We are all such geeks here. Irish informs me I spelled Toothachew wrong; it should be Toothachu.
We are all such geeks here. Irish informs me I spelled Toothachew wrong; it should be Toothachu.
We read "Gordon's Whistle" and "Henry's Sneeze." She attempted hard words, and tried to make the people talk with inflection. Now, these are stories she has heard me read before, and has seen on Thomas the Tank Engine videos, but she was not reciting memorized lines, she was reading for herself. It is funny how words like "engine" and "station" and "funnel" and "fitter" roll off her tongue, but words like "puff" become "peep" and "screeched" become "Shouted" instead.
Word anticipation let her get some of the words. Right after "Fat" is the word "Controller." She knew that one from my reading. I could tell she was processing meaning, because after she read "Fat Controller," she said, "That's Sir Top'em Hat." She also turned to me and winked when Henry the Green Engine "winked...like this."
I am so full of joy right now!
In addition, Sparkle was a trooper going to several stores tonight. We went to two music stores looking at banjos (all the cheap ones from summer sold) a pet store for a kitty calming collar for Harley, and the grocery store for prescriptions. I told her what a good, good girl she was all evening, and she beamed soooo big, and then let out a big sigh, and I swear fell asleep nearly instantly. Amazing.
I asked Sparkle whether she'd tried to feed Furnace through the vents. The answer was no, but also one of great excitement, as though I'd given her food for thought as to a new something she could do to appease Furnace. A long conversation involving a lot of my list of NOs! ensued. Sparkle seemed more bored than convinced by my arguments.
So, we had a theory that a mouse may have crawled in the heating ducts beyond where I can see, because the smell gets stronger when the vents blow. However, when I put my face over it, I only get metallic heat, not rot.
Sparkle is sleeping in the living room, as her room is unlivable at the moment. I am getting progressively more crazy about this.
And, the yearly visit from Children's Services is coming up, to check on Sparkle's well-being. I really don't want the home visit to have this stench in her living area!
So, bit by bit, I'm turning over every piece of clothing, toy, furniture, vent, etc. until I find the little dead mouse my cats killed.
Wish me luck...
Every once in a while, after maybe being exposed to nuts, without issue, I wonder whether I still have allergies to peanuts. Then something like this happens, and I know that I do. And this time, it feels worse than just having my tongue get thick. My throat is closed up a bit, too.
I can still breathe and everything, but I am aware of discomfort, and I spent half an hour freaking. When I talk, I sound like I have a cold, because my tongue is awkward.
And I am cross, because the packaging pictures emphasized the chocolate and the banana, without showing nuts in the picture. Yes, I know I ought to check the ingredient list every single time, and I didn't, and here are my natural consequences, right now. It's just at Jeni's ice cream, they have salty ice creams that have nothing to do with nuts.
And my poor husband, who offered me the taste spoon from his bowl, is upset, too. It's weird, because I didn't immediately recognize the taste, and only really "got" it because I saw a nutty smear in the ice cream in the bowl.
Sour grapes says the taste wasn't even nummy enough to make this worth it, either.
We still had Dr. Girlfriend in the cart, though, dressed in her hot pink Jackie O outfit. Sparkle stops at the Monster High dolls. Another little girl says to her very coiffed mother, "Here they are, mom!"
The mother looks at the Monster High dolls skeptically. "They're kindof creepy," she says disdainfully. "Like creepy Barbies. Who makes creepy Barbies? Why would they even make creepy Barbies?" She turns to me. "Do you know why they even make these things like this?"
I say, "Each doll is different from Barbie. I think the idea is that if you have a doll you love that is really different, and play with them along with your traditional Barbies, then you'll be more likely to think different is okay, and play with different kids."
"I don't want my kids to play with kids like that." the mother stated flatly.
I stood blinking at her, somewhat stunned. I mean, that's the kind of statement someone might make inside their head, but out loud like that? Wow. I didn't know what to do with it and still be nice. I found myself wondering if the mother was being that way because she could tell Sparkle was different, or because she couldn't. (Either bad.)
The little girl pointed to the werewolf doll. "Pleeeease, Mommy?"
"No!" barks the mother.
The little girl turns wistfully to Sparkle, as if seeking support.
"I'm sorry," says Sparkle. "Your mommy doesn't want you to be friends with me." And Sparkle took the Cleo (Mummy's daughter) doll for the party. Stunned, I trailed in Sparkle's wake, thinking there was nothing else I could say, or wanted to, to top that.
