Thoughts

1. I’m having thoughts. They’re non-important, most of them, but they rattle around in my head, trying to get out. I don’t even know what they are. I just know that they make a mighty big commotion up there in my noggin and it’s frightfully hard to ignore them.

2. I’m eating pretzels. At one of the houses where Mr. Handsome is working, the woman cleaned out her cupboards and passed off some extra bags of pretzels to him. We’re grateful for them—snack food in a time of snack-drought.

3. Is something wrong with me because I love to sing “Why Can’t a Woman Be More Like a Man” from My Fair Lady? Higgins makes me laugh every time I hear his puzzled, sardonic voice.

Women are irrational, that’s all there is to that!
Their heads are full of cotton, hay, and rags!
They’re nothing but exasperating, irritating,
vacillating, calculating, agitating,
Maddening and infuriating hags!

The nerve! I know I should probably get all red in the face and rant and rave, but I don’t. I just grin and hum along. (Miss Beccaboo and Yo-Yo get mad, though. “But he’s not nice or friendly! He’s lying!”)

Why can’t a woman be more like a man?
Men are so honest, so thoroughly square;
Eternally noble, historic’ly fair;
Who, when you win, will always give your back a pat.
Well, why can’t a woman be like that?

That I’m not incensed is probably proof that there is something deeply wrong with me, though I’m not sure what. Anyway, I don’t really want to think about it. I’m a woman, after all.

Why is thinking something women never do?
Why is logic never even tried?
Straight’ning up their hair is all they ever do.
Why don’t they straighten up the mess that’s inside?

4. This song is running through my head because today my kids were listening to the movie soundtrack. We watched the movie several months ago, and for weeks afterwards they marched around singing, “Oh-ho-ho, Henry Higgins! Oh-ho-ho, Henry Higgins! Just! You! Wait!” Some days they practice dropping their H-s, too.

5. Speaking of media indoctrination, have you seen the movie Up? Well, there are these talking dogs in it and they are mean and vicious, but if they’re chasing somebody and that person points off in another direction and yells “SQUIRREL!” they immediately forget what they were doing and run off after the imaginary squirrel. That was background. My point is this: The other night Miss Beccaboo was having fever dreams and Yo-Yo had a wicked, wicked nightmare (Mr. Handsome had to flat-out tackle him to get him to stop shrieking), and so three o’clock found us all sitting in Yo-Yo’s room, rather dazed and not sure of what to do. Suddenly, Mr. Handsome yelled “SQUIRREL!” and pointed. We all busted up laughing, thankful for the much-needed distraction. From now on, that’s going to be our family code-word for “shift focus.”

6. SQUIRREL! Just kidding.

7. Really, though, I’d like to yell SQUIRREL! at this stomach bug that’s taking over our family. It started with the Baby Nickel and is slowly moving it’s way up, slaying all the kids, in order. It’s a smart little bugger, I tell you. And it’s pretty clear who the next victim will be. That’s why I’d like to yell SQUIRREL!

8. I made up my seed order list. Most of my gardening pals have already ordered their seeds or started their little plants, but me? I’m contented in my cozy-warm house, drinking my coffee, baking cakes, and doing bookish stuff with my kiddies. The mere thought of digging in the dirt and hauling in baskets of produce to process makes me feel almost ill. But then I read something in which the writer used the phrase “green grass,” and it hit me: green grass. Bare feet, long days, sun-warmed, juicy tomatoes, open windows, mulch, dirt, and aching muscles. And so I cheerfully poured over my seed catalogue and made up my list. Six months from now when I’m moaning and groaning, remind me I said this.

9. I had curried lentils and naan for breakfast. I was planning on making it for lunch, but then I realized that there was no law that said that I had to wait till lunchtime to eat lentils, and so I put the freshly cooked oatmeal into the fridge and feasted on the spicy lentils. I felt feisty, like I belonged to the Nutritionally Elite. It was quite the little rush.

10. It’s late. I wanted to tell you about the cake I have been eating all the live-long day. (So I lied—I don’t really belong to the Nutritionally Elite.) It’s inspired me to haul firewood—if I haul a bunch of wood than I can justify eating another piece of cake. It’s a good cake (but a weak theory). I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. Good night.

About one year ago: Ode to the Titty Fairy. Grab a hankie and brace yourself. It’s a doozy.