Wisdom from Squish

Zoomboy is in Yosemite this week, so it's just Squish and I in the mornings.  She is very good company.  This morning, she has already laid several nuggets at my feet that are of the purest gold!

Squish (while getting her hair brushed): I don't think television really knows what goes on in television.

Me: What?

Squish: Well, we were watching a movie where a girl got famous writing, and she was on television in, like, a week. That doesn't really happen.

Me: No, that's not realistic.

Squish: Right? It's like the people who write for television never look to see how it works.  You know what else isn't realistic?

Me: Hit me with it.

Squish: The girl waiting in the tower for the boy to come. Why doesn't she get out of the tower and chase the boy.

Me: Because sometimes boys get scared when they're chased.

Squish: But why have the tower at all? Why can't she just ask him to the movies!

Me: That's a very good point!

Squish: I mean, at least the Disney Princesses have some bad luck, and they have to work at it.

Me: Because stories would be boring without conflict.

Squish (very bored now): Yes, mom, I know.

Me: Okay, go get a rubber band for your hair.

Squish: Okay.  *skips away*

Y'all, that's my little girl.  *weeps with pride*

Dogs and a temporary new avatar

I'm using it for my Twitter/Facebook avatar-- do you like it?

If no, don't worry-- I'll probably be replacing it soon, possibly with my standard headshot, which you can see in the bio section.

If yes, I'm sorry-- don't get attached.

The thing is, I'm going to be re-vamping my website, my logo, my image, all of that stuff, and part of that is making everything uniform.

The problem is, uniformity is not my strong suit.

Also?

I like a bright, bold cartoon avatar for FB and Twitter-- something about the size of the thumbnail an my increasingly aging eyes makes the the thick lines and brazen colors appealing and easy to identify.  To that end, I asked Chicken to make me an avatar that looked like ME.  She tried twice to make ME a skinnier version of me, but even Mate said, "The chubby mom thing is very you."  And the fleeing cat thing is just funny.  I've been told that I'll probably have to get over the cartoon avi-- that I'm going to want to stick to my headshot, and if I don't like the headshot, I need to have a new one taken and get over myself.  From a marketing standpoint, this is VERY SOUND advice, but from a personal standpoint, the bias against my own picture is very hard to overcome. The photographer did a lovely job, but I don't spend a lot of time gazing into a mirror, and so I'm always surprised that middle aged person in the picture is really me.  And she was three years younger there, so I'm always mentally adding wrinkles, which is sort of an ego blow as well.

The colors are… well, you'll see when it all falls out, but orange, purple, and lemon yellow are going to be very integral to the new logo/website thing, so this is sort of a transitional avatar. It's getting you used to things--and hopefully making you smile.

I know it made ME smile, and since it is me, that's important too :-)

And about the dogs?

They dogs follow me throughout the house whenever I move-- but they don't just "follow" me. They wrestle/chase me. So every time I walk down the hall, I've got this tornado of small dog wreaking havoc in my wake.  And when I do laundry, this happens:

Me: *opens door to garage with laundry on my hip*

Geoffie: NOBODY LIVES FOREVER, FOLKS, BANZAAAAAAIIII!!!!!!  *leaps over two steps to go sprawling on garage floor*

Me: 0.0  "You didn't stick the landing, dumbass."

Geoffie: *skids into a box*

Johnnie: *hops down the two steps to start gorging himself on Garage Cat's food*  "Yeah, mom, she's a pip. Nom nom nom nom nom…"

And by the time I'm down with laundry, they've become a two-backed tasmanian devil once more.

I didn't get a picture...

Which is part of the reason I came unglued when I dropped Zoomboy and Squish off to school this morning.

We spent all weekend getting Zoomboy ready for his trip to Yosemite-- new long underwear, new wool socks, dad's old coat, old sleeping bag, old pillow, new alpaca hat made by mom at the last minute because she couldn't stand to think of her little boy out in the woods with strangers and bears and nothing from mama.

And I've sent my kids on trips before with their grandparents and such, but I was in the drop off queue for school and ZB got out and gave me a kiss and wrestled his backpack and pillow out of the car…

And was gone.

And I didn't get a picture or a big full hug and…

And I sobbed all the way back home.

Because I'm a weenie.

And I miss my kid already.

And it was a really nice fuckin' hat.  (You can see Mate modeling it last night.  Does he look tired? We were both tired-- got that kid ready for Yosemite like BOSSES oh yes we did.)

A realization about age...

Mate and I went to see Insurgent on Friday night with my friend.  This evening, as he was telling Chicken about it, he said, "Yeah-- the theater was depressing.  Three old people and a theater full of teenaged girls with a few dates hoping to get lucky."

Beat. Beat.

