At work, but not for long.

I'm leaving early so I can find a doc to take a quick look at Eowyn's legs. I hopped her up on motrin last night and was rewarded with her coming downstairs saying, "Look, Mom. I popped them. All this gross stuff came out."

And so it had. I cleaned her up. Ew. But actually this morning they were looking much better, and she was walking again, so that's good. She actually asked me why we hadn't popped them earlier, and I had to remind her that they were so swollen and sore that she cried if we wiped them down with antibiotics, so "popping" wasn't going to happen.

No more fever, the swelling is down, but they're still big and red and angry and puss-filled. Puss-y. Not pussy, like I first typed that, lol.

Had a fight with John yesterday (by fight I mean he looked his usual underwhelmed to see me, I hollered that I wasn't staing because I just wanted to get the kids home, he couldn't hear me because his music was on... blah blah blah), because I was burnt and premenstrual and I took off on him again and cried in the car all the way home. He called almost as soon as I got there, we yelled at each other, laughed at each other... but I wasn't going anywhere because Steve was at my place, cheering me up.

With a friend.

That... that was fairly epic, and I was fairly cheered up, I tell you.

The grossest thing ever.

Is an infected mosquito bite. Or rather, whatever the hell bite it is on Eowyn's leg that is infected. It's awful.

Yesterday morning Eowyn woke up telling me all about her bug bite. It was a bit more inflamed than one might usually see, and by "telling" I mean howling and crying. She's good with pain, terrible with discomfort, go figure. So I gave her some antihistamines and some motrin and she went on her trip to Upper Canada Village with the rest of the family. After work I went and picked up Heather, and then we diddled about killing time and eating ice cream until we could go pick Steve up.

I must say I was fairly impressed - I got two messages from the crew at the Cabbage regarding our tardiness, but none intimated that I must have forgotten or fucked something up. Just a "Just checking to see if you're over there ... we're holding dinner for ya!".

So Steve finished up his day's work and then we all drove over to The Cabbage - where we discovered that Eowyn's leg was mighty messed up. She had a fever, the leg was swollen and red. She couldn't walk on it, and they told me earlier in the day the center of it had been GREEN. Oh hork. Gak. But Mom and Laure had started up a regimen of tylenol and thorough cleaning and by the time I left, she was sleeping comfortably.

The kids slept over there again. This morning Mom told me her fever was gone. Whew. So mostly (when I wasn't in the pool) I was sitting with a feverish cuddle-muffin on my lap - which was the sum total of my parenting for that day. But I did give Ma their OHIP cards (medical insurance) and instructions to call Alex so she could bring her to the hospital here in Alexandria...

Argh. Parenting doubts suck. But then... I HAVE to work. It's not like, optional.

Best line of the evening:

Steve: I was roofing today...
Dad & Ed, together: (large, sympathetic groan)
Ed: You win.
Dad: Only an ex-con would roof in weather like this.

No independant word on what anyone thought of Steve yet - except for Heather, who said: "Dude. You're dating ME.". Predictions: Mom wasn't paying attention because it's either you're serious or your not and there's no point in paying attention to anyone I bring home unless trips to the movies, steak dinners and monogamy are involved - ie "seriousness". Shit - I could get that out of John fairly quick these days - and despise every moment of it, and never be a whit more serious about him than I am right now. Dad will shrug and say, "Seems nice enough, I suppose. For a con. *snicker!*". Laure will say, "Look, do you know how many cosmopolitans I had last night? All I remember is that he was drinking Blue Light. What's up with that?"

Checking the calendar...

I've realized that despite the fact that I have two boyfriends, I've not had sex in damn near a week. I may require a third, at this rate.

Also - does anyone have an email addy for Shayna (no idea on spelling) of "Harry Mary" fame? Adorable cutie Shayna? I'm trying to track down a phone number for that guy Adam we were hanging with at Old Songs, the one who is currently living in Montreal. I said I'd call him and import him to small town Ontario for drunken debauchery and have since had it pointed out to me that he fits Alex's, "Cute, interesting and NOT from The Hill!" criteria admirably well...

So like, email me... with her number or his, or email for either of the above if anyone has it.

Lunchtime.

Food is for mortals. I'm just going to subsist on a helping of Internet today.

My wrist-slashing incident was this morning, and involved not taking the stupid knife out of my jeans before gathering up laundry and not pressing the piton that makes the blade stay inside its stupid sheath. What can I say, I'm like, retarded that way.

I am of course being mocked mercilessly, because while last week was Receptionisty and girly, this week I am surrounded by older men in a giant warehouse. I am creating a filing system again, which sounds fairly secretarial, I'm sure... but around these here parts it means I have to build the whole thing from the ground up - as in I've been building custom sectioning to install into filing cabinets. How cool is that? My boss asked me if I minded fucking around with sharp knives and t-squares and saws and grinders and I just grinned at him like a cretin.

John left me a message saying he missed me on Friday. Then he called late Sunday night and let me know the myriad ways in which he missed me - most of which involved him having to put on his own sunscreen and all his buddies having their girlfriends around to "take care" of them and him being on his lonesome. God, I can't even imagine what sort of a relationship his parents must have that he thinks lacking a second pair of hands to apply sunscreen is a good example of the ways in which one misses a significant other. I am worried that I may be becoming more significant to him than he is to me.

Steve's life seems to be falling apart at the edges, poor lad - his truck died (transmission) he's roofing in this heat (horror) and his compressor broke down so he's doing it all by hand (hard work).

Pierce passed kindergarten with flying colours. Don't know on Eowyn yet - today was supposed to be her last day but the whole fam-damily was off to Upper Canada Village so I thought, "Der, that's way more educational!" and sent her with them. Cross your fingers that they aren't in the same grade together next year, lol.

PS - the boss here says that he wants to keep me on as much as possible. That as long as there is work here for me, I'm welcome to it, and that I should be good for longer than just August. Score. I won't be hired as a permanent employee, no union, no benefits, but I should be able to just keep working. This would be a good thing, a very good thing. Especially here in merchandising where I can dress like a refugee if I feel like it and get to play in ways that require safety glasses and where they blast oldies all day long. The Cars are playing now. I have to go sing off key and bounce around the shop to it.

CYA!

Blogger ate my post

On Old Songs, etc. Things are going well. I ADORE working in merchandising. At the moment, I have a big ole bandaid on from ACCIDENTALLY slicing my wrist with an exacto knife. Not badly, and I didn't even do it at work.

Steve returned my empties for gas money and thought I would be ANGRY that I didn't have to load them all in the car and unload them, etc. I asked him this morning (his truck is dead) as I drove him to Lavoie's to meet his ride if he thought he might be up for a swim tonight. He said, HELL YEAH. He's roofing right now... in this heat. When I go see him this afternoon, I will let him in on the fact that the pool is at my PARENTS home. Seeing as since he already invited me to meet his mom, I don't think he'll freak or anything, lol. In fact, I don't think he'll freak on it pool or no pool because he doesn't seem that sort anyway.

I work from 7:30am to 3:30pm now. Isn't that cool?

Yeah. Wow.

So I leave for Old Songs tonight... after work. After I pack (not too complicated, this one). After I take Mogs out to The Cabbage. That one was stupid of me - I sat bolt upright in the middle of the night going, "Crap! THE DOG!". Plus I was even AT the Cabbage yesterday dropping Heather off from work.

Yeah... that one was funny too - Mom reminds Heather on Wednesday that she will be without a lift yesterday and today. Heather nods. Kif thinks, "Well good. I won't have to do it.". Then I talked to Mom yesterday and the spiel was could I go get Heather? Um... why didn't Heather ask me YESTERDAY, when I was RIGHT THERE? Dunno dunno dunno. But then... despite her claim that she doesn't even appreciate them, she had partaken of a cookie.

But I've got bigger Wow's to publicize today. On that same phone call to Mom yesterday, I was informed that either the neighbour's dog or a 'coon had torn my garbage up all over my lawn. Dad said it was fairly epic. I asked (I know, I'm stupid, okay?) if perchance he'd cleaned any of it up. He laughed at me. No. So I wasn't too thrilled about the idea of heading home to clean up garbage that had been sitting bare in the sun all day.

But I cheered up because when she picked me up, Alex told me that Steve, having seen my car at her parent's house, stopped by to see if perchance I was there. Nope - I was workin. Alex and her mother had just discovered that Pierce had never so much as cast a line, let alone caught a fish, thought it bordered on neglect on my part, and were taking him out to fish (baby smallmouth bass).

I felt pretty good that he'd stopped there to see if I was there. Believe it or not, even though he seems to be stopping by a lot when I'm never there, it still seems a little unbelievable to me... I keep thinking that it's not really that he likes me, that it must be something like he wanted some information or to give me a message or something... a no-choice thing. It would be too perfect if he was coming to see me just for me. Too scary. Too much risk. Too much to lose.

The further part of the info Alex gave me was that he would stop by (he doesn't have a phone, lol) that night at c. 8pm. If I wanted him there, he'd hang out. If not, he'd go. Yay! Double purpose: interesting and stimulating adult intellectual conversation in between bouts of particularly raunchy and mind-blowing sex. Score.

So I got home... and he was already there. He'd picked up the garbage on the lawn. He'd washed my dishes. He'd cleaned my kitchen. He was cooking cajun shrimp (which HE'd brought, not rooted about in the freezer for). He'd replaced the beer and the smokes, as promised. So we sat down and talked and talked and talked...

And the gist of his end of things was that he really hoped he wasn't making an asshole of himself, but for whatever reason, he really really really enjoys my company. That he hopes I feel the same way. That he'll back off if I want him too, but he really hopes I don't. That he knows it's silly because we've barely known each other a month... but there it is.

Right now... OMG, I so adore this guy. I am absolutely and totally unaccountably fond of him. I want him around all the time. He makes me feel calm and happy. But then, I'm totally on edge too, because I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. And the odd thing is I know his history, self-confessed - and it quite rightly counts as one hell of a shoe... and I can't figure out why, but it doesn't FEEL like a shoe to me.

