1. I was pushing eggshells into the maw of the sink when I remembered: I had the most horrifying dream about my teeth last night. I was wandering around one of those doctor’s office complexes that are like rambling warrens.
Why do they do that? Why do they want patients to feel lost and overwhelmed? Is it sneaky psychological intimidation or dissatisfied architects who wish they were designing museums instead of medical-dental? Do doctors think they are giant bunnies?
ANYWAY. For some reason I stuck whitening strips on my teeth while I wandered around looking for my babydaddy, who was there somewhere in a room. Then a timer dinged and it was time to take the strips off. I pulled and pulled, but they were a little stuck.
My teeth started crumbling apart like some kind of fragile candy. It felt like the butt end of candy canes when you suck them down to slivers and they just snap off. I started spitting teeth out into my hand to see if any could be salvaged. There was a whole one with a root, but mostly they were brown and crumbling.
I looked into a mirror at my brown crackly nubs. “Have I always been this ugly?” I wondered to myself. I kept licking them, worried I was going to cut my tongue. I pushed a door open and walked outside and the light was blue, like the light is in the spring sometimes.
My ex drove by in his boat of a car. “Have you seen Franny?” I clapped my hand over my mouth, closed my fingers over my tooth fragments with my other hand, and shook my head. He chit-chatted with me for a few more minutes and then drove on.
Then, of course, I started to worry about where Franny was. I dropped my teeth and said, “Oh, well, I will deal with this later.” I began looking for her and I woke up.
2. I think maybe part of the reason I had this dream is because she is out of the state with her father right now for xmas break, which makes me uneasy. (You may be surprised to learn that he did not have me sign or create a letter of permission to leave the state once again.) Last night Strudel was saying something about Franny being not just gone, but dead. She seemed pretty convinced, too. And yesterday she was asking me about barcodes on books. She’s getting kind of smart and weird.
Franny was angry about going, but I told her she’d have a good time once she got there. I mean, it’s fricking Hawaii, FFS. But she would be angry with her dad if he gave her a box full of puppies and candy. She was a real wreck when she was here last time, clinging to me and crying a lot. I had to lay down with her a few times or cuddle her in bed after reading. She even spent time in Companion’s lap. She will hug him, but she doesn’t really cling to anyone but me. Poor thing. I wish I could cuddle her as much as she needed. It’s tiring, but I can tell she needs it.
3. As a legendary food spaz (according to those whose opinions I don’t really give a rip about), I try to feed my girls a balance of healthy food and make sure they are proteined up at any given moment. We often start meals or snacks with that protein hit first, and make sure that there are good carbs as well. This means that a breakfast we often start with a cheesy egg and then move on to toast and fruit. Often there is grousing about this and pathetic pleas for TOAST, PLEEEEASE!
This morning I toasted a piece of bread, buttered it, and cut it up into little toddler-bite squares. Then I cooked an egg over easy and dropped it onto the toast squares, cutting and mixing the yolk with the toast. I threw some salt and pepper on it, gave her a spoon, and BAM! A quiet and nomming Strudel, who cleaned her plate.
It’s good to have these standbys. I also throw protein powder into oatmeal. I hate sugar crashes.
4. This Morning, While Putting the Lotion on the Toddler’s Skin
“Mom! Did you poopbottle?”
“Don’t poop on the floor, okay? We don’t want to poop on the floor.”
“Okay, thanks for the tip.”
(“Poopbottle” is a Strudelization of “poopbubble,” which was Franny’s Ye Olde Toddler word for, well…poopbubbling. There is no other word around here now.
I went to a popular pho place on Saturday which is known for being quick, dirty, and cheap. It is not one of the places in say, the International District that people have phogasms about. After making homemade, I don’t think I can eat there anymore. My favorite place in my general vicinity is Tic Tac Pho in Greenwood, which is all meaty and brothy and spiced so well, and is what my homemade stuff aspires to be. It’s funny, after making it at home, I think I have a really good handle on what pho is or can be. The popular place’s broth tasted kind of dull and flat.
I went to Epilogue after that and bought Heat by Bill Buford, The Body Project, which has cool excerpts from girls’ diaries for the past 100 years, and The Little Book of Irish Baking by Someone’s Irish Granny. Strudel slept, shaking off a cold, and I rotated between the three books while nomming part of a caramel chocolate bar on the couch. This is my idea of a weekend orgy.