Cold

Cold is one of those words with multiple meanings:

• devoid of emotion or resists showing emotion
• an illness
  
• low temperature
• an act of cruelty
• (in Japan) a bad joke

So, when the weather turns from Fall to winter, cold washes over everything, and it is hard to keep from drowning in the gloom of "cold."

When it is cold outside, I enjoy movies like Sweeny Todd more than I would in the warmer months. The warm side of me shrinks to the size of a small ball, and I have to bounce it around with lots of effort to spread the warmth.

So here is a cheers to the hard work of the cold months which remind me to be grateful for the warmth that does exist in my life.

Heartbreak in an hour

Have you ever had a dream that effected you so deeply that you awoke unable to shake the emotions conjured in your sleep? My guess is that most of us have.

However, some of those dreams are so much more vivid or painful than we realize.

Today, while taking a nap with my daughter, I dreamed of falling in love, living a lifetime with that love and losing him. It was not death that caused the loss but a strange disappearance, as dreams so often offer.

I am still feeling the devastating loss of someone who never existed, yet, who spent a lifetime with me. I was not entirely me, either. More like the me I would be in a fiction story. I mourn that loss, as well.

How mysterious is the mind!

Oops

So, I have been making a lot of silly mistakes lately. One day I wore my panties inside out, oops. Another day, I forgot how to turn off the parking lights on my car, oops.

Today, I cleaned my bathroom floor with lotion instead of my cleanser. Similar bottles. Oops.

Adult Child

Tonight, while watching House and preparing lunches for my children, I paused at my reflection in the darkened window. A shock to see an adult woman holding a beer looking back at me. She was thin and her shadowed features were almost beautiful. Unbelievably me.

I am an adult. Strange I am old enough to drink a beer. No matter the long chain of memories: warm blankets thrown over me after having a baby, college graduation, marriage, that first bar night after turning 21 (ugh), boyfriends, travels overseas, etc; I still look at my adult reflection with shock. It honestly crossed my mind, "Am I really old enough to drink a beer?" No matter I was preparing lunch for my two children listening to my three foster dogs chew laboriously on their bones in the home I own. It was the beer and the reflection that felt too old for me.

This week, I found myself absorbed in the book Twilight remembering the feeling of a teen crush, and I longed for that feeling. I was sad to know that some magical vampire hunk would never sweep me off my feet, fall in love with the weird and unique soul that is me. That sad loss of magic has occurred. Or is it a change in my feelings about magic? I see myself as stronger, bolder than I was as a teenager (thanks be to maturity for that), but I also have the same sense of self and longing. The book sent me into a week of feeling depressed. I long for that mystical sense of protection and wild adventure, so absent in my daily life. I still love the romantic vampire stories, and I don't care who knows it. I have come out!

A "bedpan" is the base of a musical box

In 1811, the first music box appeared. I thank the Swiss watchmaker for evolving tick-tock-time into a musical composition, adapting the watcher of passing moments to a world of infinite sound possibilities in a timber unlike any other instrument. Proof that the earthly can become ethereal, but humbly, of course--pocket-sized for starters.

Today, I was a music box (maybe everyday). "A motor under tension," I turned my cylinder around in a blur until all my memorized notes ran together and those unfortunate enough to be listening were left dazed, holding their heads. At risk of a mechanical jamb, but lucky enough to avoid it, the day slowed to a close, and I remembered to wind myself again, a bit gentler this time.

So, I repeat the same cycle; the only song I can really play from my tiny box, but I repeat it differently every time: sometimes faster, slower, on cherry wood, on thick oak, on linoleum, on tin, in large rooms, in the shower, huddled in a dark corner, in the middle of the Grand Canyon, the bottom of the Royal Gorge, under my pillow. And it is good to have that music wherever I go.

A big whine

Today, I wish someone would come scoop the kids up and take them somewhere glorious, letting me have the day completely alone to collect my wits before heading into the busy weeks ahead. I wish I could figure out how to earn money to support my family today, not two years down the line. The collectors are calling, and I have to apologize profusely for not having money. How to juggle children and jobs and school in a tough economy???? To keep our heat on while appeasing the medical billers.

Sometimes the pressure makes enjoying anything the biggest challenge of my life. The sorrows of struggle. My son, age 5, cried on MLK day at school hearing about the struggle for civil rights because he already knows the struggle of poverty in the US.

Done whining now. Thank you.

Another potty entry

A writer acquaintance of mine once said about parenthood, "In the first few years, it is tough. There is a lot of shit. I mean tons of poop."

Oh, how she declared an unspoken truth! I have seen it all, and I am kind enough not to share the not-so-funny moments with you.

However, I do have a funny urine story (leaving the poop for another day) that I was reminded of by dear Molly, who is in the process of potty training the two-year-old.

A few months after I had my smallest child pottying in the toilet, I was extremely proud of having my children out of daytime diapers. Diapers are just not something anyone really enjoys.

However, I soon discovered that someone was peeing in the dog's water dish. It is round and ceramic like a toilet, so I assumed my smallest was thinking the dish was just like a toilet.

One day, when my husband came home from work, he put on his casual shoes at home and exclaimed, "Ack, my shoe is all wet inside!"

My son said that his little sister Emma was peeing in the dishes and the shoes, so I reminded her that pee goes in the toilet.

Well, this was not the end of the mysterious pee in the dog dish and shoes (Dad's only). Until, one day I came upstairs after doing some laundry and there was fresh pee in the dog dish that had been empty. Emma had been in the laundry room with me the entire time. It was her sneaky, lying big brother, passing off guilt on his sister.

Once we had discovered his strange plot, the behavior stopped. However, I was so silly not to assume it was the boy. I mean, he was able to pee in a shoe without spilling a drop (I wish he were that good at the toilet). My daughter certainly would not have been able to aim that well. In addition, we all know about boys marking their territory with non-toilet urination. Sigh....Boys.

Lucky for us, clean dog dishes and dry shoes are a daily thing now :)