Then Chicken faced enlightenment.  

"Oh--was Auntie Wendy with you?"

Mate nodded glumly.  "Yup."

Well, at least she didn't jump to the immediate conclusion that we were the old people… that was nice, right?

Had a thought...

And you know how dangerous that is.

I was watching one of those crime shows about the hacker who can get into any data base on the planet in two seconds while making wisecracks at the same time?

I love those shows.

I mean, hands down-- have fallen completely in love with them.

I'm mesmerized.  I don't care if it's impossible for one person to out-hack a battalion of cyber-criminals and police in two minutes of snarky banter.  I don't care if serial killers usually succeed by using simple stuff instead of hyper intelligent "No mouse is smarter than me!" mousetraps, and that there are (thank Pete!) not nearly that man psychopaths in such a limited space (even New York!) and that one of these shows usually covers a thousand years of serial killer and mysterious death and psychopath history + embellishment in the course of one season.

Doesn't bother me.

It's like magic.

In fact, it's exactly like magic.

Like the fairy princess and the snarky belligerent prince use their magic wands and various fairy godparents to elude the dark sorcerer and slay the dragon, with full acknowledgment that even if they slay the dragon and elude the sorcerer the battle will continue tomorrow.

And that's why we love those shows.  Because the cyberworld is scary, and it's such a specialized science that to many of us, it is magic.  Because monsters are real, whether they wear human form or not, and we want to believe that there are spunky princesses and snarky belligerent princes who can slay the dragons and vanquish the sorceress.  Yes, computers are beyond our ken (some of our ken) and it's gotten to the point where the people at the help desk of our porn companies know more about our OS than we do, and that seems like a modern problem, but it's not.

A thousand years ago, people didn't know what was out there in the dark and they invented Grendel and Grendel's mother and Nimue and dragons and scary bears and giant sea monsters, because they knew there were monsters even if they didn't have a clear picture of what the danger was.  We're the same people--we know there is danger, we know there are monsters so we invent shows that give us hope the monsters can be slain, that's all.

And it doesn't hurt that the princesses are pretty and spunky and brave and the princes are snarky and loyal and true.

I'm sure they were that way a thousand years ago too.

And meanwhile, in the kitchen...

*  Yesterday, the kids were awesome and took out the trash.  I was sweeping up the floor when I noticed they'd forgotten to put liners in the cans.

"Hey, Zoomboy-- come here and put a bag in the trashcan, could you?"

He pads into the kitchen and reaches for the box with the bags in it.  But first he has to move something.

"Oh, hey!" he says, lighting up like a firecracker. "Look! Sunflower seeds! I love sunflower seeds!"

And then he walked away, happily munching sunflower seeds, leaving me holding the broom and the dustpan in his wake.





*  Today, I had to write two blog posts promoting Food for Thought.  So, basically talk about the one thing I know least about-- the kitchen-- while sitting in the kitchen.  I start writing about food rescue, and how cheese is your ultimate weapon, and thinking about what's in the refrigerator and...

An hour later, the kids come in.

"Mom, what's that cooking on the stove?"

"Food."

"Why are you making food at three in the afternoon."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Smells great! Is that cheese?"

*headdesk*

Today's Earworm + Today's Weird Moment

Earworm first:



Weird Moment:  At the gym, getting out of the pool and heading for the jacuzzi, cause, 65 degrees, need heat!  Anyway, there is an elderly woman sitting on the steps of the pool. She is wearing her bra and her underwear and holding her brightly striped orange and black swimsuit in her hands.

Yes. You read that right.

Anyway, I had sunglasses on, but that must not have disguised the fact that I was… uhm… surprised… and she looked at me and smiled sunnily.

"Buh-bye!" she chirped, her Russian accent heavy.

Then she proceeded to put the swimsuit on her head and paddle laps in the deep end, wearing the suit like a babushka.

o.o

I got nothin'.

But now you have both the ear-worm and the eye-worm-- you're welcome.

Amy out!

Random Three Things

A. One of the girls at my McDonald's noticed my ticket to the Marvel show on Saturday-- which rocked, btw.  Anyway, she told me that she liked superheroes. On impulse I pulled out my my knitting pouch and showed her Batman and Superman, macking each other hard.

She was shocked, titillated, and, I could tell, interested.

I drove away and left her like that.  Maybe tomorrow, I'll give her a card!

B. I quit drinking diet soda in January. Contrary to all reports, I did not automatically lose weight, gain a better complexion, or develop heightened mental acuity.

However, my digestion is better, and, as evidenced by my dentist appointment today, my gums are healthier.

The downside of this was that I giggled all the way through my dental cleaning, because IT FUCKING TICKLES.

