I have a little cold this weekend.
scratchy throat, achey head, sniffly nose.
so, I am missing all this good stuff:
diy dyke march t-shirt making party/le tigre listening party!
league of pissed off voters meeting!
caribbean dinner/dance fest at the uu church!
I'm cranky and annoyed.
on friday, we spent time with the kids around the corner,
my very kind neighbors who will be taking nash & liam
overnight while I get my groove back at the dyke march,
and we were taking about how much we kinda wish that
we were moving to seattle. except that I do love it here.
and the way that I love seattle is kinda stupid, I mean, it
was 1986 the one and only time I was there, but I stayed
for nearly a week and I loved it, god, it just amazed me,
that place. on the other hand, 1986 me thought it'd be
heaven to live in a crusty apartment in the center of little
five points in atlanta so, who knows... I'd be into having
yantra & sal for my neighbors, though, as well as rachel &
her collection of kids.
and of course, the way that I love new
orleans is kinda stupid, too. or maybe it's just that love is kinda
stupid. blind stupid. selectively blind.
meanwhile, I made this quiz, complete with typos. the cells and stuff aren't workimg, but you can cut & paste it into wherever you want to put it I guess.:
Sunday, September 26, 2004
Friday, September 10, 2004
gee, who knew?
You're a punk rock mommy! DIY is probably your
motto, because you're a punk mama at heart.
Your kids are getting your independent spirit
and guts, and learning to solve problems
themselves. You love it when they show their
independence, even when it's breaking your
heart.
What kind of a freaky mother are you?
You're a punk rock mommy! DIY is probably your
motto, because you're a punk mama at heart.
Your kids are getting your independent spirit
and guts, and learning to solve problems
themselves. You love it when they show their
independence, even when it's breaking your
heart.
What kind of a freaky mother are you?
Thursday, September 09, 2004
what have you done for me lately?
liam woke up at 7 with a bad dream that he didn't want to talk about.
then he asked me to bring him some cheese, saying, "I do things for you, why can't you do something for me?"
I don't know where that's coming from; I promise I never say that.
I said, "hmmm, what about when I carried you in my belly for nine months and then nursed you for two years?"
this morning was the first (but probably not the last) time I've played that card.
he gave a heavy sigh.
"not things you did for me when I was a baby, those things aren't what I'm talking about.
what about when we were at rowe camp, you didn't do anything for me at rowe camp, ever.
now can I have some cheese?"
in a word, no.
liam woke up at 7 with a bad dream that he didn't want to talk about.
then he asked me to bring him some cheese, saying, "I do things for you, why can't you do something for me?"
I don't know where that's coming from; I promise I never say that.
I said, "hmmm, what about when I carried you in my belly for nine months and then nursed you for two years?"
this morning was the first (but probably not the last) time I've played that card.
he gave a heavy sigh.
"not things you did for me when I was a baby, those things aren't what I'm talking about.
what about when we were at rowe camp, you didn't do anything for me at rowe camp, ever.
now can I have some cheese?"
in a word, no.
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
the first song that Nash ever wrote was a mournful country-blues tune
with harmonica accompaniment and it went:
where are you
I'm crying
the train is coming
he was two and a half. it was late november. in four months time he had
gained a baby brother, seen me hospitalized twice (I walked in to give
birth but I was carried off on a stretcher when the pancreatitis struck me
down six weeks later), and moved away from home to stay with my parents
in mississippi. at my parents' house, he'd pace circles into the floor, playing
his harmonica while I sat and nursed the baby. when the train came by,
every few hours, he'd lean out the open window and count the cars.
where are you
I'm crying
the train is coming
with harmonica accompaniment and it went:
where are you
I'm crying
the train is coming
he was two and a half. it was late november. in four months time he had
gained a baby brother, seen me hospitalized twice (I walked in to give
birth but I was carried off on a stretcher when the pancreatitis struck me
down six weeks later), and moved away from home to stay with my parents
in mississippi. at my parents' house, he'd pace circles into the floor, playing
his harmonica while I sat and nursed the baby. when the train came by,
every few hours, he'd lean out the open window and count the cars.
where are you
I'm crying
the train is coming
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