No Escape

Last Night I watched No Escape with my parents. After fifteen minutes, I was pacing in the back of the living room, and being quite vocal on how I was not a fan of this movie. I sensed each dire situation would only be followed by an equally dire situation, until the movie ended.
By the end of the movie my shoulders were sore, and I said, "Talk about sitting through an hour and a half of your worst nightmare." And, then I had a shitty nightmare. Last night, I dreamt I lost Kiki in a flea market and was frantically trying to find her.
No Escape reminded me of Delta Force, my brothers and sisters favorite movie of my childhood. My parents were not big on following Parental Guidance ratings, so my four year old brother spent most of his day reenacting Chuck Norris kicking ass, or acting as a marine being beaten to death by the armrest of an airplane seat.
I had more refined taste as a child, and my go to film at 7 years old was Pretty Woman. I'd set an alarm clock to watch this movie before school. And can't even help myself from saying lines from the movie after microscopic cues. When someone suggests laying down, or a picnic, I spit out, "Lay like broccoli," and they, understandably, look at me like, "That doesn't make any fucking sense!"
Well, that shit makes sense to a seven year old because they are still allowed to live in their own private universe.

No Escape was all about blood pumping fear. It makes me want to delay travel plans, and move to a smaller city. However, plane tickets are already bought, and fighting with an airline is as enjoyable as watching movies with a backdrop of actors being bludgeoned to death. I'm sure chocolate covered macadamia nuts will relax me, and I'll get some leashes for the kids.

Shut Your Piehole

Oh Yeah, it's turkey time. I'm more of a pie person because the sight of a cooked turkey reminds me of Peta videos I can't scrub from my mind. 

I was put in charge of dessert, and because I'm planning on having a slice for my appetizer, two slices for my main, and three slices for dessert, I'm bringing a fly swatter along, to bat away loved ones infringing on my bounty.

"You better shut that pie hole, and go fill your turkey hole! Don't make me show you the videos, and cast a shadow over our day of thanks! There isn't enough green bean casserole for that!"

Flossin

My right front tooth is brown. Damn you, coffee!!! (Just kiddin, I love you with all my heart)

When I was a kid my mom gave us a tutorial on flossing our teeth. My brothers, sisters and I sat on her bed as she explained dental floss and how were supposed to use it. She used my older sister as an example, and we all watched as she did the Y motion in between each tooth.
Moments after doing one Y, the gums started to bleed, and then this happened at the next Y, and the next. We all started to panic, and worry about my sister, who was bleeding at the mouth after doing this dentist recommended treatment. I blame our collective horror, five kids crying in fear, splayed across a king size bed, for not being a diligent flosser.
My dental insurance kicks in on December 1, and I am finally going to see to the dentist after four years of neglecting to go for a checkup and cleaning. Since I am going to see the dentist next month, for the first time in nearly a half decade, I'm starting to floss, only because I don't like the shame that comes along with a dental hygienist cleaning my teeth, lecturing me on flossing, her face twisted in grotesque disappointment.
Last night I flossed, and my gums bled. I know from quitting and restarting flossing regimens throughout my adult life, that the bleeding lessens with each flossing, eventually stoping.
I'm looking forward to after my dentist appointment, so I can give my gums a break.

Not bad for day two

Feeding A Cold

This stuff saves

Three weeks ago I caught a cold. It was a nasty one, something that can only come from the breeding ground of disease, preschool. I should have expected a health rough patch because I bought running clothes, which always results in me falling off the workout wagon. It never fails, after I plunk down serious coinage on high end athletic attire, I end up encountering an unforeseen issue, that leaves me stagnate for a period of time.
I bought long sleeve running shirts because it is a smidgen chilly in the morning, and running in a sweatshirt is not quite as easy as the marvelously engineered, lightweight, breathable running hoodies by New Balance.
I'm usually a proponent for workout clothes that look like the kind of thing one would save for washing their toilets; old t-shirts with holes in them, and shorts or leggings. If I see someone in a Lulu Lemon ensemble, I generally stamp the word "Fraud" over their forehead, and roll my eyes thinking of the great "see thru pants" incident, and how the cost of their outfit is the same as a plane ticket to Hawaii.
The only perk of having a cold is getting to "feed a cold." So I get to have a free for all, knowing its for a greater cause, getting back to 100%. Now that my cold has passed, and I have fine running sweatshirts, I need to get back on the wagon, and literally, hit the ground running in the morning.
I can tell three weeks of not running and consuming food like a truck driver has softened me a bit, but the number on the scale has not changed. That number never makes sense to me, so it's not surprising it hasn't changed when it should have spiked ten pounds. I generally think I look much smaller than the scale number suggests. A type of body dysmorphia that works in my favor. I look at the scale and say, "No way, Jose. I look much smaller than that."
I think it's because I come from dense stock. You'd think that would help me in the cold weather.