They like me there, though. They've known me since I was a kid. They look forward to taking care of ZB's teeth, which will need more metal than the Bay Bridge to reconfigure. Hell-- my family? We've probably bought my dentist's motorcycle. We're solid that way.

C. I am not allowed to post this, but I wish I could. Chicken sent me a video of her and her friend dressed in costume dancing in a classroom. I still don't understand the school assignment that drove them to it, but a Super Chicken in Steampunk Goggles singing "Uptown Funk" is one of those things you will never forget.

Ever.

I want a still for her wedding album.

I want to show it to her children.

I don't 

want to stop giggling over my little girl having fun, because it really was my happy for the day.

D.   I blew up the picture of Geoffie-- I was was trying to prove she wasn't a muppet. Tough job, that-- she looks less like a real dog than ever.

Dogs

I live my life with two small dogs.

I used to think I was all about the cats, and while Steve the Cat is still my boon companion in the bathroom, and still very possessive of me when it comes time to be fed, the dogs have evolved into…

Giant furry pain in the ass relatives that I can't kick out and would miss horribly if they left.

Not a healthy relationship, no.

*  In the morning, I have taken to traveling with dog treats in the car so that I can call them back from being "at large" on the front sidewalk as I walk from the car to the house. Does this work? Are they greedy little bastards who prostitute their dignity and dance backwards for a single scrap of "pup-a-roni"? You bet your ass it works.

* In the afternoon, if I end up taking a  nap (and since Safari quit on me today, and refused to resurrect, it was like God telling me to "Go! Go! You'll get your work done eventually!") the dogs come with me. They're excited about nap time. The littlest one runs around and dust mops my face with her ruff and then passes out on top of the covers as though dead. The bigger one usually crawls under the covers with me and hangs. This afternoon, he decided he needed to go to the bathroom so he let him self out (and the back door was open, just to let the spring air in) and then came back. When he came back, he licked me, every so gently, on the lips. My eyes shot open and I peeled back the comforter, and then he dove in under the covers to his usual place.

As I fell asleep, I thought, "OMG-- I just let a dog into my bed for nothing but a kiss on the lips. Either I'm Sleeping Beauty or I'm easy as fuck!"  And then I fell asleep, because, hello, NAP!

*  They take turns bullying the cat, which saddens me on many levels. A. The cat is bigger than them, and I want her to triumph over their weenie asses.  B. The cat doesn't DO anything to them-- she is sweet, and a little stupid, but mostly sweet, and she likes sleeping and clawing my leg for attention-- THE END.  C. They are full of themselves, and I wish someone would take them down a peg.  None of these reasons seem to get in the way of the dog/cat order of being in my house, however, so the poor thing is beleaguered…

Everywhere except on our bed. The TOP of our bed is neutral territory. BELOW our bed, on the other hand, is someplace they can harry poor Steve until she just runs away on general principle.

On the other hand, Gordie, Chicken's cat, scares them.  Literally-- they look at that cat and wet themselves.  On the few times they've taken Gordie by surprise, the whole family tells Chicken during her next phone call and her anguished protest of "My pussy runs from no man!" can be heard across the airwaves.

Yes, it sounds filthy. Yes, I think that is the point.  Yes, her father blames me for that, why do you ask?

*  The little one is still not potty trained.  The other day, I caught her crapping in my bedroom and swept her up and charged through the house.  "Get out of the way! She's still pushing out turds like a Pez dispenser of poop!"  Needless to say, Zoomboy heard mom screaming about poop and lost it, laughing to hard to get out of my way, and the dog just kept turding, upside down and backwards, as I rushed her into the backyard.  That's okay-- I made Zoomboy trace our tracks in turds from the back door to the bedroom and throw away the evidence, because, well, I'm the mom and I say that's what he gets for laughing while I'm running through the house with a shitting dog.

*  They live comforted by the belief that everything outside the car is a bastard. This means that while I"m driving down the road, if we're standing at a stoplight and they see something walk by, it must be barked at and driven away.

Yes, little dogs, they are all bastards, bark at the bastards, get them! Get them! Bastards! Mailmen! They deserve your wrath!

Most people walking by to observe their wrath laugh their asses off, but that doesn't bother the dogs.

They have done their job.

And by the way, as you look at the pictures of the dogs, you may note A. that they have their own bedding exclusively for the car, and B. that the McDonalds bag (which I"ve thrown away, I swear!) says it all.

The dogs are, indeed, loving it.

An Excerpt from Quickening that Might Not Make It Into the Published Mss.

*  I'm working on Quickening right now-- in fact, more than halfway done, and we've met some old friends by this time.  I doubt this scene will be in the final cut-- in fact, you may see bits and pieces of it scattered throughout--but it was humming so hard in my head I had to write it down before I got on with the actual business of the book.

