"we already had a frog-rabbit"

This morning after a bath I’m wrapping a towel around me in my bedroom; my hair is up in a towel, and a green clay avocado mask on my face. I tuck the towel around me and look up to see the neighbor girl, up on Sophie’s bunkbed, her eyes wide and her lips in a perfect “o” shape – a delighted shock at seeing a grown woman naked, or surprise at my green visage, I can’t know. “I didn’t see you there, I.” I tell her as I pull my robe from my closet to wrap around the towel (it’s cold today).

This girl I. is a beauty. She has brown curly hair and hazel-green, guileless eyes; a surprisingly throaty chuckle that you hear often when she comes over. Her mother more or less allows her free reign to invite herself over to neighbors for which I’m grateful. The girl will stand in my doorway, seconds away from my acquiescence at which she will strip her scarf, shoes, hat, and coat off gleefully and join my children in their room. Today they are playing Barbie and “Package Versus Pets” – a game where Nels inserts himself into a large cardboard box, the girls pretend to receive it from the postman, and he emerges as some kind of wild animal they must guess at and then tame.

“That cocoa smells good,” I. smiles at me as the kids tumble into the kitchen, setting their little cups up complete with cloth napkin and spoon. I reflect again on my opinion that people should spend more time with children – on the children’s terms, not the grownups’ – because children are unspoiled in a way few adults are. They are so direct, so visceral in their expressions of pleasure, amazement, disbelief, and anger. My time with these wee ones only increases my desire to find my elemental Self; the woman who plain enjoys life, disavows discomfort and pain, and can ignore the future’s troubles for absolute presence in the moment.

my affair with joe

I had a friend who once told me that because of her dad’s habits in childhood, she’d always get a positive, warm and fuzzy feeling from smelling beer on a man’s breath. And sure enough, she ended up partnered with a beer-drinker and in fact drank a lot herself. For entirely coincidental reasons I had years ago decided I didn’t want my children to smell alcohol on my breath night after night as I kiss them to sleep. Alcohol riddles my childhood; I don’t want to be a slave to or obsessed with the eradication of it in my life, but until I sort all that out I really don’t want my children to either.

But lest you think this was a long, meandering post about my triumph over alcoholic tendencies, you’re wrong. Because this is about what my children likely associate with Love-Mommy, and what Nels just commented on this morning when he told me my breath smelled good: Coffee. I like coffee. I drink coffee. CoffeeCoffeeCoffee. I’m sick, slavish to it. I could probably not go a roadtrip without it unless it was after 6 PM or so (when I’m ready to be done drinking it for the night). You know how smokers need that smoke break? I’m almost like that with coffee. I think about coffee. I treat myself to coffee. OK, I’m not a total fiend: I won’t drink “bad” coffee – I won’t bother with something from 7-11 or most diners. Living in Washington state though, it’s easy to find good (or at least decent) cup of the stuff.

This morning Nels snuggles me a bit before I stick him in bed next to his sister; their fresh pancakes await in a warm oven, and in a moment I’m off to bath, breakfast, and a bit of yoga before the day truly begins.

I watched The Dark Knight last night. It was a great film and I plan to see it again. I put a film review up on a site I write for (hee hee, not linking to it, it’s a secret) and in looking up some details of the film on on imdb I see a post: “Who else found the Joker sexy?” Yeah, OK, it needs to be said: the Joker was sexy (and scary. Those things can go together, you know). And this is why – he was extremely self-validated. Probably the biggest turn-on, ever. Well, for me at least.