He's been to jail. This is usually a "So what?" situation for me. Most of the men I've known in my life have been to jail, or at least had some negative relationships with the law. Mostly drugs, dealing, simple assault, etc. The "barfight"/"party" type crimes. But Steve's conviction is for a more serious offence. I won't say what here, because I've not yet asked permission to discuss it here, even though I doubt he'd mind. But it weren't no misdemeanor.

Maybe because he's done his time, because when he talks about it, he doesn't romance it up.

No man, in my entire life, not even Tony - with whom I spent nearly 11 years - has ever reacted this positively towards me without asking for a single concession from me in any part of my life. It was always soemthing along the lines of, "I sure do like you, but I wish you wouldn't see other people. Except for girls. That's cool, as long as I'm there." - "You're super keen, but why do you always dress so dumpy?" - "I think you're great, but I don't understand why you would rather stay home and watch movies instead of going to a blazingly loud club full of pretentious 19yo's wearing ridiculous clothes whilst looking bored to indistinguishable dance tracks".

And not once... not ONCE in my whole life, has it mattered to me as much as it matters to me right now that THIS man like me as much as I like him.

Because he's spiffy and fantastic.

Can you believe this shit? Yikes. That and I made homemade jam, ON PURPOSE. I am turning into a girly girl. Any day now, I'll start wearing perfume and going to other people to cut my hair.

Did y'all see that kid?

The one in Utah? The one who got lost in the woods and then hid from rescuers for four days because he was scared of "stranger danger!" and kidnappings and being stolen?

I thought, when I saw his pictures, that I had never before seen such a miserable and angry kid in my life. And no wonder, discovering in such a painful and horible way that you were led astray by those you trust most. And yet, if one casts ones mind back, it's understandable from the other end too - after all, he comes from the same state where the most terrible and classic of all "strangers" broke into a girl's bedroom and stole her away in the night.

And that's the problem. Strangers. It means two things - people we do not know and people who are bizarre. Kids are naturally wary of people they do not know - bu that lasts all of a quarter second, until the person says, "My name is...". Then they aren't a stranger anymore. They are far more wary of people who are bizarre in appearance - but even that can be tolerated in return for sweets or attention or whatever. So for kids... there is no such thing as a stranger. It's all just people they haven't met yet.

But it's not the only problem. Danger. What the hell is danger anyway? Eowyn spends fully 1/5 of the time she is on our property an average of around 25 feet off the ground in the apple tree. If she falls, it will be very serious. But I, taking responsibility for the decision as her mother, have decided to let it be. I allow it, despite the risks. Pierce isn't allowed up the tree. The fact of the matter is Eowyn has only ever injured herself falling (off the fence) once, and Pierce is covered with bruises as the result of his efforts at walking across flat ground.

My point is that in some ways... I am a danger to my kids. But if I want to restrict the chances of physical injury to my children, I have to amend what I do in that sphere. Telling Eowyn she can't sit in her tree won't stop her from being molested or kidnapped.

Molested or kidnapped. Those are the boogeymen we're really after here. One, will likely never ever happen to anyone we know. If it does, it will be almost certainly perpetrated by one or the other of the child in questions' parents, as the result of an acrimonious divorce. The other... the other... very unfortunately... the chances are very good it WILL happen.

And that is the one thing I hate most about the world in which we live. Nobody talks about it, but it's true. I can count on my bodily digits all the women I've ever met in my life who were NOT sexually touched/molested/abused/interfered with or attacked before the age of 18. For men, it's trickier, because if you ask them, they will laugh and say, "Of course not!"... but half the time if you ask them how old they were when they lost their virginity you will hear something like 12 or 13... and if you ask them if they slept with a woman over the age of 25 before they reached 18, they will admit that too... Sigh.

Kidnapping I don't worry about a lot. I have faith, to a certain extent, if I may be flip on the subject, that anyone who nabbed one of my bleaters would probably drop them off in a couple of days. Tony isn't going to do it. I'm not going to do it. So on that front, statistically, they're as golden as kids can get.

As to molestation and it's ilk, if... oh god... when... it does happen, my chances of it being some bum who calls himself Emmanuel, wears robes, doesn't bathe and whom I've never met before in my life is extremely thin. In fact, if I recall correctly, Emmanuel DID know his victim - he'd done odd jobs for the family. He wasn't a total stranger.

So what the hell are you supposed to do? Well - the best I've ever come up with is the following:

1. I have told my children about molestation, what it entails, and that yes, it happened to me. Matter-of-factly. They know that it is possible that some adults might have such a motivation towards them.

2. I never told them not to talk to strangers. In fact, I openly encouraged it. I encouraged them to talk to any and everyone who struck their fancy. And then we talked about the person. We would decide that the old man on the bus who glared and ignored was a mean old man who didn't like kids. The guy who patted them on the head and laughed too loud and walked funny had too much beer. The lady in the store liked them. This one thought they were too loud. And this one... this one was WEIRD. I taught them to make a judgement.

3. I told them from day one, that their control over their bodies was absolute. Nobody, not even a relative, or a social situation, is allowed to demand that you cede a kiss, a hug, anything that you don't want. If they try, warn them. If they don't listen, then you are allowed to do ANYTHING it takes to make it stop. I will never, ever discipline them for anything they do to anyone who did not listen when they were told to stop infringements upon their physical persons.

Which is the best I've been able to come up with - but god knows with the psychology behind molestation, I'll have to wait until the teen years to know if it worked out...

But in the meantime, the above policy was the genesis of the infamous Pierce/Nun-Slapping Incident.

They arrived!

Mom went to pick them up in Ottawa. Leia looks adorable with her short hair. Paul looks very, very handsome with his long hair. Laure looks beautiful in her ring. I brought Alex with me, and we fed Heather a cookie before anyone arrived, so any anticipated stressors were... dampened.

Beyond that, freakin' about Old Songs a bit because I do not technically have tickets, camping or food. Real on the ball, aren't I? Also, I'm getting a sore throat - because I can't go carousing on a campground if I'm healthy.

The kids went swimming and exhausted themselves. Had to haul Pierce bodily up the hill and then later discovered him passed out in the middle of the living room floor, still in his coat, still wearing just the one shoe he'd not managed to lose coming up the walk (found it this morning).

It took me a moment because I was distracted by the flowers on my kitchen table. And notes. From Steve. He picked me wildflowers from the long grass while he waited to see if I would be home. Second note told me to come see him tonight.

Before you get too "Aw", this was STEVE, so I am perhaps one of the few women who would find the notes "Aw". There were dirty bits in the notes, apologies for drinking some of my beer and smoking some of my cigarettes, and a claim to have had carnal relations with Eowyn's sock puppet. I wasn't taking any chances - I threw it out.

Sneakin'!

Can't stay on long!

Laure arrives tonight. No time to check up on all yer sites, feel bad. Just snuck onto hotmail this morning - only slightly disappointed that the world did not end without me. Mostly relieved that we aen't totally made asses of ourselves yet.

See you all Friday night at Old Songs!

(sotto voce)

This is me at work, with another five minutes before they finally loose me on the phones.

So far:

Despite not having a freezer venting -75 on my feet all day, I am freezing. It's far too air conditioned here.

My new shorts/skirt turn out to be rather complicated to get in/out of, making my bathroom trips suspiciously long.

I used my psychic powers for good - to find a Kentucky Fried Chicken. I am now ready for a 2+ hour nap.

The work, administrative, reception, it's all coming back to me now. Oh yeah. I can feel my ass expanding already.

While walking down the main drag in Alexandria, I was hooted at by a car load of men. Refresh me - that's a good thing, right? Like I said, the skirt/shorts are complicated, but dang cute - as anything in pink plaid is.

So that's it thus far!

I am in big trouble.

I spent Friday night and a goodly part of Saturday with John. If this is him being "nicer" to me, I'm not enormously impressed. So far, it seems to involve almost all the same mood swings and self doubt, but with more exposure of WHY he is the way he is - basically, he's been sharing more of his past and stuff with me. That and they (he and Danny) cooked me a masterful, and I mean MASTERFUL home-made pizza. Drool.

Which I do appreciate. I understand certain things a lot better, and understanding makes it easier to... put up with. But that's not the right words, because I am bound and determined not to "put up" with things that I find objectionable - and I don't find John at all objectionable... yet. But that IS the thing. Yet. I can just tell... that some day it will all just be too much. Forgive me, but I just can't commit in any way to morose, sullen, moody and withdrawn men. Go figure. But what he doesn't seem to "get", and what I'm waiting on, is to see if he ever comes to any sort of curiosity about me. He's never questioned me on my past, my views, my politics, nothing. I don't volunteer them. If he notices their absense from the conversation, it doesn't seem to faze him any - but I suspect he doesn't.

Then his buddy Al called and he and Danny made plans to go out to Hudson and girls weren't invited (grr). John said, "You don't mind, do you?" and I said, "Don't you worry about me, darlin'. I can take care of myself just ffff...." and he covered his ears and said, "I don't want to know about it!".

I was freaking out on Vankleek Hill for a little bit there anyway, because at 7am I took Mogs out for a walk and passed two little girls. One of them looked up at me and said, "Oh! You're Eowyn's Mum!". HOW she knew that, I do not know. So when John was leaving I packed up my stuff and wandered down to the guy who's apartment Alex has been crashing at's place. There he told me that Alex was still at work, but that some man had been by HIS house, looking for ME. He apologized for not remembering his name, but said he was in a green minivan...

Oh. Steve. So I walked over to Steve's place.

So Steve and I have now officially hung out like... three times. And... well... it's hard to explain. I asked Mom if she remembered when I met Folkhero. I questioned her about blue hair. She answered. We stared at each other. I asked, "So. You want a beer or something?". She replied, "Hell, yeah!". I gave her a thumbs up. And that was it. Kindred spirits sort of a thing. We just clicked and there has never really been a question of one taking too much from the other, or any sort of "putting up with" or any question that given the opportunity, that we would of course hang out together.

I counted myself very lucky, very very lucky, that I had pretty much the same thing happen with Alex out here. I had brief misgivings about our age difference... and once John said that he thought she might just be using me for a ride into town - which made me laugh, because as I told him, someone who is using you for a lift will ditch you in an hour or so - nobody who is using you for a lift hangs around for a day and half. That's not a lift, that's a friendship.

