I enjoy randomness, and possibly more so, awkward situations. I have been known to purposefully say or do awkward things just to see the reaction of others. I find it immensely amusing.
Last week Jeffrey and I got the kids ready for bed. We were then heading into their room for family prayer before tucking them in, and Faye disappeared.
She has been doing this for a while now.
We looked everywhere and were baffled. She had just been with us. Seconds ago!
We called for her, looked in her usual haunts, but couldn't find her anywhere.
And then, as gradually as a summer rain starts, giggling could be heard. We walked towards the sound.
We were in the same room with her, we knew by the sound of her giggles. Still, we couldn't see her anywhere. The girl has skills that would rival a snow hare in the great arctic.
Finally, her fit of giggles exploded and I noticed the barbie house was shaking.
Keith thought it was the funniest thing ever and had to join her.
A while back a friend and I were having our typical philisophical discuscion and he mentioned T.S. Eliot. I realized I had never really given his writings a chance, and decided to get a book of his poems from the library.
I will try anything once. Even if it is poetry.
I am not a poet. I am not a huge fan of poetry. I think people who write poetry are amazing, but I am not one of those people. And another thing, I have never really had poems speak to me.
And then I discovered Mr. Eliot.
If I could marry words, I would marry his.
Ray Bradbury is my favorite wordsmith. He can create such imagery with his carefully chosen words. Never has he had a rival in my eyes.
Until that fateful day when I discovered the legendary T.S. Eliot.
Now Mr. Bradbury has a very close rival.
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep."
"His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o'clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
"I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
"Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots."
Is that not beautiful?!
So I have been exhausting my days chasing the kids around town and parks and museums, and my evenings curled into a quiet corner of either the library or Barnes and Noble, nursing my soul with these words which somehow give me wings. They are magic.
Who knew I would ever find myself wrapped tight in the luxurious words of poetry? Certainly not I.
Faye loves nuts.
When I tell her to take a nap and the Nap Fairy will bring her a treat, she always begs for nuts over candy.
So, sometimes I indulge her and buy some.
Monday I gave her a handful, and went about doing the laundry. Soon, I heard her coming down the hall. She was clutching a little bowl (assumably to hold some peanuts) and singing a song;
"Peanuts, peanuts mre peanuts for my tummy!"
I intercepted her knowing if she found the jar of peanuts they would be first all over the floor, and then in her tummy before I could turn around. I told her she couldn't have any more and she said
"Humph (with a scowl) I'm not! I'm just singing the peanuts song!"
She then turned around and with her head hanging low, walked back to the other room to play with Keith.
I laughed long and hard over that one.
My whole life people have told me how lucky I am to have curly hair.
How jealous they all were.
Lest people are hankered with this jealousy their whole lives, I offer a cure:
This is what curly hair looks like first thing in the morning.
My mother in law and I have an arrangement. She cooks dinner Monday and Tuesday, we have leftovers Wednesday and Saturday, and I cook Thursday and Friday. Sunday is whatever happens. Today while talking to Jeffrey during his lunch break, I asked him what he would like me to make for dinner tonight.
He requested something light and healthy with lots of vegetables. And romantic.
Romantic? I repeated, just to make sure I had heard him correctly. That would be a little odd with his parents and aunt who lives here joining us. He told me he did not say romantic, and I just hear what I want to hear. I assured him that is what I heard and asked him to tell me again what it was he was trying to say. He said there was no point since I would only hear what I wanted to hear. He refused to repeat himself.
Since he refused to repeat, I stand by the romantic.
He wants a romantic dinner.
That makes me very happy.
Question is, how do I do romantic with everyone else joining us?