Dipshit duck lips in an awesome fleece

Big Brother

Kiki and her 'This Life' baby brother

Today when I was picking Kiki up from her school, her teacher said, "Does she have an older brother?" And, I said, "No, just a little brother," and I patted George on the belly.
Then her teacher said, "Today she told me she has an older brother, who is bigger than her mommy. And then when I asked her what his name is she got really quiet and said, 'I'm not allowed to talk about it.'"
I gave a funny face, and shook my head, indicating I have no idea what she's talking about, and then said, "Hmm. Thats funny."
It is funny, that her teacher said this to me, because last night I read an excerpt from a book on past lives. The Dalai Lama said there is a lot of evidence of reincarnation based on interviews of children. One bizarre story was of a father who was changing his son's diaper, and the son said, "I remember when I used to change your diapers." The kid would also talk about events in his grandfather's life like they were his personal stories, things that this toddler would not know, one event being how his sister (grandfather's sister) was murdered.
This toddler knew his audience because I imagine saying something like that in a Fundamentalist's household would have ended with him being smothered by pillow. The father was receptive. I also was really impressed by this story because an 18 month old who can speak in complete sentences is somewhat rare, and adding the element of revealing historical family facts, this family must have been on the phone with Geraldo, Jenny Jones, and Oprah before the reincarnation PR committee documented this kid, and then passed the info on to the Dalai Lama. The excerpt had other examples; kids scared of a man coming to shoot them again, or screaming, "I want to go back to my old family." They claim that around six years old children loose memories of past lives.

Kiki had a nightmare last week, and she woke up crying. It was so sad to see her distraught. When I was a kid, and woke up terrified from a nightmare, my mom would say, "Tell me your dream, and then it won't come true." I live by this rule now, and even if I wake up from a bad dream, and its three in the morning, I have to wake up my husband, and barf out whatever nonsense just played out in my brain, before I roll over and go back to bed. He likely snores through my retelling, but it keeps my conscious clear. And because of this belief my mom passed on, I don't ever share the details of good dreams, because that means they will come true, and I have some great things to look forward to.
When I probed Kiki for information on her dream, she said something about toys going to the dump. That day we cleaned out the garage and took a load of crap to the dump, but I also went through her toys and picked a garbage bag of stuff out to bring to donation.
As I was picking through her things, I didn't realize I was traumatizing her. Last night she had a nightmare again, and as she cried, she said, "Someone was throwing my toys away."
After school today, I sat her down and said, "Kiki, remember when I was going through your toys to give some to the women's shelter?" And she looked straight ahead, meaning, "Yeah, I'm listening."
Then I continued, "Well, I'm not giving them away. You can have them back."
And she smiled and jumped on the couch.
Our house is exploding with toys, but I've come to realize that is a good problem. I don't think I will hear either of my kids complain about wanting to go back to their old family.
As for this older brother Kiki told her teacher about, and then turned silent, eerily saying, "I'm not allowed to talk it."
I will first check with her dad, perhaps there is a son out there he doesn't know about.
I don't think I'm going to ask her any questions about this mysterious big brother because if she was told "you're not allowed to talk about it," then I don't want to get her in trouble. There are guidelines to abide by.

Bye Bye Bonsai

This morning I was applying for jobs online, and George was cruising the house. I thought he was talking to the plants, but he was actually terrorizing them. I found a plant murder scene later when I walked over with a watering can. George plucked the Bonsai right out of it's pot, and then he scrammed, but I thought it was very considerate of him to drag the broom over to the mess.

Reading Material On My Own

Kiki's favorite is Sadness, of course.

My husband is out of town so we're left to our own devices. There are definitely perks to having a spouse who travels a lot for work. For example, we keep it simple at meal time. We've had broccoli and veggie dogs for dinner the last three nights, and there hasn't been a single compliant. And, no one has tripped over a gigantic shoe left, unattached to a body, in the middle of the living room.
There are drawbacks, of course. The perks of low maintenance meals, and the absence of the lurking threat of tumbling over a Red Wing Boot are offset, most especially, at nighttime. After the sun sets, we go on lockdown. All curtains are tightly closed, home alarm activated, and lots of bravery pep talks are dispensed.
Aside from calming anxieties about a creaking house, especially with the windstorms were having this week, I have to reevaluate my nighttime reading materials. The two books I was reading, Science Fiction short stories and a book on the science of extraordinary psychic abilities, require the warm body of an adult laying next to me when I fall asleep, since I can easily talk myself into a state of sweaty hysteria after reading a sentence about encounters with another dimension/state-of-mind/reality.
It's perfect timing because I need to read a parenting book I set aside from boredom last month. Most parenting books can be condensed from 200 pages to a half page of bullet points, EASILY. The books repeat the same thing over and over again, it works better than NyQuil.
Yesterday, Kiki's teacher told me they are working on her "making friends," since she always tells her teacher she likes to play alone. At first, this was disturbing to hear because I don't want Kiki to be weird or different, so I signed her up for gymnastics on Fridays, to further expose her to social settings with kids her own age.
After telling my husband, mom and sister about the teachers desire to encourage Kiki to be more outgoing, I was given a different conclusion from each person. My husband thought she might be being bullied, and perhaps feels like she isn't in a safe environment. My sister sympathized for Kiki and thought her antisocial behavior is perfectly normal. She said she still remembers the anxiety she felt attending kids' birthday parties. My mom figured it's because Kiki is a slightly spoiled, alpha-dog who will not tolerate anyone telling her what to do. And, I thought Kiki is probably too smart for the classroom, and doesn't have anyone she feels she can connect to.
We went to an indoor playground a couple days ago, and a little girl followed Kiki around asking her to play with her. Kiki ignored her, and then followed the woman around who runs the center asking her questions. And that lady ignored Kiki. It was a weird chain of dismissive behavior. But I think Kiki is just very fond of adults, and has very little interest in children her own age.
Tonight, is the last night were having our stay-cation, so I better finish this parenting book. It puts me to bed so easily, even with a creaking house. I thought of the perfect solution; read the book on clairvoyance and psychic ability to a state of heart-racing worry, and because I don't have an adult here to protect me against the spirit world, then crack open the parenting book, and I will certainly make it through a couple chapters.

Rethink nighttime reading while husband away on business