And now it has happened again, with a BOY. With Steve. I can't even begin to explain how I feel with him. We talk. About books. Politics. Languages (he speaks Hebrew!). Sex. Sociology. Family. Kids. Travel. Dreams. We just babble at each other like cretins. And it's fantastic.

News and more.

1. Yes, I got the job at Alexandria Mouldings. I will be their receptionist, and a "floater" for the merchandising department. It's on contract, only a couple of months - but at 12/hr and 40hrs a week. Can you say, "WOOT!", boys and girls? I knew you could.

2. Yes, Eowyn quoted an ad for the "Adult Fun Superstore" at me last night. She then asked me if I wanted to go. I said, "NO!" and hid under the blankets. Then she told me that they had the largest selection of sex toys. I still said, "NO!". She lifted up the corner and said, "They have DVD's too!". Then both kids wanted to know if I would take them to the Adult Fun Superstore when they were grown up, kinda like I said I would take them to a bar once they were eighteen. I said, "NO!". Then they wanted to know if I liked sex toys. Then Pierce started screaming, "Sex toys! Sex toys! Sex toys!". Then I had to explain, very very circumspectly, what sex toys were, so that he would stop, and swear not to do it at school - as when I tried a hearty, "Because I said so!" he ignored me. Finally I asked Eowyn where in the name of all that was holy she'd heard about this place. She said, "Duh. On the school bus. There's a radio. Every morning, someone calls in and if they answer three questions right, they get a gift certificate for 10% off at the Adult Fun Superstore. If they don't, then they say their name on the radio. Do you want to call in some day? You could get a gift certificate for 10% off."

"NO!"

Then I called Laure, cause I was starting to trip out pretty bad.

3. Wednesday night, post coming home and discovering my dead computer, I called Laure (and told Rick to "throw her on the phone" - which meant I got to listen to:

*phone hitting desk*
*tromp tromp tromp*
Laure: "Hey... what are you doing... HEY put me down! Stop! What are you... YEEEAGH!!!"
*sound of Laure hitting the phone*

Are they just perfect for each other, or what? If I can convince them to get married "twice", once while out here and once out there, then I'm going to dress in head to toe black, perhaps even fashion myself a veil, sit up front with a roll of cheap toilet paper and HOWL throughout the whole marriage. I will teach the kids to sing them a song in honour of their nuptials:

"DING DONG THE WITCH IS DEAD!"

While on the phone with Laure, being called a slut (hehehehe), the phone beeped - another call. It was John. I begged off with Laure.

Long story short, instead of staying home and mourning my computer, me and the kids all went and slept at John's. He gave them stuffed animals and they slept on couch cushions in the second bedroom. Pierce did not fall down the stairs. He fell UP them when we arrived, which takes more skill. John then proceeded to actually give me some details of his past, including the fact that he'd been in a serious and committed relationship that he'd thought was "it". There were children involved, not his, but kids. He loved them. They loved him. He'd lost them, because he and their mother broke up, and she didn't want to have to deal with him again. He'd lost their mother. At the time he'd met me, he described hismelf as being in "a very bad place". He'd been calling her several times a day.

This pisses me off - the bit about the kids. I know where the anger comes from, because I talked about it with Mom and she started growling and pointing her finger in the air and declaiming how no man can spend 3 1/2 years raising kids with a woman and NOT have a right to see them, even if they aren't the product of his own genetics. Should she ever actually meet John, he can expect a lecture about how he should take that woman to court and at least fight for the right to see the kids that were such a large part of his life. Having been raised under this attitude, this makes perfect sense to me. In Kifland, should John and I embark upon a serious relationship, and he and the kids become close, then after any breakup, he would of course have every right to see the kids and the kids would have every right to see him. You can't jam and yank people out of your kids life willy nilly. It's cruel, to everyone involved.

Either way, he then continued on to tell me that he'd been thinking about it, and that he wanted me to know that he was really enjoying my company, and appreciated it, and... and... I don't know what I'm trying to say here, he said. Don't worry, I replied. I get it. You're trying to say you LIKE me. Agh! NO! I didn't say that! Yeah, but you do. You LIKE me. HEHEHEHEHE! I told him now was not really the time to revisit our "agreement" - because I'd given myself at least a year or two for what Laure keeps screaming SLUT! about, and...

Yeah, you want to see that DJ guy again.

Nope. I told you, that was a one-time thing. You don't have to worry about him, you have to worry about Stee...

Okay! Okay! You know what, that's all cool and shit, but... I don't want to know about it. Use a condom.

So that's where we are. I am employed, computerless, a slut, and I've hired Alex to care for my kids over the summer. It's all good.

I have another job interview!

Alexandria Mouldings. They called within an hour of my sending them my CV. So I have to be spiffed up and present for 5pm. Is 1:30pm too soon to start? I think so.

I will definately need a shower. I have about a half-litre of drool in my hair. Some of it is even mine. The rest is Pierce's. Knowing him, it could also just be head-sweat. I would be undecided on which grossed me out more if I wanted to actually think about it.

The kids will go straight on to the Cabbage after school and I will meet up with them there. I will wear my "nice" pants. And my one and only bra. I will look spiffy and good and be professional and yet somehow, without begging or crossing the line into desperation, manage to convey that I actually NEED the work, that I do NOT, as everyone seems to suspect, have people banging down my door trying to get me to be their secretary. The upside is that while it is reception, my off-time from reception will be in the packaging department - and he seems unsure about ending up with someone who can deal with both being the girl behind the counter, and with hauling boxes around too.

Well, darn it, that's me!

More crossed fingers. If I recall correctly, AM is one of them companies around here what pays some real money. And has a union. Too bad I couldn't have the kids in the know - yesterday I had them surrounding the toyota-dude chanting, "Please don't let it be too expensive, Please don't let it be too expensive!" and look how well that turned out. Hafta think of something reasonable I can offer up to my gods in exchange for work/money.

Racoons and drunk girls.

Tobby, who'd been out and about, one presumes auditioning new families, has returned. He appears to have lost a terrific battle with a bush full of burrs. Eowyn said we should shave him too. I said she was welcome to try if she was brave enough, but that Mommy doesn't shave cats that are as mean as Tobs.

Meanwhile, it turns out that he is not the only critter to be gracing my lawn recently. Alex tells me that last Sunday night, she went on a rip and managed to procure a ride as far as my house. There, she panicked and decided it would be in poor taste to wake me up in the wee hours (although it was apparently barely 11pm) and so, instead, curled up on my lawn. She said that shortly after hearing a snuffling, looking up and seeing a racoon trundle by, she decided to walk home. So she did. All of this opposed to just walking into the house she knows she is welcome in and crashing out in the nice warm bed with the nice warm blankets that is right there on the first floor. But, as she pointed out, she'd been on a tear and it was likely her synapses weren't all firing together. Decision making capacity what?

Either way, the kids too were disappointed that Steve wasn't still here in the morning. I asked what they thought - they said, "He's okay". If he'd brought juice boxes and brownies and let them fall down his stairs, they would like him better, I'm sure. Eowyn thinks John is cuter, but did not agree that Steve is "scary-lookin'" at all. "He doesn't scare me," she sniffed. Of course not. NOTHING scares you, except for perhaps itchy tags in t-shirts. They wanted more opportunity to check him out. Hell, so did I. When I said I surely did like him a whole lot, Eowyn said, "OOO LA LA!" and I hadda say, "Girl, you got NO idea. That man is a whole lot o' OOO LA LA!". For this I earned a, "Gak! Ick! MOM!". Serves her right. Pierce I just had to cuddle a lot and reassure that come what may, he is always my lil' dude.

But for a "dry run" so to speak, of having an actual man come over to my house, it went pretty well. The kids didn't freak, didn't seem troubled or upset. There were no big questions, they didn't bring up Daddy or fidelityor anything like that. I think it helps that I told them right from the outset that on both sides, mine and their father's, this would eventually happen. Meet new people, like new people, see new people, and eventually even have new people over to spend the night, etc. From their perspective, they're just waiting for step-siblings and new people to bug for snackfoods on a constant basis.

Honestly, I'm not entirely sure I understand why some people are so recalcitrant about talking to their kids about these things. It's not like I or anyone is going to tell a couple of kids that every bitch needs a bone here and there. Sure it's sex, but it's not like you're obliged to go into any sort of unnecessary detail. "Huggin' and Kissin' stuff" seems to fulfill their understanding perfectly. They knew it when I was with their father too, so... It's just that especially when you're newly single, with kids, this is such a large and new part of your life, how can you NOT prepare your kids in any way for the eventuality? I couldn't imagine just leaving it to having Pierce wander in for his regular 4am attempt to crawl into bed with me to find some strange man he's never met nor seen before there, in what he likely considers HIS spot. That, I know, would freak him out right royally.

:D

Steve just showed up at my house.

Awesome.

He went home, alas - his apartment is under surveillance by nosy neighbours who want to report to his ex-girlfriend who stays at his place and when and for how long he is gone. I am not kidding. It's taking me a while, but I'm starting to understand that people around here do pay attention and do care about these things. In Montreal, nobody could be bothered, and even then, single guy, single girl, whazza problem? But here... here it is a small town. Here it is STEVE, and they know his ex, and they have history and vested interests and they pay attention and they talk. Personally, I'm not too sure I care if they talk, but Steve is from here and of here, so he does. And he doesn't want his ex hurt. Neither do I. So I'll deal.

But apart from that, Dang, could I ever get used to that man in a hurry. More babbling. More fornicating.

John called. Three guesses on his level of inebriation. Not exactly sober. He wanted me to come over, to take the kids to The Cabbage, to bring them over to his place, whatever. I was like, "Dude. It's 10:30 at night. I can't do that." I would do it tomorrow, (to his place) - but tomorrow I know he won't want to know from me like he does tonight. Sigh. I told him to take care of things himself and I'd see him on Friday.

So right now I am feeling annoyed with John, pleased with Steve, and just about ready to break into a really crap rendition of It's Raining Men.

I am the UBER-MOM.

A good day.

1. I applied for several jobs. Including one that I had to CALL for - I left a message. I hate telephones, I suck at them. But I did it anyway. Next time I go out to the Cabbage, I'll stop by Skotidakis and Delta Foods.

