I'm An Aunt!

In all the birthday hullabaloo, I forgot to mention that this past week, Todd and I became an Aunt and Uncle for the first time. Todd's brother, Wade, and Wade's wife, Suzanne, welcomed little Lucinda Ruth into the world. They're going to call her Luci.

I am going to spoil her. This will not be pretty.

We Did It! Kept One of These Critters Alive for Four Years!

Dear Rollie -

I cannot believe that you are four years old today. It seems like just yesterday that I was lying around taking naps, and anticipating your arrival. If only I had known how drastically my life was about to change. You turned everything upside down from the moment you arrived, and I will never be the same.

In the last year, you started school for the first time. You just went three days a week from 9-noon, but it was so hard to drop you off that first time. You were so excited, with your little backpack. I don’t know why I worried – you did great, and you made lots of friends, and you loved going to school. You didn’t get in too much trouble, although I did have to go pick you up one time for biting. I was mortified. We talked about it, though, and you never did it again. Your teacher at the beginning of the year was Miss Michelle; you loved her, and sometimes you didn’t want to leave school and would hug her legs and cry and scream when I came to pick you up. After Christmas, they moved the three-day kids into a different class and your teachers were miss Reshma, who was from India, and Miss Janice. Both of them were very sweet to you, and liked you very much, although you went through a difficult stage there for a while. You were pushing a lot. That was our fault, though, because we let you watch the movie, “Cars.” It was a movie about a racecar, and in his races, he and other cars would bump each other, and you started bumping other people in real life, including your friends at school, and your little sister. Any time you ran into someone, you would say that it was “bumping.” We took the movie away when we (finally) realized the movie was causing the behavior.

Your friends at school are Jackson, Reese, David, Ezra, Zoe, Shruthi, Toby, and Sarah. I loved to come pick you up and see you playing happily on the playground. I always had to bring home a pile of artwork that you did at school. The box in my closet is about to explode, it has so much artwork in it. I don’t know what I will do when you and Tiller are both going this coming Fall. The teachers last year always said that you were very smart and doing well with your ABCs and counting and letter sounds. I am very proud of your intelligence and how quickly you learn things, and I know that you are going to be reading in the next couple of years; I cannot wait to see your excitement when you realize that reading a book is like opening a door to a whole new, unexplored world. I look forward to discussing books with you, and to seeing what subjects you get excited reading about.

Your favorite things to play right now are cars and trains. You are a pro at riding your tricycle, and Daddy and I finally got you a new bike for your birthday. It is a Huffy Rockit, and it has flames on it. We took you to the park to ride yesterday and you did great. You were a little scared, and had a few wobbles when your training wheels went off the sidewalk, but if I walked beside you, holding the end of the handlebars, you were confident. If I let go, you would cry and scream for me to hold on to it again. I admit that I was annoyed that you were too scared to try it, but I was proud that by the end of the outing, you were riding without me helping you, and riding ahead of Daddy, Tiller, and I. You showed us how you could ride in circles, and you were so proud of yourself. I know that years from now, I will wish that you need me more often, that I will want to hold on to your handlebars, or help push you up the big hills, so to speak, but I know that part of being your Mama is watching you become an independent little boy.

You received other stuff for your birthday: A bunch of matchbox and hot Wheels cars, an Auburn shirt (I am hoping you will grow out of that ugly thing pretty soon), a game with a monkey, a football set and a cool die-cast truck from Uncle Mark. Uncle Lyle got you a racetrack for your cars, and a cool Snoopy Snow Cone machine. Grandma and Papaw Palmer got you a baseball glove and tee with a whiffle ball and bat. The glove looks so small, and yet it is too big for your hand. We are taking them to the Lake for Labor Day this weekend, and I am looking forward to playing some catch with you and Papaw (when we’re not watching the Dawgs play, of course – Football season starts this weekend!) Your party was a cookout at our house. We filled the kiddie pool up for swimming, and had hot dogs, hamburgers, cake, and ice cream. All of your Grandparents were here, but Meemaw and Pop couldn’t make it. Uncle Mark and Aunt Lisa were here, and also Uncle Lyle. Aunt Denise was sick, and Aunt Suzanne and Uncle Wade couldn’t make it because they had baby Luci on Friday. That’s right! You and Tiller have your first cousin. I am a little sad that you don’t have a cousin closer in age, but you and Tiller are such partners in crime, that I know you will always have each other to play with. Other people at the party were: Harmony, Gabe, and baby Chase; Ned, Vanessa, and Scarlett; cousin Adam, and Jenny and Addie; Matt Stewart showed up in time for a burger, cake, and ice cream.

