Thematic Thursdays: Are You Happy With Me?
I ask Hannibal this at least once per week. We check in. This week I emailed it to him, and his response is pasted below. I think I’ll email the question more often. *blush*
Short answer: yes.
Long answer: There are joys with you that cannot be replicated, cannot
be gotten anywhere else, that would not be worth trading for a billion
dollars, the end of life as we know it or any of my other
non-you-related fondest dreams.
Smoothness of your thigh against mine, skies igniting with merest hint
of your smile, the real one with genuine surprise or joy, not the
ridiculous affectation we both use for emphasis. Hook shots your
brain concocts for even the most everyday of conversations, grandmama
quilt security of your support and appreciation. Whisper of your voice
against my chest or neck after kids are tucked in.
Sure, challenges hang between us like natty draperies in
less-than-favorite aunt’s den. Exhaustion makes vocabulary coarse
instead of common, bare third wire desires scalding sleepless
sensitivities, forcing flinches and recoils at awkward moments. Our
matched nihilism manifests in different ways — me dreaming of
rewriting reality one paragraph at a time, yours retreating into
neatly arranged family function.
Payday makes work worthwhile, rewards of you and pint sized
reflections of your grace far outweigh fleeting burdens of bluster,
dropped calls, late night snores.
You are everything, cosmos of possibility held fast to tedious
firmament by history best left dusty, undisturbed. You are aviation,
dream of cloud tops and scraping sky, wings tracing lines to follow
footsteps of chasing toddler or chauffeuring firstborn.
Would you tell me, how could it be any better than this?
Marital Mondays: Giant Fruit
Father’s Day was loopy — for me at least. Our gift to Hannibal was a day to himself to write, sleep, scratch his balls and do whatever men do when they have days to themselves. The problem was that we stayed out Saturday night until 3am at a friend’s housewarming party. Fuss woke up at 5:30am, but we had gone to bed at 4am. Yikes!
Yeah, so I had the girls all day and I was half dead. I took them to Real Food Daily for brunch. Everything there is vegan, and it’s delicious. We were going to have these humongous nachos, but we opted for breakfast foods instead. Fuss ordered hash-browns, Mooch had pancakes, and I ate a waffle with tempeh bacon. While it was good, unfortunately it didn’t help my energy level.
At that point it was Fuss’ nap time, so I wanted to drive enough for her to fall asleep. Since Mooch wanted to go to a mall, we headed to Westside Pavilion. I took the streets, nearly dozing off at every other stop light. When we got to the mall, I fell asleep for ten minutes in the car before Mooch removed Fuss from her car seat and came to open my door. “Mommy, you can get in the stroller and I can push you. Come on.”
I was sleepy enough to actually consider it, but then I thought about how it would look to people at the mall and how I might be convicted when Fuss ran away from Mooch while she was trying to push me in a stroller. Peeling myself from the seat, I removed the keys from the ignition. After loading up the stroller with what felt like eighty bags and a baby, who was not asleep, we headed into the mall. I wandered around aimlessly until we found a toy store, where Mooch could fool around while I pushed Fuss back and forth in the stroller. She finally fell asleep after about an hour of this.
Once she was asleep, I took Mooch to play on the giant fruit in the food court. That chaotic lunacy lasted for about about an hour and a half before Fuss woke up and Mooch got hungry again. I bought them dinner and warned Hannibal that he should leave, because we were headed home. He said he didn’t wake up until 3:30pm!!! What a lucky man! He also noted that he’d be going somewhere to write, then sing (karaoke), then watch Green Lantern, then home. I wanted to see Green Lantern with him, so I objected to that, and he removed it. We’re going later this week.
I travelled home in a fog, stopping to get soy milk for the little one on the way. When we got home, the bath and bed routines for both girls were still ahead of me. Once I was done with Mooch, I collapsed at 8pm. I’m not sure if she tucked me in or I tucked her in. The whole day, I didn’t have a resentful bone in my body, because I know that he would do the same thing for me in a heartbeat.
Marital Mondays: The Photo Shoot
We did a photo shoot recently, so I thought I’d share some of those pics. Also, it’s a holiday so I’m not writing much.
All photography courtesy of Qui 2 Your Heart Photography
Thematic Thursdays: Don’t Put Bottles Inside of Your Myshell Tabu!
The UK has this slogan generator online, and I thought it was cool. You just put in your name and it generates a random slogan. Then it started to get weird. Take a look:
That was cool, so I tired it again.
You’re darn tootin’!
Everybody should have one!
That’s probably not a compliment.
False advertising. Ain’t no softer side. This is it. Take it or leave it.
I’m a little light, but okay. I’ll take it.
I’ll allow it.
That’s some pimp sh@t. I’ll allow it.
Dear Slogan Generator, your cannibalism creeps me out.
Business all in the streets!!!
But I’m a vegan … sometimes.
That’s mean!
Okay that’s just creepy. *shudder*
Dude, WTH?
Who are you calling a hoe?
Stop it!
Ewww.
*Myshell bursts into tears*
P.S. This one was my favorite one:
Marital Mondays: Myshell Goes Bald …
soon.
I’m chopping it off. I’ve wavered. I’ve whimpered. I’ve whined about my hair and its drunken state. I’m ready for a much more low maintenance hair situation. Changing hairstyles every week is fun, but I’m too old for that shit and apparently my hair is, too. Speaking of old, about 10 strands are gray, so … I’ll need a plan for that as well.
Here’s the Twitter conversation that Hannibal and I had while I stood in front of the mirror with his clippers in one hand. He was at the laundromat that night.
I’ve since decided not to do such a drastic cut at first, but I’m pretty sure I’ll end up bald in the long run. My dad, by the way, is going to hate this. He cried when my sister got a short natural. Fun fact: I don’t care. He hated my locs when I had them and I kept them for seven years. I live for me, and I want to rub my big old bald head.
I tried out a few hairstyles in Photoshop. What say you?
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