2. I called and got an appointment to have the Toyota dealership service center in Hawkesbury take a look at my "Check Engine" light. Dude asked me my name, I said "Moody" and he realized it was my first time there. Apparently, this involves some large amount of question and answers that he didn't feel inclined to undertake. So he said, "Don't tell anyone... I'm just going to give you a freebie.". I did not make any dirty jokes, although I was sorely tempted. So he came out to my car and guess what - Because my gas cap is not the original (drove off with it on the roof of my car, got a new one) it was not sealed all the way. Yeah, that's right - my gas cap was loose. That was it. SCORE!

3. I got bored during the day, and because I had already cut Pierce's hair the day before, and because Eowyn was not home and would not let me even if she was, and because I am job-hunting and it's apropos to have "normal" hair right now... I shaved Mogwai. She looks... stupider than usual.

4. Because I shaved Mogwai, I had to show her off. So I stopped in town and tooted Alex. She came out and we ended up wandering (stalking, prowling) with the kids. We took them to the park, I scored some shop-vac filters at Home Hardware, and then Pierce had ice cream and we all had slushes. We walked and talked for like, two hours. Her ASO is NOT leaving his girlfriend, so she was glum. One of them folks what don't like her pushed her up against a wall. Unhappy Alex.

So we just got home, the kids cooked some grilled cheese sandwhiches (what FINE children I have that they cooked for ME) while I cleaned out the car. No more Doritos all over the back seat. No more old salt and gravel underfoot on my side. No more grubby kid-prints hither and yon. It looks sooo purty right now.

So it will shortly be bedtime, my feet BOTH hurt, but it was worth it. I did not get drunk, although I will be taking a Tylenol 3 shortly. I did not sleep with a guy, although I did see Steve talking to ex on the street...

Also, Alex and I figure that some enterprising soul informed John of where I spent the night within twenty-four hours of my doing it. My prediction: come Friday or Saturday night, he will get drunk and unhappy and call me to yell at me, wherein I will have to explain to him (again) that this is exactly what he agreed to, and that the alternatives involve a lot of shit I KNOW he doesn't want, like spending time at my house, meeting my kids and folks, and being civil and putting out during the week. Men. Frankly, I don't get them.

How miserable was last night!?

VERY miserable. I stayed up until nearly 2am with a flyswatter, playing bait for mosquitoes. It was awful hot and stuffy. I've been waking up at around 5am recently, I suppose as my body gets used to not working nights. This morning the alarm actually woke me and I was so sleepy and groggy. At least, I thought I was, until I saw Eowyn, who was nearly comatose. Pierce didn't even wake up, not for the alarm, not for me getting Eowyn ready for school.

We JUST woke up, if you can imagine it. I bailed on the idea of keeping things boarded up because... drumroll please!... the rain finally came! YAY!

So it's a fine soft wet day and I've got a little boy who's slept a large part of the day away. This means I have to find a way to get him tuckered for tonight, bleagh.

Forecast is for rain, rain, and more rain in the coming days. It's high time. My lawn was starting to look fairly peaked.

I woke up...

... because I heard one of the kids crying in their sleep. I went into their room and discovered Pierce moaning, "It iiiiiitches!". Eowyn was nowhere to be seen. I set up mosquito netting over their bed and offered Pierce a cool shower to take care of the bites he already has. Ah. There's Eowyn, asleep on the bathroom floor.

Odd, isn't it, that as an adult, being so out of it that falling asleep on the bathroom floor is an occasion to end up on penischeek.com, while in a child, it's just par for the course? At least it seems to be in my children.

Either way, I got them both up, stripped, and in the shower. Then, cooled and mostly itch-free, esconsed under mosquito netting. Meanwhile, I discovered the missing ingredient to a really effective lip-plumper. The key to bee-stung lips without collagen injections, without permanent change of appearance, without it wearing off in around ten minutes is mosquito bites on the lips. Someone has to isolate the active allergen in mosquito spit, and create a little kit wherein one lightly scratches one's lips and then smear that crap on. I look like a scrawny Angelina Jolie.

The house is now thoroughly battened down. Near as I can figure, all points of ingress are securely sealed. If I can kill all mosquitoes currently IN the house, we should be good. After that, until my blessed wind comes back, I'm not opening shit up and I don't care how stuffy and unbearable it gets - it's better than kids crying in their sleep because of mosquito bites. It's better than saying, "Eomyn, you're asweep onna bafroom fore. Crap, dey bid me on da libs!" at midnight.

I guess I ought to elaborate...

On "Elsewhere", as he is single, and I will likely be seeing him again.

Saturday night was the night that John was otherwise occupied and I had a vested interest in not going home. We determined that we would take advantage of Kif's lack of distraction to introduce her around to people about whom she has heard tales, and whom are now hearing about Alex's new "Hippie Freak Friend". So it was to that end that I was prowling.

Like every night that Alex and I go out together, it was utterly dead. NOBODY was around. It was looking like a bust. Any time she is NOT with me, Alex runs into Pat... otherwise known as Garbageman Dude Who Used to Work at PFF. Yeah, HIM. I have a beef with that guy, because he said he would, "Stop by and see me some time" and then did not. Plus, he is a garbageman, and I have a garbageman fetish, borne of the beyond hot garbagemen who used to do Mom's route in the city. Both Mom and Laure, I am sure, can confirm. Pretty, pretty boys. But per usual, we did not run into Pat. We did run into Cote and MJ. They're okay, but they weren't doing anything either.

We did not run into the one I really want to meet - whom I shall refer to as "A.S.O." for "Alex's Sorta Obsession. He is a guy she used to see, but who got back with an ex who is apparently, psycho, and who is now in the process of leaving that girlfriend, quite likely to take up with Alex again.

We DID run into people that Alex seems to dislike almost as much as they clearly dislike her. Alex assures me that it all involves long stories, but they did yell, "WHORE!" at her off a balcony. I know that story - that story is; "I'm not happy with my girlfriend and I sure do like you and we're both drunk and in the mood so why don't we?". I personally think she should call back, "No, slut. SLUT!". She didn't think it was as funny as I did, but then, she has to live the history behind such occurences.

But we did meet Steve. Steve lives in what clearly used to be a very small storefront. It is now a tiny apartment. It is a room with a bunk bed (for when he has his kids) and a small kitchenette and a small bathroom. That's it. Oh. A dresser and a TV. We assured him that his wall to wall carpetting no longer smelled of cat pee, which he assured us that it had, when he moved in.

Steve is a roofer, a worker, a jack of all trades. He has the same mustache as the guys on that TLC show where they make cool choppers. His head is shaved. He's sorta scary-lookin'. But... he babbles. Like Laure. Possibly worse. And, endearingly enough, when you babble back, he listens. We talked about our kids and child-rearing, mostly. Theory and practice. He said we could crash there, as our other option was an older guy named Don who gave me the serious creeps. He winked and said we could crash anywhere we liked... top bunk... beanbag chair... his bed. Alex and he have a brief history, a "been there, done that" sorta thing, but nothing beyond.

So I crashed in his bed, momentarily platonically. He crawled over me to get to his side, and on his way, kissed and then nipped me on the shoulder. Alex was out wandering again. He said, "Sorry, couldn't resist!" and I responded, "Well, don't stop!" and it was all... uphill... from there.

I'm going to be a little crude here. Pop, Mom, if you're reading this and you just don't want to know, skip the next paragraph.

OMG. It's a wonder that man can get a hard-on without fainting. I didn't know the human body had that much blood in it. Holy crow. Laure can make her like-a-baby's-arm jokes, but damn - not even. A toddler? A preschooler? Plus, he's like... horny like a teenager. Like... me. He'd worked a 14hr day roofing, and we stayed up all night making Alex's night on the top bunk really er... interesting. Every time we slowed down, we babbled at one another. It was really hot, so we slept all night holding hands. Aw.

This is going to sound stupid, and will probably not be borne out in the long run, but I'm having fun with it right now. I really like this guy. We clicked on several levels that I've not clicked on with anyone since I met Alex. I haven't clicked with a guy this way in a very long time. I suspect, I hope, that even if we don't end up regular lovers, we will end up very good friends.

If I could...

I would post this on Honi Soit, but for some reason, it won't take me to the "post comment" page.

My vote for the ring engraving: the Clan Marriage Motto - "Might as Well, Eh?". Or perhaps, "You'll Do" (Apt variation on "I do"!) or, if it fits, "If he bails, I get the couch" - a sort of metallic prenup, disons.

Also, I sure hope the wind that never fails, but which HAS failed me in recent days picks up again. Without the howling gale to blow them all over to The Cabbage, the skeeters have found Casa del Kif. I managed to curl up under a light blanket and not get eaten too badly while avoiding sweltering to death, but they found my face. I have a skeeter bite on my face. A biggun. It's gross, and itchy. Here's hoping it goes away before I take my "looin' fer a job" drive.

Although today I have to finish amalgamating the Old Songs Order and I have to get it in... Fun, fun, fun. I'm so sure I'm going to fuck this up it's not even funny. I keep panicking and then realizing, "Dude, it's celery. If we end up with not enough celery, you can hop in the car, drive to the store, and buy celery. Relax."

A typical post.

I got drunk. I fucked a guy. My foot hurts.

Actually, most of the foot damage was on Alex's half. Bare feet + gravel = bad. But get this: she has this plan - get a job on the Hill, get an apartment, be independant again before the summer is up. So yesterday, wandering (or prowling) around town after a very good cookie, something strange occured. Kif saw Lavoie's Restaurant and was suddenly famished. Cookies will do that, but I absolutely HAD to have a cheeseburger immediately. We went in. Delivery dude J was there, an older gentleman who'd spoken to us the night before on the street. We sat with him. He said, "You lookin' for work?" to Alex, who said avowed that she was.

So looks like she's going to be working at Lavoie's as their dishwasher. I told her that she'd be getting paid to do what most women do for free, and I pumped her up (her and J) about how she stuck out PFF to the end, that she'd stick with it. Talked her up about "movin' on up" in a place like that - tryin' to teach my work ethic to my grasshopper. They wanted her to start THAT night, which wasn't happening because we were both there with a bottle of Strawberry Daquiri and a bottle of Pina Colada jonesing for burgers. So she like, got a job, just like that. I got the lowdown around town on who's hiring too. So I think things should be okay. It's all good.

