Odd and Curious Thoughts of the Week

(1) My daughter asked why baby teeth fell out and I told her that the big grown-up teeth are underneath pushing them.  She said that wasn’t true because she doesn’t feel those big teeth yet and if they were pushing wouldn’t she see evidence of it?  I sighed and said that baby teeth must just have good timing.  Teeth don’t have brains, she says. She’s already surpassing me in logic and she’s only six.

(2) I love rap so much and it annoys me that they keep talking about clubs and drugs and money.   Let’s quit degrading women and start using this incredibly emotional forum to discuss rising from poverty and struggling past the racial divide.  Because when I hear Eminem’s Lose Yourself after all these years I’m still so powerfully moved. 

(3)  I made a chicken black-bean casserole tonight.  I used refried black beans instead of whole.  I added sour cream.  I threw in some cream and cumin and added bell peppers.  I smeared it into the pan and topped it with sharp cheddar.  It turned out looking like a large platter of smashed up dog poo. My cousin is a chef and says we eat with our eyes. She speaks the truth.

(4)  Sometimes I get annoyed that my daughter’s private school is so strict and rigid and her homework consists of reading and more reading and math worksheets.  But then I think of how awesome it would be to be forced to do all that reading and it makes me feel better.  This weekend I’m going to have her draw all the animals she can muster so we can add glitter and sparkles and create a mud pie masterpiece.  We’ll shake out all the sillies and dance to Elvis and on Monday we’ll go back to math worksheets again.  A few drops of glitter may or may not fall out of her backpack Monday.  I’m denying any knowledge therein.

(5) I spoke poorly of someone long ago and it got back to him through a tangled web of connections.  Although I don’t remember what I said it was something related to our tense working relationship at the time.  Vitriolic speech comes back to haunt you.   It’s a reminder to not speak with a forked tongue.

(6) I tried to explain to my daughter the other day what it means to speak with a forked tongue as we were looking at my son’s book of reptiles. She just looked at me and nodded in that way you nod to senile people.  I think she secretly believes I’m a toad trapped in a mother’s body and most of what comes out of my mouth is pure drivel.

(7) My son cried for almost an hour after his nap today because I wouldn’t drop everything I was doing, hold him in my arms, rock him back and forth while standing, and tell him it would all be okay.  Well I have things to do, buddy, and I can’t just pacify you at your every whim.  I’m over thirty and you’re only two and I can’t go around caving in to your ridiculous demands.  I ain’t raising no sissy, I told myself as I stood firm by the sink rinsing vegetables for dinner.  Keep crying if you want to because it has absolutely no effect on me.

(8) This afternoon, after rinsing vegetables, I sat down on the chair and held my sweet baby boy in my arms.  I rocked his little body back and forth. It’s okay, I whispered to his tear-stained face.  Mama’s here.  You’re safe.  There is no hope for him, I tell you.

(9) When Adele has her child that poor little thing will be so spoiled because her mom will sing Over the Rainbow and Amazing Grace and will catch herself humming Rolling in the Deep in the Burger King drive-in.  The kid will forever cringe at church when the choir starts and there’s just no living with a music snob.

(10)               Today I talked to one of my best friends and we laughed about farts, fans, and how we weren’t buying our kids smart phones until they were old enough to earn them.  We are so turning into old people.  The only thing left to go is our hearing and cute underpants.  Lord help us.

(11)               Sometimes I sit and stare at the blank page like a devil that laughs at my face and tells me there’s nothing more to say.  I start writing anyway.

Odd and Curious Thoughts of the Week

  • Recipes are helpful.  Like telling me to use large eggs when making a Bundt cake.  I was just about to grab those tiny little quail eggs that I keep in my refrigerator when I had the forethought to double check.  Large eggs.  Wheh.  That was a close one.
  • I abhor having to type in those random letter combinations when I comment on another blog.  The caption always says something like “Prove to use you’re not a robot!”  Who came up with that phrase?  If a robot is smart enough to surf the web, come up with an email address, and put snarky comments on someone’s blog post, shouldn’t we be encouraging it?  Wouldn’t that be utterly awesome?  The phrase should instead read, “prove to me you’re not an internet scammer who wants to download a virus and steal my bank password.”  Or,  “enter in this stupid combination of letters because it’s automatic and I don’t know how to disable the damn thing.”
  • To prove my point about eggs, I went to the grocery store.  They have large and extra-large, and they are all the same price. I think we can quit referring to egg sizes, recipe people.  For those who actually live on a farm where the small ones are common, figure it out.
  • My sweet son is running a fever.  I feel just awful because he was extra cranky a few nights ago and I just might have made statements at dinner with friends similar to “that is so annoying” and “seriously, kiddo.  Deal with it. Just let me finish eating already.” I am heartless.
  • Tonight, our daughter came into our bedroom an hour after we thought she was asleep, lost in hysterical tears.  “I love my last name,” she sobs.  “I love the way it sounds when you say it all together, and someday when I get married I’ll have to change it.”  Uh, okay.  You’re five years old.  Most kids worry about getting a new backpack, and my daughter worries about losing her identity to her future spouse.  “You don’t have to change it,” my husband says, as if he’s disclosing some big secret.  “It can always be yours.  Love’s not found in a name, anyway.”  She is thrilled.  All is well again in the universe.
  • Last weekend, when we were working in the yard, my husband asked me if I’d seen the garden hoe.  I told him we shouldn’t discuss her in public, and especially around the children, for crying out loud.  Show some respect. 
  •  I get so excited when I hear the little ding on my iphone because I just know it’s the sound of an email – THE email – from the one literary agent who loves my novel and thinks it’s a bestseller in the making.  But it’s from Shutterfly, stating that they have new portrait mugs.  Well then.
  •  I thought about changing my blog name today to something whimsical like “graceful waters” or “she who runs with kitchen shears” instead of the super lame hill + pen. It’s like I am a caveman, beating my chest. I am hill.  I use pen.  I don’t even use a pen since I type everything.  But I was lazy and had laundry to fold.
  • Writing can be torture.  It’s lonely and sad, and you feel at times that it has no meaning.  But then you start envisioning someone laughing, or crying, or changing their behavior after reading your words, and you feel like a superhero.  At least that’s what you tell yourself to keep on writing.
  • This afternoon as I went to check the mail, I saw my neighbor and his wife standing in their front yard.  “Nice weather,” I shouted.  It’s what you say to be cordial.  It’s the neighborly thing to do. “Not if you’re digging a hole,” she yelled back.  I smiled and waived.  Yup, it’s no fun digging a – what?  Huh? Should I be concerned?

And it’s just Monday. . .