You may recognize Shepherd and Jefischa from Guarding the Vampire's Ghost-- and if you haven't, well, we'll be re-releasing that one too.

In fact, this little excerpts contains ***SPOILERS*** from Guarding the Vampire's Ghost, Rampant (which is in the re-release cycle) and Litha's Constant Whim.   

But nothing too dire-- I mean, Shep and Jefi? You knew they were going to end up together at the end, right?  Same with Whim and Charlie. And as for the reason Cory needed cookies? Well I'm pretty sure you could have guessed.

Cory
Cookies and Milk

The angels weren't usually in the hill this time of night--something about Jefischa's need to be outside at butt-crack a.m.-- but it had started to snow over the canyon around Thanksgiving, and Green's gnomes were busy shoring up their little tree house in the garden so it could stay heated.

As a result, when they were forced indoors they spent much of their night either curled up around each other on the floor, looking wistfully out the wraparound glass window at the silver light from the moon, or standing unmoving, their wings toward us like a shield, sentinels in the night.

Until Jefi started playing Nintendo, of course. Nintendo makes everything better.  Sometimes Bracken even played with him, which was sort of awesome-- especially when Brack taught him how to swear.

"Motherfucking--"

"Jef--"

"Cocksucking--"

"eeeeeee--"

"Whore pissing--"

"sha!!!"

"Toad blister!"  Jefisha crowed defiantly.  Then he turned that lopsided, can't-nobody-hurt-me grin on Shepherd's disapproval.

Which melted like mist, because you just can't stay mad at that, can you?

Tonight, I was feeling still hungry--because duh--and ungainly, because, well, duh. I was only four and a half months along, and my baby bump was… disheartening, to say the least.  I'd been trying-- hell, everybody had been trying, including Grace, Green, and Bracken. Grilled meats, steamed vegetables, tomato sauces-- I mean, I was starting to agree with Nicky and Brack. It wasn't fat-- it was all baby.

And they were big.

So. Goddamned. Big.

It was depressing.  And I had to go back to school tomorrow, which was even more depressing. And suddenly, I didn't want all the healthy and all the careful. Suddenly, I wanted the cookie.

The yummy yummy shortbread and fudge cookies that Grace had made me and I had only taken one of that evening.

Bracken was staying up late, having a strategy meeting downstairs, and Nicky was fast asleep, snoring fitfully.  I slid out of bed, put on my sleep shorts under my shirt, and made my way to the kitchen, where I got to watch Jefi both kick Shepherd's ass in Titanfall and master Bracken's swearing technique.  They probably noticed me, but they didn't pay attention to me, because they were, as was typical, wrapped up in each other.

"Did you see Whim and Charlie?" Jefisha asked as they set their controllers down and stretched out their hands.

"Yes-- they looked well."  Shepherd was such a nice man, uhm, angel, uhm, person. It was unfortunate that everything he said had the stentorian tones of a righteous member of the Puritan committee on witch burning.

"Yeah-- It was good to see them in the daylight."

I blinked over my dipped cookie, and it fell, kerplop, into my milk.

Shepherd also appeared to have a moment.

"You see them a lot at night?"

"I saw them at night. They used to wake up during my hour," Jefisha said solemnly.  He nodded his head and his wild blond hair mussed and reassembled as though blown dried by a squadron of pixies.

Shepherd nodded back as though this made sense.  "They were sad?" he asked, his voice dropping, becoming tender.  I felt a little ashamed of my earlier censure. Of course Shepherd sounded stern and righteous--he'd been watching out for Jefi.

"Oh yes," Jefi said, gray eyes luminous in the reflection of the television screen. "They spent a lot of time thinking of each other when they should have been sleeping."  I could see Jefi's fond smile.  "Now they're only awake at that time to make love."

Shepherd's eyes hooded, and he leaned sideways and nuzzled Jefischa's cheek.  Jefi's laughter was like the burbling of streams.

"Yes," he whispered, heedless of any observers. "The gnomes always leave by my hour of the morning anyway."

"Good," Shepherd said.  "But we're no longer sentinels, and you are no longer on watch."

Jefi grinned, eyes sleepy and sensual. "But it will still be my hour of the morning."

I shoved the last bit of cookie in my mouth and drank down the cookie soup that my milk had become. Then I set my glass on the counter and slipped quietly away.

I didn't know which hour Jefischa's hour was, but I knew that if the gnomes hadn't warmed up their treehouse, I didn't want to be in the living room when it arrived.

But it made me sort of happy to think that, whatever hour it had been, when I'd woken up during that time worried or excited or grieving, that Shep and Jefi had been watching over me as I'd gazed into the night.