I am not sure what became of the past twelve days. About a week of it was spent believing that I was immediately to find a full-time job, in the alleged wake of hubbo losing his. Though he did not, it seems. Which is good, because that job, that darned job is all the money we got coming in this house, with the exception of the very occasional freelance writing job payment or even more rare, the sale of some miscellaneous piece of art. And, let us not forget, our health insurance, which, if lost, would cost more money each month to replace than our mortgage payment. Scary stuff. Hellish as that week of thinking the shit storm had started was, in retrospect, it was a useful gauge of what would happen if the real thing happens, which it could, at any moment. I got my arse in gear: got my resume up and active on http://www.usajobs.gov, in hopes Barack, Michelle, the Social Security Administration, or the Veteran’s Administration (both with offices in Baltimore, which is why I focus on them…) can hook a sister up with gainful employment. The process, of course, will take months to complete and suss out, so it is sort of a good thing things went into DEFCON 4 for a few days. Right?
There have been two playgroups since last I wrote. There have been two weekends undocumented. There have been four canvases/boards primed twice in preparation for painting some Camera Morte. Hubbo and I have been keeping up with the now-almost-done Battlestar Galactica, and have started re-watching Flight of the Conchords, just to have some perspective on this crazy world. Beenie went through a really bad two day biting spree, resulting in Mimi talking non-stop about how Beenie shouldn’t bite her. I’m still furious about it. It still makes me feel like the most inadequate doofus of a mother possible. And I do take it personally, and I must be screwing these girls up somehow. Alas… I am the only mama they have. I may have to muzzle one of my daughters, which is unfortunate, since she is quite articulate and observant. I’d be doing it for the safety of the population, however. Does someone sell toddler muzzles? Maybe I should read yet more about biting. I fucking HATE biting.
This morning after a Maisy Mouse bender, the girls and I took a stroll around the neighborhood. I have to say that I have never taken them out un-trapped in their stroller just to walk around the hood before. Not by myself. Hubbo has done it a few times, but I have hesitated until around noon today. I still have vivid visions of each of them, individually running into the street from behind parked cars, both almost getting hit by a moving vehicle. Today, however, I was impressed with their restraint. I only had to yell at Mimi once, and she’s kind of the loose canon. She did not slow down or respond to me when I told her to stop, then I had to yell it, then I had to yell at her. Meanwhile, Beenie was standing at the other end of the alley we were walking in. Which could have also been a disaster if a car took a quick turn into it. Some days I could do without the keeping two children alive responsibility. It is heavy, man.
Our stroll brought us to a bright red Cardinal, dead on the concrete. There is a big part of me that is an observer first, responder second. I had to explain to the girls as I was driven to photograph the dead bird, that this bird probably flew into the fence and died quickly, that it was dead and that was that. We were not to touch said dead bird. It died quickly I said. Mimi reiterated that we were not to touch it, and Beenie commented that its tummy hurt. I responded that yes, the tummy hurt, and probably the rest of it, too. Not sure the death thing really rings true for two 2.5 year-olds. Hell, I didn’t really start to comprehend death till I hit my late 30’s. And my response was to reproduce. Duplicate.
What is up with the ant infestation? My neighbor claims she does not have ants. I think she’s lying. Not sure what would drive her to lie about something as benign as an ant coup in my kitchen, but she is lying, of this I am sure.