Here’s a few weird thoughts for your Friday. They may be more like confessions, but I can’t hold them in any longer.
1. More often than I’d rather admit I call Emma, Enema. Even in public. Like at the library the other day. In front of other mothers. Nobody was laughing but me. And I was really laughing. Out-loud. Hopefully this will only traumatize her later in life.
2. I took a nap yesterday in which I dreamed about the scalloped potatoes that I had decided to make for supper. In the dream I was slicing a potato thinly and getting frustrated because it turned into a floppy pickle, all mushy and gross, making the slices irregular and. . . well, pickles not potatoes.
3. I could stare at our lava lamp forever or that sunspot casting abstract tree-like shadows down the wall and across the floor. Sometimes wasting time. Sometimes daydreaming. Always admiring.
4. I am so in-tune with the sounds of our neighborhood that even a car door slamming from a certain direction that car doors don’t usually slam causes me to peek out to see what’s going on. I’m the neighborhood scout. . .on patrol 24 hours a day. This is especially helpful when a car parks directly in front of your home and a man gets out and walks to his trunk to make a rum and coke and then puts it into his Big Gulp cup and then proceeds to get back into the car and drive away slow enough for me to note the license plate, color and style of the car to call the 911. But a little unhelpful, because I invent stories about the neighbors I don’t know that are never as exciting as the people themselves turn out to be and so I’m disappointed. It makes me wonder, though, how many other “scouts” are watching me. Creepy. I’m rethinking this scout thing now.