Live Blogging


 Today I am live blogging.  Usually when you see a post come up during the day they are pre-written scheduled posts.  There's a little EVILFLU fact for ya!

Truth is, I work at night.  Actually I work all day long, which is why I can only blog at night.  It's totally okay though because I am much more creative when I'm deliriously tired.  I'm even more creative when I'm in the shower.  If there was a way to blog from the shower I could possibly be the best blogger in the world.  Actually, only if the best blogger in the world only wrote about shampoo and people who piss her off, only then would I be the best blogger in the world.

So why am I live blogging today you might ask?  Well I am in my bed (wishing I didn't see a news story about bed bugs) with 20 bajillion crumpled up Kleenexes all around me.  I already called in sick to work and managed to cackle out a message saying I would not be in.  I am hoping they don't mistake my message for a strangled turkey or something because it really ended up sounding that way.  If I become unemployed tomorrow it's because my boss thought I was a strangled turkey.

I just returned from walking EVILBOY to school and am now trying to warm up under my covers, checking the mattress every five minutes because I felt like something crawled on me (damn you article about bed bugs, my sleep is ruined for life now....RUINED).  Note to self: do not read articles about bugs that crawl and feast on you while you sleep.

I really enjoyed walking EVILBOY to school this morning.  Walking him to school is something I don't get to experience often enough.  Even though I had to stop at every corner so my lungs could re-inflate with the beautiful autumn morning air and I could hack up a quarter of my lung. It was pretty. It was still nice to hear things he had to say when we weren't in a hurry and I didn't have to compare him to a 90-year-old man every five minutes.

He wanted to know what my job was.  I could easily tell him I type reports all day long or I show people how to file and teach them the alphabet (it's true) but that's kind of hard for a six-year-old to understand and he will probably go around telling people I am a prostitute or a pole dancer because that's what kids do.  I told him I fix bones (which is only slightly far from the truth since I do work in a rehabilitation clinic).  His eyes grew wide and by the look in his eyes you would have thought I told him I kicked the crap out of Superman for a living.  "GRAMMY DOES THAT TOO!".  I have never known my mother to even remotely fix bones, in fact I think she would be the one breaking bones.  Only then I remembered that my mom got a job fixing phones, not bones.  So now my kid thinks I am a telephone repair person.  Oh whatever.


His mispronunciations are really cute, but sometimes inappropriate (see: cotton balls) and while most of the time I can figure out what he's trying to say.  He's in speech therapy so now these words are few and far between. This weekend he was saying something over and over, trying to make me understand "SPLAY SPLADES BATTLE SUSAN" over and over and throwing in "YOU KNOW" in between each sequence of SPLAY SPLADES BATTLE SUSAN. Finally Sunday afternoon I figured out he was saying Beyblades Metal Fusion.  I only figured it out because we were in the store and he brought this thing right to me and said the name again. 

I did what any mother does when a kid brings a toy to them in the store, I said no right away.  I was especially adamant about this particular toy because the last time I let him spend his allowance on one it was broken within one day.  Completely broken as in throwing in the garbage because the small spinning piece broke off the bottom never to be seen again.  I would have rather taken the $12.99 and taken it to a landfill myself because that's basically what happened.

He only got to me when he said "but all the other kids play SPLAY SPLADES at recess.  Heart meet broken.  Something I never wanted was EVILBOY to feel left out.  It's like my Achilles' Heel, the way to my heart.  His lip quivered and I found myself at the counter buying my kid a SPLAY SPLADE, in fact the very same one that was broken just a month ago.  Even though I could think of a million things that I could spend the money on right now, I just couldn't say no, and I blame my mother.

I too grew up as a kid who didn't have a SPLAY SPLADE at recess.  Only in my time it was marbles.  While all the other kids had the fancy "gasoline" marbles and fancy marble pouches, I only ever had "alleys" and a baby wipe container to hold mine in.  Eventually I got lucky enough to get a Crown Royal pouch from my dad to put them in.  Marbles were a huge thing when I was a kid.  Marbles meant status.  The more you had, the bigger and rarer they were, the cooler you were.  It was just a common fact. 

I wasn't a deprived child.  I had a lot of things, it's just that anything I ever owned was never "name brand".  Anything we got came from Bi-Way or Goodwill.  We didn't really have dollar stores back then, but if we did I'm pretty sure I would be wearing underwear from there.

We weren't all that poor, we weren't all that rich either, but we were comfortable and my mom didn't feel the need to get us fancy items when she could either a) make the item herself or b) buy it at Bi-Way.

I remember one year my friends were all renting poodle skirts for Halloween and going out together.  I wanted to wear a poodle skirt too (even though I hated skirts, I just couldn't bear to be different).  Of course my mom said no because she could make me a costume.  She always made me a costume, which wasn't so bad because when I was younger they were pretty awesome.
I was the tiger (though for some reason my mom felt the need to cut me half out of the picture).  I remember those other two kids in the picture too - Scott and Irene.  Poor Scott didn't even get a costume.
So that year I ended up going out with my friends as Roger Rabbit.  It ended up as me wearing my winter hat, with two socks covering coat hangers as ears and a weird red jumper from Goodwill.  It was almost as bad as the year that she made me a martian.  I could smell the neon green spray paint she used on the pantyhose hat she made me for weeks after.  Even after all these years, I still remember that smell.  I would have a picture to share of that costume but the photo album was lost.

Maybe it's not the right thing for me to give in so easily and get him what he wants so he can fit in at school or to give him the hair do that the other kids are wearing or buy him the Mario costume he wanted rather than attempting to make it (most likely with toxic spray paint and black marker for a mustache) but I feel like I have to bend a little when he already has the disadvantage of not having a father and a mother who is not all that mentally stable after sustaining a toxic neon green spray paint poisoning as a child.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hello..this is my blog. I bought this fancy theme and I don't know what to write here just yet. Maybe one day remind me I have to write something inspiring here?

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