I feel like I have so much to write, but can’t write it.  The last two weeks I’ve felt very down, and still falling.  I could blame it on the winter, but I can’t help but search for a better reason. 

Tempest is more fussy then usual, Curtis is more fussy then usual, I wish I could kill two birds with one stone and nurse them both to sleep for four hours.  But not really…

I want to see the Lord of the Rings when it comes out, but I haven’t a clue how I’m going to accomplish that.  I can’t bring Tempest with us, and I don’t know anyone who can babysit, not that I’d feel all that comfortable with it anyway.  I’d have to pump a bottle, and Tempest has only had maybe two bottles her entire life, none within the last three months, she would likely refuse it.  But, I have a bottle pumped for her tomorrow when I get my teeth done, so we’ll find out then…

My father read to me every night until I was thirteen.  That was the last year I stayed with him. There were a lot of lasts in that year.  “I remember late one night you fell asleep on the couch, that big old smelly couch that you loved so much.  I picked you up in my arms and carried you up to bed.  As I ascended the stairs I thought to myself, ‘this is the last time I’m going to carry my daughter to bed’.  And it was.  I’m so glad I realized that, and had that moment to enjoy it.”

He read me “The Hobbit” when I was four.  He read it ten more times before I was ten.  When I was eight, in the midst of my parents’ divorce, he read me Lord of the Rings.  It took us a year to finish it.  On nights we weren’t together he would call me, and I’d lay in bed with the telephone and listen to him read. 

I read it once again, but don’t remember a thing from the book.

When the first movie came out, my father emailed me and said we had to see it together.  I saw it in California with Curtis.  The second movie came out, and I saw the midnight show with a friend.  This one I want to see with him, because it’s special, and I want one of them reserved for us. 

Wouldn’t it be convenient if you could put your baby back in your womb for short periods of time?  Like the fussy evening time, or when they can’t sleep.  Or perhaps for one or two selfish times, like seeing a movie with someone that means a lot to you.

I would ask my mother if she could come up and watch her, but I’m afraid to unleash the hell that is Tempest at night upon her. Then again, she raised me, so it isn’t as though she’s not prepared.

The other day Tempest was laying in bed with me, screaming herself to sleep.  I was singing to her, and attempting to get her calmed down.  My mother heard her, came by and asked what the fuss was about.  “She doesn’t want to go to bed, but she’s sleepy,” I answered.  Tempest wailed that claws-on-blackboard scream that means ‘I’m angry and you should know it’, the vein in her forehead popped out.”I never thought you’d have a baby just like you, I was hoping you’d be spared a little of what I went through!  Oh, Heather, I’m sorry…”  she laughed a little, and left.  I laughed too, because it’s funny.  I knew she’d be just like me.  She couldn’t be any other way. 

I really dislike the winter.  I like snow, I like no tourists, but that’s about it.  And I really, really dislike xmas.  I wish I knew why.  I don’t think I can know why yet.  I vaguely remember a few xmas’.  Like last year’s, when we had absolutely no money and we all agreed to postpone the holidays until after we sold the house, and if we wanted to get gifts, they would be gags (one or two dollar stocking stuffers).  Curtis and I bought my brother some guitar picks, and strings.  He got us a $120 grill.  He didn’t do it to be nice, it’s probably the most expensive gift he’s bought for me/us to date.  I try to let things like that go, but every time I remember the look and tone of his wife’s voice when she said, “Oh, thanks” for the little things we’d bought them, as agreed upon, I can’t.

One year I remember my nana making me watch “Swept by the Sea” with my father, it was about as close to a Harlequinn novel on film as you can get.  She digs that stuff.  When I was 15 she tried to give me her entire collection of Harlequinns and other sex novels.  I tried to tell her I had no interest, but she would not listen.  She dumped about twenty of her 600 into my bag.  I gave them to charity.  She’s mostly senile now, living in a home – I visit her on occassion, and she’s always ready to give me more books…

I remember getting a Windy Walker doll, all dressed up under the tree.

And I remember chinese slinkies in my stocking.

I wish the holidays were a more pleasant experience, but it seems like every year all the stressful events wait until then to impale themselves upon me.  Moving will be okay, no one moves during the holidays.

My  mother handed me a sheet of paper that has the LDS church information on it, they’re having some sort of a holiday fest at the end of this month, they want Curtis, Tempest and I to join them.  I know many of the members there, and for some reason they’re really fond of us.  They even went out of their way to tell my mother that there was nothing xian-centered about the celebrations, so I would not feel uncomfortable with it.  They’re so nice.  I think I’ll go.  Curtis doesn’t mind either way. 

I need more sleep.  More cash, more time, more sunlight, and more sleep.




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