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4 kittens

Everyone must have a happy face.

Posted on 2017.10.01 at 22:10
Ace: When I grow up I'm going to be evil because bad guys are usually stronger then good guys.
Hawaii: But then you'll go to jail, Ace. And you might be there a long time depending on what you do. And you only get dirty water and bread to eat.
Ace: I'm not going to kill anyone. Just have my dragons, knights, and bats get people and bring them to me so I can talk to them.
Jammies: What people?
Ace: My enemies and sometimes my friends if they hurt my feelings.
Hawaii and Pokey: You can't control bats!
Ace: Then clowns, dragons, and knights. I'm going to have 100 of each. And they will go and get people when I want to talk with them.

So Pokey has been more scared lately - of going to the bathroom by himself, being in parts of the house by himself, getting from car into the house at night, etc. More scared than usual.

When I asked his therapist about it, he said, "Well, when kids realize more of the dangers in the world, they get increased fearfulness, until they develop a healthy denial about it all, again."

On Tuesday night, I dreamt that I was in a backyard.  A young adult showed up with an assault rifle. I realized he was about to start shooting up the place. I was beside myself with fear.  I dropped to the ground and  army crawled out of the backyard, through the shrubbery in the very back.  I did not pause for a second. No shots had been fired yet. I stood up on the other side of the shrubbery and started running. I just could not outrun my fear. I ended up in another building, maybe a campus building, mostly empty, still quaking with fear. I was still petrified of that backyard and I didn't know if the siege is still going on, or if everyone was dead, or what. At one point I was trying to explain to my dad what the situation was, and how I handled myself, and I was totally fishing for his approval. Many of my dreams take place in Gainesville, where my parents live and I grew up.

I woke up, terrified. I wanted solace, but clearly as an adult there's no place to get solace from a nightmare.  At any point in time, some madman with a gun could kill one of my children and wreck my life, and at that moment I understood how clearly it could happen. I couldn't imagine closing my eyes and sleeping again.

It reminded me of Miles - when you realize the dangers in the world, you get increased fearfulness. I'm usually in denial about random lunatics with guns, but when I realize it's a thing, I get increased fearfulness. Intensely.

Somehow I did fall asleep again, and amazingly enough, I resumed the dream. I was making my way back to the backyard. I passed a parking lot full of shattered glass, which meant in dream-speak that the madman must have come through this way, and probably was apprehended, and the backyard siege must somehow have ended.

I arrived at the backyard. The scene was entirely cleaned up.

I looked around until I could find someone who can give me some answers. I was still so terrified that I was stuttering. But finally, we sorted out what I was asking, which was, "who died?" and he says, "No one was killed. He never opened fire on anyone."

And poof! My emotions did a 180 and I was elated! My healthy denial was back intact! No one has to get hurt by madmen!

I know it's a cliche that telling someone your dream is the most boring thing. And yet I subjected you to it. I almost never have nightmares or even remember my dreams.

Mostly in my dreams, I'm  going over and back over the layout of houses, or sometimes going over and back over the layout of streets. Occasionally other buildings - stadiums, apartments. Sometimes it's a path between cities. Often we've moved into my parents' house and they're not there. Mostly I'm by myself. It's like I lack the creativity to create other people in my dreams.

"Before I sing you my song, I need to tell you that this is 11 pm, not am. 11 at night. Ok, ready?"

Crazy (a song)
By: Hawaii

Wake up at 11
Breakfast at midnight
Dinner in the morning
And lunch before bed

Brush my teeth while playing
Soccer on Christmas
Hit me with a hammer
Right on the head

All I want is glory
It’s a long story
Ask me another

Break a leg at football
Turn into a meatball
But I still have a
Real good time

Poo on your friends head
Don’t stop till
The timer ends
Drink a little too much wi-e-ine

Punch a guy in the face
Speed at your own pace
Drink a little more wine
Until you’re drunk.


For my own sake, let me semi-record the tune.
ff ff f c
ff ff f c
ff ff f c
a -ga g -

(ie 4/4 time, ff means 8th notes, and -ga means an 8th rest followed by 16th notes.)

Hawaii earned a sleepover for good behavior. She planned it out:

Hawaii, is that your first draft? Nope:

Oh, are those your first drafts?  Nope:

This kid badgered me for three days to help her write a schedule for her sleepover. I kept deferring because I didn't know what time the friend was available. So Hawaii had to start on a pink Post It note without me.

So our guest arrived and was informed of her highly regimented evening. They began playing Family immediately at 5.  (Hawaii kept checking with me to make sure dinner would be on time.)

They ez baked some ez cakes right after dinner, and then began the art dancing...:

Cauldren. By Hawaii.

Cinderella's carriage. By the guest.

Fish. By Pokey.

...which is where you play a YouTube Disney compilation of princess songs and draw what you feel. And then identify what your subconscious drew.

At 7:35 they began silly speeches. Here are Hawaii's:

As you can see, this speech was awarded Most Short.