Let’s see, what else happened this year? Your vocabulary has rocketed. I am amazed when you ask me things like, “Mama, what are consequences?” and you really caught me off guard last week, when you asked me how babies get out of their Mama’s tummies. For the record, I just told you the truth – babies come out of their mama’s vaginas, kind of like when they go pee pee. You looked confused and then asked me if the baby went into the toilet. You like to say that things are “crazy” or “cool.”

You are a great big brother. You teach Tiller lots of games, and you are pretty patient with her, even when she is a complete pest. You both love to dance, and to sing. Your favorite songs this year have been: Just about anything by Kings of Leon, although your favorite is probably “Charmer.” You love to sing to Sufjan Stevens’ “Chicago,” The Decemberists’ “Crane Wife 3,” and Lily Allen’s “LDN.” You totally rock out to MC5’s “Kick Out the Jams” (I am a good mom, and always do something to distract you from the first line, so that you won’t learn that one) and The Stooges’ “I Wanna Be Your Dog.” Your favorite song to dance to is Peter Bjorn and John’s “Young Folks.” The big dance move you do is what we call “The Big Dance.”

You finally potty-trained this summer. I was frustrated as all get-out, and then one day at the lake, you just started pooping on the potty all by yourself. It was like you decided to finally do it once we gave up trying to teach you. I think you may get a little bit of obstinancy from both your Mama and your Dada. Whatever. I am just glad that I am not changing two diapers anymore. You still wear one at night, and during naps. Not that you nap anymore. Unless you fall asleep in the car, or you are sick. I get pretty frustrated with this, because it means that I never get any alone time during the day, but I know that I will miss our afternoons together when you start school for real.

I really, really try to cherish every moment with you, and I think that I do a pretty good job of checking myself when I am not making the most of our time together. Right now you are sitting next to me watching Diego while I type this. Tiller is sitting next to you. You are wearing a purple, plastic lei that you got at the gym this morning, Thomas the Tank engine underwear, and an Auburn shirt. You just turned to me, yawned, and said something about Baby Jaguars.

I cannot believe how much you are the center of my world, how much I love you, and how fast you change. Lately, you have become more pouty when you are mad at us, and sweeter, to the point of saccharine, when you are trying to show us affection. If you are mad at us, you will tell us “You are a joke!” which we reprimand you for, but secretly think is cute. You also sometimes say that “I am not loving you today.” That one hurt the first time you said it, but now it makes me laugh, because you would have to do a whole lot more to make me not love you back. I don’t think I could love you one iota less. I think you yourself have summed up my love for you: You have taken to telling us, when you are being sweet, that “You are my heart, mama. You and Daddy are my hearts.”

I think that people who are not parents cannot possibly understand the all-encompassing love a parent has for their children. It is a double-threat, a totality of body and mind. It is a love that occupies my mind at all times, even stealing into my dreams to wake me in a terror. It is the physicality of the love, though, that awes me so; the physical sense of feeling sick when you are hurt, or even at the thought of you being in pain. The knowledge, fearless and involuntary, that I would take a bullet for you without a moment’s hesitation. I know that I would kill for you, or die trying. I guess it is biology, a primal instinct to preserve my offspring, but I also like to think that there is a bigger power in our world and that it is fueled by loves like the unalterable love that I feel for you and your sister. You are my heart, sweet Rollie, and you will always be my heart.