John had a golf tournament through his work and was gone until the wee hours. I was lurking about in the wee hours (as I was in no condition for driving) but never saw a light on or activity. I slept elsewhere. Elsewhere was fun.

OH YEAH! GUESS who showed up... I would say "on my doorstep" but he just walked right in... at my house? Wayne. Walked right in, forcing me to make el mad dash for my bathrobe (nekkid naptime). Seemed somewhat sober, but was telling me he "knew" he'd been "distant" recently. Ummm... try "absent"? And he did that whole lean over my chair (yes, the one I was sitting in) and christ almighty, I think he thought he'd score a piece of ass. He wasn't taking many hints and when I went into my bedroom to change he FOLLOWED ME IN. At this point I got a little freaked out and said I hadda call my friend. Called Alex and invited myself over and got out fast.

And that's how I ended up having a beer with Alex's folks and having her dad question me in the most wonderful way about my sexual orientation. Her Mom was preparing steak for dinner. He looked at me and asked:

"So Kif, do you like meat?"
"Meat? I love meat. Carnivore."
"You don't.... look... like someone who likes meat."
"Looks can be deceiving. I adore meat. I'm all about the meat."

I didn't go into sides of meat substitutes and he didn't make any commentary about vegetarians picking from HIS garden, but we understood one another. It was beautifully done.

A plan...

Last night, before the whole "fucker" thing, me and the kids spent some time laying in my bed together discussing how things are changed now that I'm not working anymore again. We made a plan for today - mostly Eowyn came up with it.

Basically, I can drive them in to their Dad's on Friday's again, but I don't want to do it during rush hour. Evening is better. They miss going to The Cabbage, and there was some grumbling about the lack of a pool over here. Their Dad told them, as they were leaving last weekend, "Don't forget your bathing suits next weekend!".

So Eowyn's plan was this - How about we wear our bathing suits to school, like underpants. Pierce can wear his like shorts! Then, instead of you coming to pick us up, we go on the bus straight to Grandma's? Sure. I can drive over there this afternoon and meet the bus there! Then, we can go swimming in the pool, and see Oscar and the goats and Lennie and the dogs! Exactly. And when evening comes, and you're all tuckered out and the traffic is good, I can drive you in to see your Dad. And we'll have our bathing suits, because we wore them all day. Less driving for me. Get to see Grandma. Get to go in the pool.

Eowyn is wicked smart, dudes.

So I was thinking about taking the mower out again on a shorter setting (had to do it on the highest setting yesterday, the grass was WAY too long) but oddly, without money coming in, I'm feeling iffy about using up the gas. So I think I'll just pack up a bag for the kids and head out to the Cabbage to hang with Mom... who must be there, as the internet is engaged and I can't get through. If she reads this, she'll know to expect me - if not, she'll be surprised.

Got paid today - I now have 154$. Need to go talk to Mom anyway about what proportion of it would be best to put into the pot for everything. I'm thinking I could do the full 100$, and I want to, because it's my last hurrah for a bit until I find more work.

The new level on which I've discovered I am offended by Ketty's outburst last night: *I* fucked everything up... one assumes by leaving. Not her son. He was innocent. He didn't fuck anything up ignoring me for a year. Grr.

Fucking typical. (Angry Kif Rant)

The danger of not working at night is that the phone will ring (long distance) and you will be loopy on painkillers and forget the only people who call you long distance in the wee hours. My ex-IL's.

Ketty made many noises about how glad she was to finally get through to me. I pointed out that it's a lot simpler to get through to me when one calls when I'm not working... and I was working nights, remember? Nope. Moot. My shift got laid off. How are you? Well - my shift got laid off, that's not good. Oh. And outside work? I sprained my foot again. Oh! Come up this weekend and spend the weekend with me. I'll take care of you!

Eek.

So no, on account of A. My car is fucked. I'm not doing anything more than essential driving until I know what's wrong with it. B. It wouldn't be me and the kids... it would just be me... because YOUR SON has his children on the weekends. and C. I have a date this weekend. (my weekly snoggathon with John).

Oh.

Thence came the usual complaints about how her son is upset with her, how he doesn't call, won't go over - it's been X weeks since he's been supposed to come over and do some computer stuff for his dad. The end point is that I am supposed to either intercede on their behalf or bring the kids over myself - either on my time or his, but certainly at my own inconvenience - not any of theirs. This is not going to happen. Those are WIFE duties, and I ain't the wife no more. I could not help but notice, however, that those X weeks... they happened to coincide perfectly with the number of weeks that the kids have been coming home sunburnt and thrilled with tales of going rock-climbing, paddle-boating, this that and the other-thinging with their dad, my ole friend that he's been seeing, and her two kids. Tony is otherwise occupied.

So I told her about the fact that he's been going out with the kids, jogging, doing all sorts of stuff that is healthy and happy and good. That he'd been hanging out recently with an old friend of mine, nothing too serious as of yet, but that it seemed to be doing wonders for him and that the kids were really happy with it.

She blew up at me. Said it gave her, "Mal de coeur!" to hear that we were both moving on with our lives and added, very upset, that, "T'as tout fucker!". Basically, it makes her sick and I fucked everything up. Yeah, everything but the fact that we're both happier people now.

Then came all the avowals that she still loves me and that she just wants me happy... and her son... but not like ACTUALLY happy, apparently. What the fuck is wrong with these people? I just don't get it. Ten years they know me and they think I'm going to move to a whole different PROVINCE out of some minor fit of pique? Just to take a couple of months off? That I'm bound to come home any day now? What, exactly, did she think was going to happen? Did she really think that Tony would fight for me? And she's known HIM for his whole life. Anyone who was paying any attention whatsoever, who knew us at all would know I would only leave if the problems were serious and terminal, and that Tony would only ever say, "Oh, all right then."

Fuck this nonsense. No more answering long distance rings past 9pm. I'm sick and tired of having it forced down my throat that the only reason they want to talk to me is to see how soon I might be coming back because I was the only one in the entire equation with any interest in actually putting in EFFORT to make sure that the kids got to see their Tayta and Gedho. They whine and whinge about how Tony won't come see them, but it's not like they'll drive out to see him or anything. I know Tony doesn't want his Dad driving the kids (truth be told, I'm not horribly comfortable with it either - TAILGATES HORSES, hello?) but they could stop by and go to the park with the monkeys... anything. But they won't. And Tony isn't into them enough to spend the 1-1/2 hours on bus-metro-bus to be trapped at their house eating hors d'oeuvres and watching his mother make a federal production out of a simple visit.

But that's it for me. If I'm the petite conne qui a tout fucker, they can just go to hell. I don't need this shit.

Done my lawn.

Now it looks real pretty.

I was right, too - it was out of gas. I caught myself in one of those weird "girl" moments. I was thinking, "That was pretty fun, actually. Too bad I have to wait to finish until Dad can come here and help me get the mower up and going again."

But then... why? I'd seen him put some gas in from a can in the shed off the shop. But... what if that wasn't gas? What if I was mistaken? Then I realized that if at thirty years old, I can't figure out what the hell gas smells like, I've got bigger problems than an overgrown lawn.

But where is the gas tank, anyway? How do you get it in? Um... chiquita... GO LOOK at the damn thing before you determine you won't be able to figure it out.

But how do you even open the hood on it? I don't remember how Dad did it!

And on and on it went. Finally I just went and got the can of gas, sniffed it, yeah - that's gas all right - pulled on the hood, hey, it opens... and look - oil there and gas here - the big ole tank that is EMPTY. There was even a funnel on top of the gas can. Duh. So I filled the tank, started her up again and off I went.

So now I'm sucking back a Bracken Homebrew and wondering if I ought down a Tylenol 3 with it - turns out pushing in the clutch when one's foot is sprained is more OW. I saw a vole fleeing the lawnmower up near the ruins of the Cheese Factory too. Very cute. The kids only had to be hit with debris once each to figure out to stay the hell away. I clipped the overgrown bits near the walkway with scissors.

Some day, when I am employed again... and have money again... I will invest in a whipper snipper.

I mowed my lawn

On the ride-on mower. It took me almost five minutes to get it started. I stalled it a couple of times. It may be out of gas. I couldn't get it to start again. I put it in neutral and made Pierce steer while I pushed it back into the shop.

Pierce... not so good with the steering. "Dude! The door to the shop is twenty feet wide and You're MISSING IT!"... "DUDE! Turn AWAY from my car!". But he did have a big ole smile on the whole time. Personally, I was bitter with him for coming in to my room while I was reading earlier in the day, taking a quiet moment to stare RIGHT UP MY NOSE and then remarking, "Mom. You have hair in your nose. It looks like there are WEEDS growing up there.".

Eowyn is pissed at me this afternoon. Why? Because I dressed her in her sleep this morning, and because I didn't have to hear her shreik or catch her to do it - I decided to take the chance and put her in a skirt. She noticed just before she walked out the door. Displeased. Mightily. Went to pick her up - still displeased.

"You DO look good in it though."
"Yeah, but Mom. I hate skirts."
"I know, I just don't understand why. Do people tease you when you wear skirts?"
"No. I just don't like to wear them."
"I don't like to wear skirts very often either... but I still do, sometimes. It's good for you, it... (thminks) ... challenges your self-identity..."
"I wasn't CHALLENGED. I was HUMILIATED."
"But why!?"
"Because! I was IN A SKIRT."

You see how I'm an idiot? You see how I try to trip her up into saying that she's nervous about her underpants showing or that boys try to lift the back or just to give me any quick-fix/easily solveable issue that I can just clap my hands, say tada and forevermore just dress her as I please? Only to be completely undone by an eight year old? Might as well spend your time trying to get Pop to admit that the reason he doesn't want to wear a flowered mu-mu is because it shows sweat too easily.

I guess I'm starting to freak a little.

Okay, so I'll get my last paycheque tomorrow - and it'll be a thin one. After that, child support on the 14th... and then my child tax benefit... which should be enough to get me to Old Songs - which I have to attend because I'm working there this year.

EEK.

I'm really hoping the oil company calls me back. Dad bought me a beer at the St. Eugene Tavern yesterday and told Simon, the proprietor, who coincidentally enough, used to ALSO be the sawmill operator at Upper Canada Village to hire me as a bartender. Lol. Simon actually looked like he'd like to - if he actually needed someone. Ah well.

