Tuesday, June 24, 2014

I Can't Hula Hoop

I've tried and tried. I don't have the swing in my fling. I don't have the motion in my ocean. It bugs! I have a lovely pink (super-gendering! Apologies Bella!) one that shushes with every movement. If I could get it to move.

I've watched people. It seems endlessly easy! Move your trunk around. I do it and it slides down, down, down, to my knees and before you know it, I look like a prospector that has just found gold. Hopping up and down like my shaker has a boatload in it. Yeah, that's what I said.


I also cannot navigate my way out of my driveway. I can't move like Beyoncé. I tried once and actually thought I heard something cracking! Ha!

I can't get my body into Ketosis. I can't stand oil pulling. I can't back out of a parking space without leaving about 20 feet between me and whatever the hell is behind me (spazz). I can't make a cake look pretty. I can't walk into a party alone. I can't put on makeup. I can't think. I can't grocery shop without a list.

I have a bunch of things I can do, but writing all of this today made me laugh!

I was in our basement looking for something a day or so ago and found my lonely hula hoop. Propped up against a pile of games. It looked so fun! I picked it up and shook it - listening to the little beads shushing shushing around. I want to hula!

I placed it around my waist. Made the rocking motions I imagine will work. It falls to the ground with a thunk and thud. Gah!

I think I'll go bike riding! I can do that!

What frustrating thing can't you do?

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Last Night . . .

Pup and I were out on the deck enjoying a lovely evening and contemplating giving George a walk about in the neighborhood. He turned to me and said, "Hey - you know that twitch I get in my head the last few times we had sex? Let's go see if it happens again."

First I snorted because that man makes me laugh! Then I shot him a look and said, "That's it? That's the sweet-talking you use to get to me?"

He started laughing and holding his supposedly twitching forehead said, "You really should be writing about this stuff. I'm gold! Pure gold!"

The man thinks highly of himself! I told him I was very glad that someone does.  ;)

I won't finish the story, but I bet it goes where you wouldn't imagine it goes.

And it got me wondering why I am not writing? Don't I have plenty to say still? Oh I do! If you can take it, I can make it.

Around here in Chez Emerson-land it's been busy as everyone is busy. Doing this and that. Going here and there. I watch the Spud (darling grandson) a few days a week and I do have to admit that I am his favorite Gigi. Only because his other grandma goes by Grandma. Although I do whisper in his ear every time I see him, "Gigi is your favorite right Spud?" He favors me with his two-toofums and contemplates me with eyes I remember his momma contemplating me with back when she was 7.5 months. It's eerie and wonderful. It makes me stare at him on the daily if I have him.

He and I walk around the neighborhood. Spud in a stroller and me clutching the handles and looking at him while he reclines in his seat. His chubby thighs exposed and in the air. He swings his little legs and looks all around the neighborhood while we are moving. I make him wear a hat and while he moves his head the hat becomes askew. I stop frequently to fix it. Rather compulsively. I wonder if he'll remember any of these times we spend together. If he'll remember how he listens so seriously to Hop on Pop. I know he won't, but I feel blessed, yes BLESSED to be watching him right now.

I delight when his daddy drops him off and when he hears and sees me his sweet little face breaks out into the hugest grin. Sheesh I've become a maudlin and mushy person. At least with him. Maybe with others I've become a huger pain the ass. But we won't talk about that! Heh!

George loves that baby. Even though lots of Spud's toys squeak and some even look like one of George's toys, he never, ever touches one.

I'm certain it's way too early, but Spud's hair is taking on a ginger-look. His great-grandma (my momma) had red hair and it isn't out of the realm of possibility his could be red. We'll see. It changes on the daily. His eyes have settled into the beautiful gray blue of his daddy's eyes.

There are other things going on around here, but this is foremost on the mind today. Who knows what will be in that cavern tomorrow?
Thug Life