Happy Birthday,
Your Mama
Annie

The Meaning of 8

I am totally digging the new Cloud Cult album The Meaning of 8. It's kind of quirky like Flaming Lips. Kind of atmospheric. Seems like it would be a good album to trip to, but I am way too old for that now. Todd thinks it sounds like Tortoise, but I think Tortoise is a total snooze, so I don't see that. The album title makes me think of this book that I loved called The Eight. (Not great literature, but just one of those entertaining quest reads, kind of like The DaVinci Code. A great beach read kind of book.) And I love the 8s scattered throughout the lyrics, like clues to a puzzle that I am supposed to solve.

Favorite tracks: Chain Reaction, Chemicals Collide, Dance for the Dead.

Of course, I've only been listening for a couple of days. So those favorite tracks could change. I am pretty confident, though, that going into September as we are, this is a likely top ten of the year for me.

Old Photos

Harry Tiller Family photo with Children 1916
Originally uploaded by theogarver.

I love old photos. I am in the process of scanning and uploading all of my old family photos to Flickr. I do it whenever I am at Mom and Dad's house. (They have all the old picture albums.) Last time I was there, I was uploading some of them and another Flickr member saw them, liked them, and added me as a Contact. I added him. This happens all the time on Flickr, but there is something about this guy, and the photos that he puts up, that makes me think we are kindred spirits. Tons of old pictures and tons of nature shots. I look forward to seeing him post more pictures and am always on the lookout for his new photos.

Here is a photograph that he found at an antique mall. I just adore it. It is from 1916, and it seems like so many old photos are forced and serious. Not this one! For all we know, the adults in the background are performing a marriage ceremony, or talking at a family reunion, or speaking to the preacher after a funeral. But not these rascals cutting up in the foreground! I just love it. Hope you like it, too.

9.5 Miles of Torture

Didn't really have time to post about this over the weekend, as I was too consumed by the N-word incident, but I ran my longest distance yet: 9.5 miles.

The other reason I haven't posted about it is that it kinda sucked ass. I felt terrible afterwards. I ran it on the treadmill at the gym (the heat is killing me!), which sucked because I am not that fast a runner, and the treadmill is BO-RING. So, basically, i ran on a treadmill for just over two hours (yes, I am that slow), and watched teenagers attempting to play basketball with their pants down around their knees and their boxers hanging out. (Note to the Hoop Dreamers - I think Barkley etal dismissed with worrying about showing off their boxers to the girls on the bleachers and actually practiced playing basketball.) I digress.

So, yeah, the run sucked. I had plenty of water, but I definitely felt horrible after about 7 miles. And then, I am also am dealing with this new poop thing. I mean, if I run over 6.5 miles, my bowels betray me, and I have to stop to go to the bathroom. It is really not fun to run 6 miles and then go take a shit (public restroom, Jason B., public restroom!) and then get back on the treadmill and run another 3 miles. It's like the running high gets sucked right out of you. It was just horrible. And then there was like a point at about 8.5 miles, where I actually felt ill, which i haven't really run into before. I felt a little dizzy, slowed to a walk, and then had some cramps. I walked out about a quarter mile, then finished the rest of my last mile at a really slow jog. I did finish, though.

Usually, I kind of recover after I cool off and get a shower, but Saturday after that run, I was complete toast. Tired, sore, muscles aching. I was supposed to go out with girlfriends, but bailed (with many apologies! I am so sorry!) and I was in bed before ten.

So, my question for the running experts who are reading this. What am i doing wrong? I am not dehydrated. The last two times I have had to do my longer runs in the afternoon. Am i having the bowel betrayal because I have too much in my stomach? Should i be running on an empty stomach? At what point in distance does one start needing to eat something during the run? Is that what caused the awful dizzy, sick feeling?

Help me out here. I want to keep this up, because it is making me feel good, but this run was not good. A couple more like this, and I could be persuaded to Saturdays doing something else.

The N-Word: The Playground Argument

It took me a day to digest this incident. I think the N-word has so much power that it would be remiss of me to blog about my thoughts on it all willy nilly.