So once again into the job-hunting fray - which for me has so far involved hanging about the house in my sparkly jammies, dancing to the Sisters of Mercy (ow, my foot) and cleaning up the entire upstairs, except for the kids' room (more ow, my foot). I'm going to go look at the job board again - once I'm done posting. And the Review's website. A job on the Hill would be sweet.

Mustn't forget to call the school and let them know that until further notice, possibly until the end of the school year considering my luck with jobs around here, that I will be picking the monkeys up in the afternoon.

And that engine light. Yeesh. I hafta take it to a garage to their computer can talk to my car and tell me what's ailing it. If the car dies, I'm fucked.

One of them days...

The good:

I left a message for the dude at the oil company this morning. He called me back. I went in at 1:30pm for an interview.

I hadda be outta there for 2pm. Hadda go pick up Alex and Marlene because I was told when I called in to PFF (Mom and Pop and Heather all had the day off, were going in to Ottawa, and were hoping not to have to break it off to get the kids, but alas TODAY I had work...) that "Unless something breaks!" I had work...

It went really, really well. He went into immediate babble mode about the company and what the job entails and the benefits etc and... we can only pay 11/hr - is that okay? Dude. NOT a problem.

So then he switched to me - and literally said, "Tell me about you, what brings you here, how did I get so lucky as to get YOUR resume on my desk?"

This is a GOOD sign. They want to hire someone fast, but want to hedge their bets and make sure they've seen everyone they have an interest in. So wait wait wait and feel super extra bad if they don't call because the interview went so swimmingly and I worked hard to convince him I wasn't going to get bored, or feel underpaid.

The bad:

Night shift was laid off tonight. We went in, punched in. I took my codeine (whee!) and took the laces out of my boot and my foot still wouldn't fit in the boot. We were told to go to the lunchroom. The big boss came in and told us so sorry, but you're all laid off. No work. We all got up to go... he said, "Oh no! There IS work tonight!".

The ugly:

We all just walked out on him. There was snickering and laughter and we all said a collective roundabout, "Oh, fuck off." and walked out. I said, "Sorry dude, but I'm not killing myself for one night's work when I can't even get my foot in my boot." We left.

Alex drove me home (too much whee!) and we updated our resume's and printed out some copies... and we checked the boards and the websites for local newspapers.. I told Marlene (who still has no car!) that if she needed my help looking for a job (drivin') to just call.

And the check engine light came on in my car.

Sigh.

Laure once bought me...

This foot contraption - It's a soft plush box with slipper-shapes up top. You slip your feet in and press some buttons and it warms up and vibrates. Lovely. So about the time I wrote that post last night, I was starting to feel purty good. By the time I curled up in bed, I felt like I'd curled up inside my foot contraption. Whee...

Then the phone rang, local. Crap! I figured it was Mom or something... I bolted for it.

"Whatzamatter you? Don' check yer messaches?"
"John?"
"Hmph."

So we stayed up an hour just talking on the phone. He confessed to feelings and hopes that he'll probably regret this morning, that will probably have him looking at me cockeyed with that, "Don't you hurt me now!" glint in his eye next time I see him. We discussed my night with the DJ. We discussed Waynette. We discussed what we want and what we need and why. What we're not willing to accept. It was in vino veritas all around - or in vino for him and in codeine for me. I'm muzzy on the details but I think the agreement was to keep things as they are, but to work harder on being nicer to one another. To keep doing that baby steps thing, with periodic checking in to make sure we're both still on the same page. He said he can be really sweet - I said I was waiting on sweet. I won't "settle down" and be anyone's girlfriend until they are head over heels, and clearly and obviously so - he's not ready to risk head over heels on anyone right now. So we're stuck. But that doesn't mean that in the meantime, we can't not be shits to each other. I explained to him that in my entire history, the only time I've ever "dumped" someone, the only time I've left things upset and angry and bitter, is Wayne - and that because he lied and tried to manipulate me. Otherwise, things just seem to move of their own accord, drift apart as needs and desires change. And not that "drift apart" where I drift and you sit there going, "What the fuck, she doesn't call, she doesn't return my calls...". That I leave when it is clear and obvious all around that it's time to go, and I'm fairly sure I've yet to leave someone who wasn't pleased they'd met me.

It's all new to him. He's used to the usual. You meet a chick. You spend some money on her. You throw some attention her way. At the appropriate, non-slutty time, she comes into your bed. Then you're "dating". Several months later it all falls apart because you were never looking for the same thing, didn't know one another very well at all, and you probably both hurt one another and lied and cheated or just couldn't accept who this person you started to see turned out to actually be. Then I flit into his life and after, "Are you gay?" and "So, we gonna fuck or what?" I'm already in his bed. But I come back. And I hang around. And it turns out he doesn't mind so much. I fuck off on him when he's in a bad mood. I sleep with someone else, but it isn't a big drama, a big lie or betrayal. I tell him. He flirts outrageously with another woman in front of me. I'm not too concerned - I tease him about how unpleasant she is. He flirts with Alex. I tell him, "Tch. She's eighteen and adorable. She's used to it. I already KNOW you like ME, liking someone else doesn't take that away from me.". Not only do I not mind him wanting to take his time, not only do I want to take my time, but I'm moving slower than he is.

I am his first ever real fuck-buddy.

"G'night, Babe." he purrs into the phone."I love you."
"I love you, too."
*click*

Am I IN LOVE? Nope. Not at all. I love him - the way I love Alex. The way I love Marlene and Suzanne and Chris and Marc and Carmen and her boys. The way I love PFF. Fucked up. Flawed. Imperfect. But a now nearly essential part of this new life I've built for myself - the one that has me, for the first time in years... truly and deeply content.

The good news and the bad news.

The good news is the oil company called me! WOOT!! I have to call them back tomorrow morning and arrange for an interview. I am so psyched. Here's hoping I don't go into hyper-cretinous babble mode and blow it big time.

The bad news is I wasn't home to take the call because I was at the hospital for my foot. The further bad news is that they are fairly sure, but not certain, that it is just sprained and not broken. Which is pretty much exactly what I told them in triage when I first arrived there, six and a half hours previous. But on the upside, if the radiologist DOES find a break, they'll call me and let me know - not that it will change anything, but I'll know. The real upside is good drugs. Tylenol 3's with codeine.

So please, sit back and try to imagine... Kif... job interview... loopy... gimpy...

Crap, eh?

No work today. Call before you come in tomorrow. We might be doing meatball subs on Thursday, but only during the day.

I'm off to pick up Alex and drive up to the Job Bank in Hawkesbury. This sucks monkey testicle, hard.

Another lovely, moneyless day.

It was windy but hot and gorgeous. I got the piglets. They ran rampant, rode bikes, blathered, complained about my cooking. My foot is killing me.

Best Pierce Moment: Back in his daycare days he had a care provider named Chloe, a francophone woman who took an immediate and deep shine to him. She was the one who first started calling him Piercu. I mispronounce it as Piers-oo most of the time. So tonight as he was babbling cretinously from his room, I put on my best "I'm-warning-you!" tone and said, "Piercu! You'd best get yer butt back...". I stopped, he was at his door, staring at me in a wounded and horrified way.

"Did you just call me..." he asked, disbelieving "Pierce-hole!?"
"Pierce-hole?" I asked.
"Don't call me PIERCE-HOLE!!" he cried, aghast.

Dudes, I totally didn't call him Pierce-hole. I called him Piercu. I tried to hold on but it was no use. I guffawed, I snorted and wheezed. Pierce-hole. This could catch on.

Best Eowyn Moment: All my moments with Eowyn these days are my best Eowyn moments. She is so zen, so preternaturally calm and easy-going (provided you aren't asking the little moose to do something she don't wanna). She flits around the edges of the whilrwind of demands and needs that is her "blooder" taking perverse pride in how little we butt heads over anything. She lives in her own little world with her darkly shining stars and the apple tree (picking dried up old apple blossom corpses out of her hair in my bed was as close as we came to any sort of nitpickiness today - she laughed and said, "Oh! Right!" and hopped out of bed to shake them out on my floor) and sitting in the long long grass torturing caterpillars and june bugs. She's so pretty. No one particular thing stands out to mention because she works hard, on purpose, to make sure that nothing does. She wants me happy and she'll work to try and make it happen. That sort of recognition, that sort of effort is hard to come by in an adult and almost impossible to inspire in a child. But then, I've never really thought of her as a child. You can't, with Eowyn.

She's no regular human... she's a fairy changeling, my girl, the last of her kind.

Did anyone call it?

They called. The broiler is still broken. No work.

So I'm going to take a shower, try to perk up a little and then go pick up the monkeys and spend the evening in the best company there is: My rowdy, moist-palmed, high-pitched, skinned kneed and slightly sticky progeny. I shall cook them tater tots and chicken fingers. Tell them that it's moot not going to The Cabbage to play in the pool because it's being de-algaed and hyper-chlorinated and they couldn't go in anyway. And get this - I'm not even lying about it! It's TRUE.

Yeah. Shower. Clothes. Kids.

I WAS snoozin'...

... and having a good dream. It was my "modified", more believable flying dream. My swimming dream. Everyone from work was there. The kids kept falling into the pool. I was cleaning up books and stuff from the bottom. I kept finding stuff I've lost over the years. I made a pile, next to the kids.

Then the phone rang - long distance.

Usually I don't answer daytime long distance calls. It's almost always a fax machine screaming in my ear. But oddly enough, despite the fact that we are less than 30km away from each other and in the same area code, PFF rings in as long distance. So I woke up and bolted.

An east-indian woman assured me that either me or my spouse had filled out an application to win a Mercedes Benz. We were in the running. With just a bit of highly confidential personal information, we could confirm and ... *click*. For this I got out of bed just as I was about to have flying/swimming angry I-dislike-you so I don't have to be gentle or worry about YOUR needs, besides, this isn't even real sex with my boss. Argh.