My darling husband was sleeping, preparing for his night work at the toy store, restocking and getting ready for Black Friday. I have been nursing a cold and sore throat, possibly strep. (A girl sick at school all week was diagnosed with it on Friday. Since I've had strep 34 times in my life, I canceled most of this weekend so I wouldn't spread the ick if I have caught it.)
Sparkle came to me with the bike helmets, and asked to go on a bike ride to the towers. I told her I didn't think I could make it to the towers, but we could go on a short ride.
( Route 66 )
I have had difficulty in finding in-print versions of my beloved novels. I shall just have to be patient. I shall read the short story collection Lord Peter instead, and allow myself to be charmed for the nonce. But, both books are totally on my search-and-buy list, because these are books I like to re-read all of the time.
I also had gone to three florists yesterday, looking for poppies to wear today. British and Canadian traditions are apparently unknown in Columbus flower shops. None of the florist ladies had any idea why I should want a poppy for today.
Sparkle was pleased enough that she actually went and thanked the plumber on her own initiative. She's used the toilet six or seven times this past hour, I think just for the pleasure of being able to flush afterward, and go over to the sink and play in the water again.
They are clean! They work! My house no longer has odeur Boy Scout Latrine perfuming the atmosphere!
Props up to my neighbor, who pointed out which of the neighborhood guys was a plumber, and hooked us up. And Dave the Plumber hooked me up, and I am doing the happy dance!
Then, I saw a little black four wheel monster truck speeding along the road, coming toward me in the opposite lane, with a G.I. Joe action figure "driving" and Barbie riding along in it, her blonde hair whipping behind her at highway speeds. ZOOM!
These were closely followed by a white beat up full-sized pickup truck with a teen driver, and two teen guys also in the front seat, grinning like fiends while manipulating their control boxes.
I was torn between being immensely amused, and totally appalled!
Irish was a bomber pilot in vintage gear from his grandpa.
Sparkle was a princess, in velvet and a cloak.
Their Trick-or-Treat mates were a witch and Spider-Man.
I was Irene Adler, unchanged from school.
Best adult costume on our rounds had to be the Imperial Storm Trooper. He gave Sparkle extra candy for saying "Look! An Imperial Storm Trooper!" instead of calling him (hisss) a Clone Trooper. Each time he spoke, his helmet gave a radio crackle, and his voice came through electronically, like they do in the movies. For the Win!
And my students accused me of *not* having dressed up for Halloween!
"But I'm Irene Adler," I protested.
None of my classes thought I dressed up at first. The other teachers, knowing I'd strapped in for the day, thought this was hilarious.
On the other hand, the other parents around the block at Trick or Treat all figured I was Victorian at least, and recognized the name when I said who I was.
Tonight, I took Sparkle and Irish to our little townlet's Halloween party for elementary school kids. It was very well-run, and both kids had a blast.
And it was great family fun. I have a bit of small guilt for not having helped my neighbor ladies put it on, but we all enjoyed going. And my darling husband went down and bought baked treats for himself, too, after we came home.
There was a boil alert for the area, but unfortunately, I accidentally drank some of the local water. Sunday, on the way back down the Adirondack Mountain roads going back and forth and with gusts of wind 35-50 mph, I had to be sick. My driving friend was telling a story about someone who was behaving badly in trying circumstances when I announced, "I am going to be sick," and thought I was commenting on the egregiousness of the story rather than my own condition. My friend riding shotgun warned the driver in time to pull over before the fountains began.
Throwing up over the road wires downhill in mountain country is vertigo inducing. I was grateful that I when I was ill, the wind blew it significantly away from me, too. I got to peer over a river, too. And grass verges, and inspect several rest area toilets for cleanliness and the Tidy Bowl boats.
All the same, I was still quite happy and chirpy the trip back, because the company was good, and I think I got used to being stable after vomiting after all three of my barfy pregnancies. 1/40th of my life has been spent being oopsie tummy, after all.
There was rain coming down steadily and stormily along the way home, and the windshield wipers on my van died. I stopped halfway home to call in sick and stranded. (I'd planned out Monday at school, so typing in the sub request, and talking to our secretary, and my boss got that settled.)
Today went well at school. While my tum has stabilized, I wanted less to eat all day anyway. Maybe, if I keep my portions really small, I can painlessly reduce how much I eat for the future, in aid of my goal of getting off my meds?