Yesterday, Todd and I took the kids to the Fellini's on LaVista for lunch. We Beat the Baptists, as my Dad always called it when I was growing up. As a kid, after Church on Sundays, we would be ushered quickly out of our Methodist (Baptist Lite) church, and herded to the cars, all of us except Dad just wishing we could go home and change out of the damn panty hose and do something fun with the rest of our Sunday, before the 60 Minutes clock started ticking. Not Dad, though. He had one goal in mind: Beat the Baptists to Morrison's. I may not attend church anymore, but Dad and I have more than a little in common with one another. I still like to Beat the Baptists if I am having lunch out on a Sunday.

We went into Fellini's and ordered. As we waited for our order, we watched Chelsea and Liverpool play soccer on the large TV. Business was slow, as we had beat the Baptists soundly, and the cooks were standing around watching the match, too. Rollie will usually narrate any sport that we watch on TV, even if he doesn't even know what sport it is. I would be lying if I said I didn't filter out about half of everything he says in a day, but Todd and I both were interested when he said the following:

"What is that black man. . . blue shirt doing?"

Todd and I looked at each other questioningly, as if to say, "have you heard him say anything about a person's color before?" We live in a pretty diverse neighborhood. On any given day, there are a pretty equal number of White and African American kids on the playgrounds nearest our house. Same breakdown at the kids' center at the YMCA. Not once has he ever asked me why some people are one color and others are another. It just hasn't happened. It is not for his lack of curiosity, because he has been curious about people in wheelchairs, and he has (quite loudly) asked why the people at the next table in a restaurant are "so big." (As I have said before, parenting is not for the faint-hearted.)

I whispered to Todd, "Maybe he just got confused about the color of the jersey."

Todd replied: "We're lucky he didn't use another word."

"What? What do you mean?"

"He heard a new word at the playground a lot yesterday."

Todd proceeded to tell me about their trip to Kirkwood playground yesterday. They had gone over there, because Brownwood Park was being used for a family reunion. This is a common occurrence, but it is kind of difficult to keep up with two kids by yourself in a mass of people, so he thought he'd be able to better keep up with them at Kirkwood. Turns out there was a family reunion at the Kirkwood park, too. The family reunion was for an African-American family.

Todd said that there were kids of all ages there, and that the boys on the playground were liberally using the N-word.

"You mean there were teens using it?"

Nope, kids. Kids under 8, under six even. He nodded seriously to affirm that yes, there were children using the N-word to each other on the playground.

I looked at Todd aghast.

Todd said that Rollie didn't seem to notice the word at all, but anyone who has a young one learning to talk knows that just because they haven't said something doesn't mean it hasn't been soaked up by their little sponge brains. Exhibit A: Car runs a red light last year and narrowly misses my van as I am taking Rollie to school. I slam on brakes and mutter "Asshole." I look in the rear view mirror and Rollie seems oblivious to the word. Thank God. I get to school and get out to take Rollie in. As I open the van door, I say hello to the woman who works in the church preschool office, who is parked next to us. The door slides open to the sound of Rollie singing, "Asshole, asshole, asshole." Kids have perfect comedic timing. Impeccable. It has been 48 hours since Rollie heard the N-word on the playground, and it has not surfaced, so I am thinking we dodged a bullet with this one. At least, he dodged a bullet.

Me? I feel like I was hit with a silver bullet right through the heart. I have such strongly held emotions about the n-word as it is, but to have my child enmeshed in the discussion makes my blood boil. Three-year-olds should not be presented with the n-word. I am sure there are PhD students writing their dissertations on the origins and power of this word; how on earth is my child prepared to digest the meaning of the word?

I am well-educated. I understand that many African Americans feel that they have taken this word back. I think it is a stupid argument and that people who use the word are ignorant and that the word itself is so fraught with pain that I cannot fathom why someone would want to use it, rather than let it be buried by the sands of time. But I do not think that I can remotely understand what it is like to be African American, and so I tend to just think that it is a word that I myself will never utter, and that my children will never use.