But if PFF calls, it will be in the next hour. But they've had all weekend to fix the machinery. But it would be too perfectly dismal to miss out on that much pay. But it could still happen, because that's PFF. It's all good, because it's supposedly my fault (I, at the request of my coworkers, prayed to my household gods to bust something up good. My gods are powerful, and grant my requests because I only promise things I can accomplish, like not screaming at the kids for a whole half hour) and because it gives me the moral high ground when I am finally able to go in and say, "Won't be here the Friday or the Monday of that last weekend..."

My foot hurts, and now, thanks to that last mosquito I was unable to murder before nodding off and the fact that I can't take having blankets pressing on it, it itches too. Fantastic.

I just applied for another job...

At a gas company, in accounts receivable. 11$ an hour, and it's during the DAY.

Plus, it's "on-my-ass" work. Score.

But with my luck, they won't call, lol. Ah well, live in hope, eh?

I feel weird about it. Despite the fact that the hours are killing me when the lack of hours aren't, the concrete floors, the cold, the general lameness of the actual work, the threat of losing a finger to the cartoner, the nausea from the conveyor belts... I like the stupid place. But I keep having to remind myself that this is NOT MONTREAL. Even if I leave PFF - I will still SEE these people - because everyone around here knows everyone else and they all see each other all the time. Besides - the oil company is almost literally right across the road. Even if they were all bitchy and boring, I could just hop in the car and go visiting... ish. I probably wouldn't, but then, the oil company probably isn't going to call anyway.

I wonder if I will have work tonight... and if I do, if they will want me to stay until the wee hours to try and make up for their machinery dying and losing so much production time. If they do and they ask, I should say yes... but I don't wanna. I'm already dreading the idea of having to stand around on my busted-up foot on concrete in the cold. This helps me feel better about applying for other jobs...

Laundry with kids.

If you've never had access to a clothesline, and your kids are older, and it's all brandy-dandy new, they will help you with enthusiasm... for a while. If you're smart, what you do is claim to enjoy hanging out the wash, that it's "okay" and that they don't "have" to help you. If you play this right, you can have them fair panting to do your laundy for you, and stave off the moment they realize they've been gyped for quite a while.

This I learned at my mother's knee - in theory. Laundry she did, but if we did a really good job vacuuming, we would be allowed to scrub the toilet. From Dad I learned that even kids who KNOW how to tell time will usually NOT BOTHER if you just TELL them that it is bedtime, even if it is only 6:30pm.

This is not cruelty to children. Many well-meaning folks who are not familiar with belt-beatings and witholding food or affection mistake tricking kids as abuse. It might be mean because it's so EASY, but it's not abuse. But then, if you don't have the money to buy them the ice cream they're whinging about, they're as apt to think it cruelty as anything else - so either way you're sorta screwed. The point is you can't be wonderful and nice all the time anyway, even if that's what you're aiming for, so you might as well have fun with the bits where someone, them or the critics' gallery, are going to think you're acting from spite.

Last night, driving home with the kids (after poutine at the Cabbage YUM!), I told them I needed laundry help. I explained to them that I'd been cleaning up all the sleeping bags, I'd done theirs. But mine is a double-sleeping bag. So help me god, the thing was too big to fit into the washing machine, even alone. I stuffed and I crammed and it was still ballooning out the top and I knew that all it would do if I tried to turn it on was swill it ineffectually and throw off the balance of the washer. It ain't no antique, half-assed washer either. So I yanked the bag out and dumped it in the bathtub. Unfortunately, with a busted up foot...

Aside: I spoke to Laure on the phone at the Cabbage yesterday. She asked if I'd seen her post about visiting her new property. I said yes, had she seen mine about... "Yeah, yeah." she said, "I got drunk, I slept with a guy, I busted up a foot - your usual post." EEK.

... with a busted up foot, one cannot stomp around on laundry in the tub. Enter the wee ones. I stripped them down, and added them and some detergent to the mix. They pounced and leaped and scrubbed. Children were the original laundry agitators. Thence followed two rinse cycles and a very ill-advised attempt at a spin cycle. Unfortunately for their all-consuming desire to hang up my laundry on the line, it was too sodden and heavy to lift out of the tub. We squeezed and twisted, but it was still too much. I piled it up good and told them they could help me in the morning, when it had drained most of the way.

They couldn't help me because it was just light enough for me to lift, and still POURING water out the end. I left a trail throughout the house, all down the stairs, and hollered, "Be careful! It's wet! It's slippery! Walk carefully!" as I went.

I was outside, arranging the bag over the folding chairs (too heavy to lift all the way to the line) when I heard a terrific crash inside and Pierce cry, "ARGH!". Yeesh. You hadda see that one coming. He limps outside and informs me that he fell down several stairs and then landed in the puddle at the base. There, he said, one leg one way and the other went the other way. You did the splits? Yeah, but I didn't MEAN to. Snicker. I told him that until I had a chance to mop up the water, to please be very very careful. He should be able to remember - the large trail of water throughout the house should be enough. Guess how many times he "forgot" before the school bus came? Like four. Every two minutes I would hear, "Woop!" or "Aack!" and a thump.

Which gave me an idea: If I really want to teach Pierce caution and care in his movements, a thing which has always been an issue with him, I will get a tub of vaseline and do the floors. WALK CAREFULLY. Or suffer the consequences.

But that, my dears... WOULD be cruel. Funny... but cruel.

My haul:

(from the Vankleek Hill town-wide garage sale)

1. Coffee cup. Brown with flowers. Pretty. 0.50$
2. Two books. Both Stephen King, Dolores Claiborne (never read, saw movie) and The Dead Zone (read several times). 0.25$ (supposed to be 0.20$, but I let them keep the change).
3. Pipe. Hard to describe. Blue glass "head" with metal stem. Feminine. Kinda art-deco look. Very Kif. Test run with Alex went very well. 4$.

Apart from that I hung out in VKH all day yesterday and most of the day before and I am even browner now, but with actual tanlines, boo - but I'll get rid of them eventually. Now I am home and doing laundry and messing about both on the computer and the lands (my privacy screens seem to have blown down). Have to bring more pig food out to the Cabbage later on. Try to set up the other, newer TV that Mom and Pop dropped off for me several weeks ago, and see if I can get my dang DVD player to work.

Of course, I spent most of the weekend with John. And Alex. John now knows about the dude from the bar the other weekend. In turn, he redoubled his efforts to seduce a neighbour - a woman I found singularily unattractive and unpleasant. I shall call her "Waynette". He also seems to have figured out that it was not *I* who was spreading the tale of the party over at his friends' around.

What do I feel for this man? A very large portion of affection. He suits me right now. I like him, but ... I don't like him a lot. He's weird. I finally understand why it is that Alex describes everyone she talks about as either, "Weird.", "Odd." or "Kinda strange.". He is. He's a man, doing his best in the world. All of them are good people. But he's a neat freak. He's vain. Stingy. Tentative. Defeatist. Sad. Demanding.

And I busted up my left foot. I might be too old for doing cartwheels with 11yo's. It's not bad, but it sure does twinge often and hard. Swelling not too bad. More than "slightly empinkened", but not enough to qualify as "bruised". Whatever's wrong is wrong in deep. Perfect timing to have gone and gotten OHIP in order.

An epiphany!

No work today, either - which means that next week's pay will be mighty slim indeed. Eek! But it's a beautiful day out and I'm trying to get in touch with Tony to see about taking the kids over tonight instead of tomorrow and I've had an epiphany. Yesterday was a good day - but like all days, there were things about it which were bad. Like not having any work, ergo no money... that could be bad. Same could be said about today. Sure I'm a little stressed out, and I know when work rolls back around, I'll be dying with the overtime and the rushing to catch up...

But it doesn't matter. I'm happy. I have friends, a gorgeous house and property that I love, lovers, a great family. My kids are joyful and brown like nuts and my animals are fat and happy. And I, for the first time in many years, feel buoyant and joyful about just about every aspect of my life. I hate my work, but I love my job. That's enough for me now. It's summertime and the living is easy. Life, on the whole, does not get any better than this.

Today I went and got my OHIP card application done. In two weeks, I will be covered by my socialist state health insurance again. Eowyn will go in for developmental testing. Pierce can be seen for his tonsils. I can get a patch on my ass until they find the time to cut, tie and cauterize my fallopian tubes. No clamps here, thank you very much. I've met too many "clamp babies".

But this is me, happy as a clam. As a pig in shit. As a Kif.

Pierce has lost his first tooth.

Generally, he announces a loose tooth shortly after Eowyn has lost one, and I check for the barest of wiggles. Yesterday he announced one and the thing was damn near fallin' outta his head. So this morning, he told me he wanted it out. He wiggled it himself for a while but exclaimed, horrified, that it hurt. I told him that yes, it does hurt, but Eowyn just does it herself anyway. You take the pain, boy. He said he couldn't... and asked me.

I wasn't gonna, because dentistry in all it's forms freaks me out. But he was tearing up and saying, "Help me, Mommy! Help me!". One can't resist that. So I grabbed that little tooth and I pressed it forward as hard as I could. Snap! EW! It was still in there. So I grabbed that little tooth and pressed it inward as hard as I could. Snap! EW! It was still in there. So I grabbed and yanked up and POP. Out it came. I was his hero. I wouldn't have been if I'd yakked in his open gob, which I was close to doing.

Pierce jumped for joy and yelled, "I love this planet!"

So Ma, remind me to give you a handful of change to stick under his pillow. He's got it wrapped in toilet paper in his back pocket now - but knowing him he'll manage to lose it before the day is through. I had put it in my box on my dresser, but he got antsy and we realized it being Friday, he'd be sleeping over at the Cabbage. I had told him, "Leave it alone! I don't want you to fuck around with it!". He said, "I'm NOT going to fu..uuu.." and I cracked up because he was blushing so bad and trying so hard to figure out a way not to say it.

He's very proud. Of the tooth. Of the hole in his grin. Of carrying it around. Of taking the pain.

Apparently toe cramps are popular.

Many people are finding me by googling "Toe Cramp". Something like 41% of the people who find me via search engine, those that don't find me looking for "Margaret Trudeau Spank" are finding me looking for information on toe cramps. One joker needed to be an individual and googled "Toe CrampS"... Power, dude/tte.