Awarded Most Inappropriate and Most Pottylike.

Awarded Most Doglike.

They stuck to this schedule so accurately that they literally turned off the lights to go to bed at 10:10.   A very good, if exceptionally self-regulated, good time.

A thing we do is potty-train using three M&Ms. Obviously kids potty train just fine without it, but my parents used three M&Ms on me and my siblings, and I felt it was a nice thing to carry on.

When Rascal uses the potty, he gets 3 M&Ms. Ace has somehow seduced him into giving her one M&M every time. He gets his three, runs over to Ace, and gives her her toll. Hawaii found out and asked for one, and Rascal told her sternly that it was ONLY for Ace.

Rascal does not yet go to the bathroom by himself at our house, and he still wears pull-ups overnight. But the important marker, as far as I'm concerned, is this: that you speak up, consistently, before you need to use the bathroom. To me, that means you're potty-trained.  And Rascal is, thus, trained.

"Mama," said Sister, "I know it's my week to clean up Little Lady's calling cards. It's just that I'm waiting for them to dry. They'll be easier to scoop up that way."

Do you see that fucking calling card, in the corner of the room, with the stink line coming up off of it? WHAT THE FUCK, Sister Bear. That is so disgusting.

"Everyone has a happy face!"  I love that sentence. I like to say it, forcibly, when perhaps not everyone has a happy face. YET.  You, there, you must haz happy face.

I'm pre-writing a lot of this, because my tattoo appointment is from 4-8 pm on Sunday. I anticipate being very tired when I get home. I'm pretty nervous at the moment! Will I walk away empty-handed because I can't commit to a design that I've just seen for the first time a few moments ago? My stomach keeps clenching up what with the unknown of it all.

Pokey was watching me scroll through cat paintings, and he said, "I thought you already got your cat tattoos? Why are you looking at more?"

I thought it was funny - he knew I had a tattoo appointment, and he knew it had passed, back in June, and therefore I must have cat tattoos.  Despite never actually seeing me with a tattoo.  And the kids see me naked.

I told him that it hadn't happened, back in June, like it was supposed to, but that my new appointment was to be this Sunday.

I arrived at the tattoo parlor promptly at 4. Another artist was working. My artist's room was dark. I sat on the couch.  Around 4:15 I emailed her. At 4:30 I texted her.

At 5:00 I forced myself to actually give her a call, and I left a message. I also called their other location. (I was still hoping she'd show up.)

I felt so sorry for myself. I'd been so agitated all day - stomach clenched, anxious. Just to be stood up. I was mad, too. I figured the invisibility of generic middle-aged women had to be a factor somehow.

Around 5:30, the other two tattoo artists realized how long I'd been waiting there for, and they were very concerned. "This is very out of character for her," they told me. They called her husband and son and couldn't get ahold of either of them, as well. I acted concerned, but privately I relieved that I hadn't been ditched for no good reason.

So now it's 6:30. I am at a nearby Cat Cafe, with an elderly sleeping tabby who purrs when I put my hand on her, but otherwise does not budge from her perch.  (In fact, she is pictured in the very first picture of this post. All these cat photos are cats from the Cat Cafe.)

I had hoped to really cuddle, but now I realize that's not super realistic, even for friendly cats like these.  I still feel a wee bit sorry for myself, for enduring the emotional roller coaster of getting mentally to the tattoo shop, ready to dive in, and have it fall apart. YET AGAIN.

(This is our homegrown OJ, of course.)

Oh look, I have a real-time update: I just got a text message from the tattoo artist.  It turns out she did stand me up, after all. She got the dates mixed up. She's very sorry about that.

Why, oh why, did I not confirm with her in the last day or two? I don't really know how it will unfold now.

(And homegrown Fluffy.)

It's sort of funny that Pokey will yet again assume I must be tattooed, since the appointment has come and gone, and since he is not in the habit of verifying the tattoos. I can totally get that - as a kid, you would just assume, "Oh, tattoos must be something that isn't necessarily big and visible. On to the next thing!"


(Anonymous) at 2017-10-02 10:45 (UTC) (Link)
You are having atrocious luck with tattoo artists. What a shameful lack of professionalism, in general. I think you should keep trying.

"Dogs rule, humans drule!"

Sister Bear! Gross. (Seems like when we were young, they were a whole lot funnier..."The Spooky Old Tree," "Bears in the Night," and "The Honey Hunt," were so cute. The ones about going to the doctor and to school and not telling lies were good, but then at some point they became overtly religious and preachy.)

heebie_geebie at 2017-10-09 03:37 (UTC) (Link)
We were given a ten pack of the overtly religious Berenstain Bear books once! At one of the kids' birthday parties. It went directly to Goodwill. It did not pass go, etc.

I can't believe how tortured my tattoo path has been. It's ridiculous. I'm a touch more optimistic now - she seems pretty invested in this idea.

We had a super lovely time with you and the boys on Saturday!
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