But when I imagine people using the word with one another, taking the word back, so to speak, I imagine that it is teenagers and adults who wield the word; Never in a million years did I imagine that children, some my own son's age, would be using the word on the playground. I shudder to think what would have happened if my son the sponge, with a love for the sound of new words on his tongue and for the plays on words that he so adores, had heard those boys calling one another the N-word, and in his childlike naivete and playfulness, had called one of them by the same word they were calling one another.

What, pray tell, would have been the reaction? I know what my husband would have done. He would have gotten down on his knees and firmly told Rollie, looking him in the eye all the while, that this is not a word that we EVER use. But how do you explain the pain and history of such a word to a three-year-old? How do you explain to a child, one that does not even seem to see the color of skin, that it is alright for one color of people to use the word, to throw it around like a ball at play, but for others to even utter the word is unacceptable?

What would be the reaction from the other children if Rollie had uttered that word? What would have been the reaction of their parents? I would like to think that the parents' reactions would be one of understanding. But in this racially-charged city (and to say that Atlanta is not preoccupied with race is naivete incarnate), I fear that the parents might assume that this is a word that my son learned from us. I am glad that it didn't come up. At times, I prefer being an ostrich, head in the sand. There are some questions to which I don't want to know the answer.

All I know is that I have never liked the word, and I have never used it. I was raised that it was ignorant to use the word. I have never understood why people would want to use it, most especially those for whom the word has such a terrible past. The thing about the word, though, is that it has a terrible past for us all, doesn't it?

I will teach my children that the word is unacceptable and that its users are ignorant. I am sure there are African Americans who would find fault with me calling them ignorant for using the word. I don't know what to say to them; I just know that my heart hurts for those children who know not what they utter on that playground. My heart hurts for my own son, who came so close to having his first introduction to the word, an introduction that I wish would never happen, much less when he is three. I only know that I would be much happier if we all let the word go.

I am one of a multitude of people who have thought about the word, or written about it. My treatment of it here is superficial and barely skims the surface of the myriad ways this word works and thrives and undermines and causes harm in our society. But in everything I have read and watched and heard about this word, I have never found a single argument against any of us using the N-word that is quite as compelling as the playground argument:

Is this a word that we want uttered on our playgrounds? Is this a word that we want little African American boys teaching to their white playmates?

The Dogwood Shuffle

I've seen this around the web a few times before. You open ITunes, put every bit of music you own on Shuffle, and then you have to post the first five songs that play for everyone to see. No matter how embarrassing. Here goes:

1. The Smiths - This Charming Man. So far, so good.
   
2. Aimee Mann - Invisible Ink. Another good one. Great song, actually.
3. Depeche Mode - Somebody. Okay, still retaining credibility here as a music lover. The embarrassing part about this song is the number of times that I sat in my room and played it on my cassette player, then rewound it again and again, all the while bawling my eyes out over some stupid boy. Ah, to be a middle-school-aged, angst-ridden Depeche Mode fan.
4. Moby - Porcelain. Makes me want to buy diamonds. The first four here have pretty much set up a nice slit-your-wrists soundtrack.
5. OutKast - Interlude. Okay, that ruined the mood, but i still got my rep protected.

The true test, folks, is to see what shows up if I do the same with my IPod:

1. Archers of Loaf - Web in Front. One of my running songs.
2. Sufjan Stevens - Chicago. One of Rollie's all-time faves.
3. Reindeer Section - You are My Joy.
4. Don Henley - Boys of Summer. Shit. Not so cool, but I can't help it. I have always loved the moody sound of this one. And I loved the black and white video.
5. The World Has Turned and Left me Here - Weezer.
   

Phew! This could have been way worse. WAY worse. Thank God. Spank Rock's "Bump" didn't show up. Oops.

