrate when she comes to visit Pentyne Labor day weekend. I never know what to get her. I mean, there is little better that I could do in life for her than present her with a brown eyed grandchild. I usually get her something baseball related. We both love baseball. Though she likes to whoop and holler at the tv while I sit zen-like and plot strategy. Unless I’m at the stadium with my binoculars checking out the player’s hot bods.  We  also both like old things, and she’s very generous with the booty she collects at all of the auctions and tag sales she frequents. There’s always a goody bag full of nifties, usually vintage, when she comes to visit. She likes to see what i come up with using the stuff she presents me with.

I look the most like her. We used to share the same hot temper, until I settled down somewhere along the way. Unlike me, she is outgoing and friendly, where I am reserved and polite until I decide I’m comfortable with you, if I am. Once, when I was late as usual to school during my senior year, we were walking down main street. Her shoe was untied, and as she had a very bad back, I tied it for her. Well, a nice woman came along and struck up a conversation with my mom as I was tying her shoe. And though she’d never met this woman before in her life, five minutes later, my mom invited her to breakfast, where they went while I snuck into the art room to hang out until I’d officially sign in at around lunchtime. Her daughter will never invite strangers to breakfast with her, though she most likely will buy them a coffee and a bagel if they look hungry and without a home.


Trying to get more accomplished during this quiet week. You know, like finish my website, my swap project, tinker with the sewing machine, and tidy up my work area. As much as I bitch about cleaning, I really can’t function in disorder and untidiness after a certain point.


If you like pretty patterns, and papergoods and things like that, check
Print & Pattern out. Pretty. Great colors.


0 Responses to “fuck!”

  1. Leave a Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

August 2006
« Jul   Sep »


%d bloggers like this: