Oh, It's a Jolly Holiday

Monkey Boi is in da house. And suddenly Mojo dawns his mantle of Papa-dom. It is an interesting twist on being a parent and I love to see it in action.

Monkey is a typical about-to-turn-13-in-three-weeks boy and has the selective hearing that seems to come with the age. That and the fear of showering. He is fond of stewing in his own musky scent and will do so as long as he can get away with it.

My self-appointed task during the summer was to have him showered and washed every day, along with teeth, and I am proud to say I was rather successful. Of course, he still needed to be reminded numerous times ("Turn on the water, get in the shower, use soap...") on a daily basis before the event actually took place.

As a parent, one can shout "Get in the shower" until one is blue in the face...to no avail. Mojo has a finesse to which I can only hope to aspire. To whit:

"I'm a good natured fellow, a happy-go-lucky scamp. One might even go so far as to describe me as 'jolly.' But if you don't get into the shower right now, I'm going to strangle you with your own large intestines."

Works every time.

God, I adore that man!

Still Here...

...just sick with the norovirus-y thing. Been doubled up in the bathroom or curled under two down comforters in the living room all day. I had to call Mojo to come home when he was barely half way to work, it came on so suddenly.

It was a horrific comedy of errors: my being violently ill in the bathroom and trying to occupy the kidlet and keep her safe and from getting all into my sickness. I had to jump in the shower to clean off and she just climbed right in after me, wearing all her clothes and her cool new ladybug galoshes.

My mom came tonight so Mojo could go to do the radio show, thank the gods. She made dinner, fed and bathed Arabis, tidied the toys littering the living room and rocked the girl to sleep. Me? I just laid on the day bed and moaned. Pathetic!

Mojo was not pleased about having to come home today. I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow, with him at work, Mom at work and me barely able to move and completely unable to eat. One minute at a time, I guess.

To top it off, Mojo's son, Monkey Boi, is flying in from Ohio on Wednesday night and the house looks like some terrifying space monkeys maybe got loose.

Pleh.

In Which Our Author Crumbles

At last. I have been desperate to write all week and the time to do it has eluded me. Arabis has hit a new high in teething misery and hasn't been sleeping at night. Therefore, neither have I. She's been napping during the day, thank the gods, and though that is an opportune time to write I find myself joining her in the land of dreamy dreams instead.

So now I sit here and stare at the screen with my lids getting heavier and heavier. It's cold and rainy. Has been all week. I've got bread dough attempting to rise in the kitchen and I am praying it will do so though I am beginning to have my doubts. It's too damn chilly in this loft.

I have stopped counting the deaths that have occurred this year. I can't keep track. On Friday I learned of the death of another close friend by drowning. His name was Jorge and I worked with him for many years teaching sea kayaking. He was killed in a kayaking accident in Mexico and his body was never recovered.

Learning of Jorge's death stripped me of any last vestige of "strength in the face of adversity" that I had left. I broke down over the weekend. Called my director at the Dickens Fair on Saturday morning and said I would be unable to make it this weekend (something I have never, ever done {i.e.: not honor a theatrical commitment}). I spent the weekend with my little warped family, cuddling with Arabis and Mojo, watching telly, eating soup, regaling Mojo with stories of kayaking exploits we (Jorge and I) had shared and crying. But it was what I needed. The world had suddenly become sharp and painful and I needed to retreat to a place of greater safety.

Come Monday morning I felt almost human again.

And the irony of this all? All week I have been frantically searching the time to sit and pour my little dark soul out into the ether. So here I am, having achieved my goal of the time to write, and all the words that I had been forming in my head are gone. All the witty stories and pithy sayings I have been mentally composing to get me through the lack of sleep and frustration of being unable to provide long-term relief to my miserable toddler: gone. I have nothing left.

I guess sleep it is for me.

Another Rule Bites the Dust

I've long held an unspoken rule that this space would be meme free, however with the approach of the holidays I felt an exception could be made for this sweet little piece of self-aggrandizement. From the ever-charming Boogiemum.


1. Eggnog or hot chocolate?

Eggnog, please.

2. Does Santa wrap presents or just set them under the tree?

Presents wrapped by me. Santa doesn't do squat. I mainly bake for everyone anyway. This year this a lot of knitting being done as well.

3. Colored lights or white?

None for a long time. I like strings of one coloured light, though. May do something this year.

4. Do you hang mistletoe?

Never. I have a cat of very little brain who will eat anything green.

5. When do you put your decorations up?

Haven't decorated for years. That's going to have to change now that I have spawned. The Evil Dwarf will be expecting it.

6. What is your favorite holiday dish?

Lamb. (We're Armenian. It's what we do. Although we did upset my grandmother in years past by teasing her about eating the lamb of god at Christmas {the lord is very tasty with pilaf}. She was not amused.)

7. Favorite holiday memory as a child?

Lying on my back under the baby grand piano at my grandmother's house while my mother played Chopin. Also going down to Union Square, San Francisco, with my grandmother to look at the holiday windows in all the big department stores. We'd do that every year.

8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa?

Santa was never a big deal. I think I always knew. There was a different one at Emporium every year we went to have photos taken, so that was a dead giveaway.

9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve?

We open all our presents on Christmas Eve. And then have a second Christmas gathering (sans gifts) on Armenian Orthodox Christmas (6 January)

10. How do you decorate your Christmas Tree?

I haven't had a tree in years. It's the cats, see. Again, we'll have to change this soon, what with the Sprog and all.

11. Snow! Love it or dread it?

Love it.

12. Can you ice skate?

Yep.

13. Do you remember your favorite gift as a kid?

A six foot tall, styrofoam, assemble-it-yourself tyrannosaurus rex skeleton from my Uncle Ben. I *LOVED* that thing. Eventually the pieces disintegrated.

14. What’s the most important thing about the holidays for you?

Family. It was really horrid for a while there, but as time passes and people as well, it's getting nice again.

15. What is your favorite holiday dessert?

Bourma, khadayiff and kurabia (Armenian, remember?) . Also, my mother's peach pie rocks!

16. What is your favorite holiday tradition?

Dickens Fair.

17. What tops your tree?

No tree.

18. Which do you prefer: giving or receiving?

Giving.

19. What is your favorite Christmas Song?

Carol of the Bells. Followed closely by The Holly and the Ivy and The Wassail Song (I love the pagan symbolism and origins of these carols).

20. Candy canes?

Okay.

Quick Update

I feel the need to shout out to the world that I live still. I breathe. I eat. I sleep (albeit not nearly enough as I'd like). I had the intent on the first of December to keep up the discipline of daily posting that NaBloPoMoFo gave me, but that quickly fell by the wayside due to lack of practicality and content. There are definitely enough subjects and thoughts carousing in my brainmeats to make for interesting writing (and I hope reading) on a daily basis, but the truth of the matter is that the time to really sit and explore them is severely limited. The best time is when the Teething Terror of Toddler-Town naps, but I have been so exhausted that I have taken to napping with her. At night I have been so tired after the evening tasks of dinner, dishes and bathing the above mentioned Terror, that sitting at the computer is the last thing I want to do.

But after a discussion with Mojo last night (which I will delve into in greater detail on a later post) I have reaffirmed the need to be committed to writing. And this journal is a good practice for me. A place to show up on a daily basis and just write. If it's important, and it is, I need to make the time for it in my life. I'm not sure how this is going to work, or when or what it will even look like. But it's necessary for me to get serious about writing again. As necessary as breath.