New

Check it. Lisa gots her a new pup. Introducing, Emily the Dog:


I gots me a new chair:
And here are a couple pictures to show off my favorite part - The reversible throw pillow. I love how it looks all folky. My friend Nat once told me that girls are either florals or stripes, and she is a stripe. I think, though, that some of us can be in between the two, or waver back and forth between the two, and that's what i love about the pillow. It goes both ways.
Floral:
Striped:

Aw, yeah.

Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe

This is another post about the games and toys and things that I did as a kid that were seemingly forever lost to memory once I grew up.

It started yesterday a few weeks ago, when Rollie and I were getting mail. We live on a cul-de-sac, so there is not a lot of traffic and he was in the street with me at the mailbox when a car rounded the corner, and almost involuntarily, I yelled out, "CARRRRR!!!!!!" just as if I was back in front of Owen Kinney's parents' house playing ball. I had totally forgotten about the unspoken knowledge of "CARRRRR!!!" and it came back completely unbidden.

Then yesterday, we were picking up a new chair at Pier One, and the guys working the store gave each of the kids a Chinese Yo-Yo. Todd brought them out and I looked at them, and they looked familiar, but it was just one of the those items completely lost to memory. Then Rollie, with a flick of his wrist, brought it all back to me. It was a spiraling, papery, magic on a stick. I laughed out loud, right there in the car.

Then today, another one popped up: The kids are learning about sharing, but Rollie thinks that sharing is only something that Tiller has to do with him, and does not really get that the reverse is true also. So, after about five minutes of tears, throwing of cars, biting, and me refereeing, I decided it was time for learning about equal division of property. I pried them apart from one another, their chests heaving with the exertion of having tried to kill one another over a pile of one dollar Matchbox cars, then I took the cars, and i put them into the plastic bin they are stored in, and placed the bin between the two kid. Both reached immediately for a car.

"Uh-unh-unh," I said. "Not so fast."
They put their cars back in the bin and looked at me.

"Now, each of you put out a fist."

Rollie got this, but Tiller put out two fists, grinning at me for praise. I put one of her fists back in her lap.

"Mama, what about the cars?" Rollie said.

I said, "Well, we're going to divide them up evenly."

Rollie looked at me like I was crazy.

"Ready?" I said.

"Eenie meenie, meiny mo," I said, alternately bopping my fist on each of their fists, one after the other, in time to each syllable, "Catch a tiger by his toe, if he hollers, let'im go. Eenie meenie, meiny, mo."

At that point, it was like I was in a trance, as the following poured forth: "My. Mother. Told. Me. To. Pick. The. Very. Best. One. And. You. Are. Not. It!"

The kids loved it.

Talk about magic. And it was like one of those magical parenting moments, too, because now all they want to do is figure out whose turn it is to pick first as they divide stuff up.

Yes, I am God's gift to parenting.

On another note, as the words "Catch a tiger by his toe" came out of my mouth, I thought to my self, how would you do that? Why a Tiger?

Oh.

Doesn't take a Southern girl long to figure out what her grandparents, and probably even her parents, said instead of "tiger" on their playground. And then I realized that this little ditty was probably a good deal older than me and my friends playing Hide and Seek in the front yard, so I Googled it.

If you want to know the history of the whole Eeny, meeny, miny, moe rhyme, you can find info here. Equally as creepy as kids singing the Ring Around the Rosy rhyme if it were actually a plague rhyme, which evidently is not the case.

Pictorial Evidence

Some pics that I meant to post a link to in my weekend post. Oops.

My Flickr set from the weekend.

Insidious Infiltration

So, I have been listening to the Girl Talk album, Night Ripper. Total and complete fun, in a Paul's Boutique kind of way. Lots of recognizable samples, but used in a really creative way. The song, "Hold Up" is probably my favorite running mix song of the year - How can you go wrong with a song that samples James Taylor and The Pixies? "You still want to hate? Be my guest." Totally fun album.

Anyway, I am listening to it, and the kids are playing, and I hear a sample I hadn't heard before. It was familiar to me. "I'm on it," the voice said. Where had I heard that voice before? Why could I not place it?

Shrek. It was fucking Shrek. The damn Shrek figure from McDonald's.