So, to whit:

I get one good toe cramp a year, on average. They are scary because I scream and fall down and keep on screaming. They hurt, like, a lot. The moment of truth delivering my 8lb 13oz daughter was less painful. They don't last long. At worst, several minutes. Usually, I get minor, painful, but very bearable twinges and pulls. When I get a "good" one, the entire toe flexes down so far that it looks like my foot is going to break.

What you need to do is:

A. Listen to your body. If the idea of putting pressure on it makes you nauseous, it's probably not a good idea. If you MUST grab it and squeeze with all your might, go for it. If well-meaning spectators are screaming at you to pound your foot on the floor, walk around, don't touch it, pull it this way, this is what works for them, this is what their Great-Aunt Edna always said to do and she was WISE dammit... It's like childbirth - you can scream I WILL KILL YOU IF YOU KEEP TALKING! and you will likely be forgiven for being overwrought with pain.

B. Get good drugs. Tylenol or Advil for pain, and lots of it. If you get frequent toe cramps, you might want to talk to your Doc about getting some serious muscle relaxants.

C. Stay off it for a while and be gentle with yourself, lest the bugger return.

D. Take calcium supplements. I live off cheese, chips and beer, and figured I was good on calcium, but apparently just taking a calcium supplement can cut down on their frequency A LOT. If you're a girl, you should be taking a calcium supplement anyway - as we age, our bones try to go away on us anyway. Take one even if you're a boy.

So that's my treatise on toe cramps.

Most phenomenal awesome day ever.

Wow, that was a good day.

I have been thinking about another tattoo. It's been a decade since I got one, and like all my previous ones, none of which I regret, I've had the idea for it noodling out in my brain for a couple of years now. So I figure that's the fair sign that it might be okay. It's a large one, but simple, so it shouldn't be prohibitively expensive. I know because today I sat down and looked at pictures and fiddling about and I got it all sketched and inked out. I'll get it priced on Saturday and start squirrelling away money.

The day got briefly sucky as time to go to work loomed. I drove to Alex's. We drove to Marlene's. Marlene said, "I thought you guys might still show up. Feels like hooky, don't it?"

Whut?

Marlene had just gotten a call from work. Don't come in. Machinery broken. See you tomorrow. We called and confirmed. Then we sat down, talked, shared a cookie. Then I got a big ole cross-section of log from a big tree Marlene had had cut down, and we loaded it into the car (which the suspension was NOT pleased about. Heavy log. I'm going to turn it into a side-table.

Then we picked up Heather at work, stopped by a garage sale, picked up a lemon, a lime, three oranges and a grapefruit. Got to the Branch just as they were closing and scored two bottles of Sangria. Alex, Heather (she didn't like it, ate the fruit, gave the booze to Mom) Mom and Pop sat and talked and drank Sangria while the kids splashed about in the pool. Heather joined them and threw them around. Alex borrowed The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

I'd tried to call John, but there was no answer. Got home with the kids and there were two messages. Sober, normal and friendly messages. I said to the kids, "Hey you guys, wanna meet John?" They swore up and down they'd go straight to bed as soon as they got home if we went.

So we went and the kids met John, and John met the kids. He shook hands and did what all people do - held them upside down and stuff. High fives. We went back to his place (he'd been at Danny's) and the kids watched the Transformers for a bit while John and I talked. He said, rather diplomatically, I thought "I didn't know you'd have your kids tonight". I shrugged and said, "I'm a mother. If I have the opportunity to be with them, that's my priority." Go figure, he said that was right on.

Yes, it is.

But it sucks that we can't... do anything. Thence I got to explain to him that my kids have always known that sometimes when they would try to get into Mom and Dad's room on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, the door might be blocked. That if it was, they would be informed that Mom and Dad were enjoying quiet, alone, private, grown-up cuddlin' time. Hence "Cuddlin'" became my kids' euphemism for kissing, necking, makin' out and so on and so forth, as far as my explanations of the sexual act has actually registered and retained. That's why Eowyn asked me if I'd been "up all night" cuddlin' with Alex. She wanted to know if this was a friend or a FRIEND.

John, I've already explained to my kids, is a FRIEND. They know. In our discussions after Tony and and I broke up, I explained to them that some day, both me and their Dad would start seeing other people, because people don't like to be alone all the time... not even those who like to be alone most of the time. That this was a good thing, not a scary or bad thing. It's just more people to love you. So they already know, as far as they are aware of any of the workings of such things, that John and I's relationship (HA!) is sexual, so to speak.

All of which was moot, in the face of cable anyway. When I came into the livingroom, Pierce said "Where were you?" and I said, "Talking to John in the other room." he grunted and went back to his show.

Unfortunately, he couldn't resist scamming food - so with a juice box in one mitt and a brownie in the other, be promptly wiped out down the last six stairs leaving. Didn't even let go of the food until his head hit the landing. He was fine, retrieved his food, laughed at himself (a bit of crying, just from the scare) and we left, to John saying, "Right on, Pierce. You made me laugh!"

In the car on the way home, they said they thought he was nice and when I said, "Yeah. And he's real handsome too" Eowyn said, "Yeah."

Which for those of you familiar with Eowyn, means that when I call him a dirty dirty HOTTIE rockabilly thug, I ain't kiddin' or being generous with that hottie reference. They're asleep now - after many many hollerings about how they PROMISED I wouldn't have to holler.

Kids.

I am alive.

Mostly. I just took a forty five minute nap on my tummy out in the pigpen. Then I woke up all sweaty, so I came in for a drink, a shower, some food and to post. Soon I will return and take another forty-five minute nap on my back. I improved on my privacy screening so even when the gas man and the dude who rents an area down the end of the land to store his truck were about, I still felt secure.

Last night was rough, but not the end of the world. You'd think I was getting strong or something.

This morning with the monkeys was great. I got hugs and kisses and drove Eowyn in to school and Heather to work. Had a cup of the heart-palpitation-inducing coffee they prefer over at the Cabbage, so I didn't even drive off the road once. Spent some time with Ed, who was very diplomatic about taking off when I started to nod off in mid-sentence. Then it was time to commence the outdoor nekkid napping and that, so far, has purty much been my day.

Soon Laure will be able to nap outside nekkid too. I highly recommend it.

Apart from that, Carmen and her boys were back yesterday (Yay, lewd hispanic rap!). She said she agreed to come back on the condition that she never again has to work with or near the offensive supervisor. I told her she should have asked for more money. She said, "Oh shit. Hehehe."

One of her sons was collecting phone numbers so that the next time they "have a party" they can call everyone from work - as Carmen put it, "I want MY friends from work, not my sons' friends!"

This is your Kif with friends. Who knew?

Oh boy, this is going to be ... ow.

Tidbits from work: Carmen quit and took her boys with her. Apparently a supervisor accidentally slammed a tray down on her hand, and did not feel it necessary to either acknowledge or apologize about it. I myself once had the core from a roll of industrial cellophane (heavy cardboard, about a foot long and four inches wide)land squarely between my shoulder blades. Another time, a large god of tape and plastic aimed for someone else hit me in the side of the head. Both times the apologies were profuse and immediate.

It's weird, but people at work seem blind to race issues. They blame EVERYTHING on personality conflicts, and don't seem to realize that in some cases, the personality conflicts themselves, and often the ridiculous actions that are predicated on them (like not apologizing) are racially motivated. Or gender-based. Or age-based.

Either way, she quit on Friday, and that's when the broiler broke down. Both belts shot, and the bearing destroyed. New parts incoming. Monday, they tried, but it was still buggered. So today there will be no day shift - and we night shift folk will arrive at work at noon and work probably until midnight to try and make up.

So I ay be in a coma shortly after arriving home. I've arranged to go pick the kids (Eowyn) up and Mom and Pop's tomorrow and take her directly to school. Last night, in my post-work fugue, I thought to myself: They'll need lunches! and therefore made two to leave in the fridge at the Cabbage, not apparently awake enough to realize that I need only make one because Pierce doesn't have school on Thursdays. Oh well, Pierce can eat his there.

So no nekkid sunbathing today, bleagh. Tomorrow I should be an absolute basketcase. Wish me luck for tonight.

At least it's money.

Toyota: 1; Racoon: 0

It is inevitable, living in the country, that one will see plenty of, and eventually contribute to, roadkill.

I've been fairly lucky. I've hit squirrels and chipmunks and many many toads. But to this day my biggest roadkill was the monstrous tortoise I hit in my old Topaz.

My Mom is not so lucky. Or at least, she wasn't last year, if I happened to be driving along behind her. On her own, this year - I've not heard that she's hit anything. But last year any time I was following her she would suddenly start careening around the road as she avoided animals. The problem was that each time I had to suddenly watch the car bearing my mother, and often as not, one of my own kids suddenly start swerving it was not to avoid *A* racoon. It was to avoid hitting entire extended clans of racoons. Watching Mom dodging babies and cousins and grand-neices and in-laws was a thing of beauty. All she could do was aim for *less* or *fewer* racoons than if she just plowed straight through. A quote from Laure, who was in the car with me (or did I say this? I don't really remember...): "OMG! Did you see that thing come out from under the wheel!? It was spinning like something out of the Matrix!"

I see a lot of wildlife in my nightly drives to and fro the one property to the next. 4km down the road there is a family of foxes, and their young will often come sit by the side of the road. I slow down in case they are out. Racoons and skunks' eyes glow from afar and most often they can just be seen as they dart back into the drainage ditches. Obviously, sometimes they decide to dart to drainage ditch ACROSS the way, and end up roadkill. Deer just stand there. Moose are dangerous - they will kill you.

But I've not yet hit any of them... until tonight, technically. I came 'round the bend near the 417 and there in the road was lying a racoon. I knew he'd been hit within the hour - I'd driven the other way within that time frame and the roads had been clear. He was right in the middle of my lane, and I hadn't time to do anything but align myself to pass over his inert body.

...

Or not so inert.

...

He woke up. He woke up; he looked up. He lifted his head up and looked at me like a drunk who's woken up on a bathroom floor he doesn't recognize. I had the briefest flash of one very stunned and displeased racoon and then... THUNK! Besically, why Mom always said to keep your hands INSIDE the car, but in reverse.

So that's it. My first roadkill, but by a technicality. Plus when I got home there was a splotch of blood on my stoop. I'm taking bets if I tested it, it would be starling.