The insidious ways that the children infiltrate every corner of my life. . . .

A Few Things I Learned this Past Weekend

[Lisa, and anyone else who is familiar with it, please cue Urban Cowboy soundtrack in your head.]

* Beer upon beer upon beer + free Patron shots = Big headache + much shenanigans.
* Damn, I look good in a real cowboy hat. Not that straw shit, either. I mean the sweat-stained, dark, cowboy-like-John-Travolta, Texas cowboy hat.
* My husband can ride a mechanical bull. So can all the other Auburn boys. And a few of the girls.
* Cowboys are hot, even if they aren't that hot. If you ask them, "How'd you learn to ride the mechanical bull like that?" they reply with a laughing look: "I ride real bulls." Women swoon.
* I think I may have done something dirty with a sprinkler on Saturday night at around 5 a.m. Actually, I remember the sprinkler. The sprinkler and I were on our best behavior, despite some unsubstantiated reports otherwise; it's everything that came after the sprinkler that I'm a little fuzzy on.
* Despite rumors of sprinkler sex, I am more modest than I thought; Evidently, I was the only girl in East Alabama on Saturday night who wouldn't ride aforementioned bull because of wearing a skirt. I know. East Alabama is probably not the gold standard, but admit it, you all are reading this and thinking "I cannot believe that she didn't ride that bull." I wanted to ride the bull. I will never go to Alabama again with a skirt on, for fear of coming across a bull that I might happen to wanna ride. Cause I'm a lady like that.
* My Mama is right: I can drink too much, or I can stay up too late, but I cannot do both (well).

One reason that I have been slow to post of late is that my Internet has been sloooowww, too, and I like to illustrate my points with pictures and video (such as Todd riding the bull), but I sit around and pray and pray that God will increase my internet connection speed and he just isn't listening. I am just kidding. I don't pray for internet speed. That is silly.

Wish you could see the boys on the bull, though. I will try to post more. I promise, Nat.

Strange

It is very strange to watch the bonding experience between a 22-month old little girl, and a 91-year-old man. They don't have a lot to talk about, and she can't enunciate well, and he couldn't even hear it if she did. They both like food. And they hug a lot, which is not at all how I remember my grandfather being with me and my sister when we were little. He keeps on telling her that she is such a sweet little girl that we should've named her "Love." Who is this man?

This was the man that when you told him, "Goodbye! I love you, Pop!" would grunt in reply. I think he is either dying or possessed. The funny thing about him, though, is that I honestly think he thinks he is going to live forever. He told her tonight that it was good she liked books, because maybe she would get a scholarship, and that he would help her out with tuition. That's like 16 years away. He would be 107.

The sad part is that i could sooner see him living till 107 than actually paying for all of someone's college. He is that stingy. He cuts one paper towel into four pieces, then uses one piece for days on end. I put tin foil over his dinner and then threw it in the trash can; He pulled it back out and then washed it and folded it up for later.

You can't make this shit up. Someday I'll have to write about the mountain of fast food jelly packets he was hording. Good stuff.

Zombie Alley

This is a post from awhile ago. I was having publishing probs and forgot about it. But here it is, in lieu of the brilliant post that you would have gotten, if I had gotten my pictures to upload for it . . .

My friend, Kat, who lives in the Netherlands, visited with us this past week. She is married to my friend Mike, fellow Hornet from back in the day. (See "Dorks, Circa 1991.") She and their son, James, stayed a night and I introduced them to life in East Atlanta. She blogged about it here, and even posted some cute pics of the Three Musketeers.

Zombie Alley, by the way, is what I call a street near our house. She appreciated it, and that speaks volumes about what kind of person she is - possibly a bit freakish like me.

I would post my pics of the stay, but they are all naked bathtub pics of the kids.

I hate the Dentist

Okay, that's a lie. I am scared of the dentist. Except I have a new Dentist, and - put me in a hippie skirt and twirl my ass around! - he uses nitrous oxide.

I could learn to like this weekly pap smear/dental appointment stuff.