First things first.
Liv is a huge reader. She is currently finishing up The Mysterious Benedict Society trilogy. So tonight, she comes in to talk to me with her finger holding her place in the book.
Since I am the responsible parent (stop sniggering, youse), I did ask her if she was finished with her homework. She was. And since we just had parent/teacher conferences last week and I found out that her lowest grade is an A- and that was in music (Yee Gods, you should have seen the look on Bing's face! "In MUSIC? But, she is brilliant. She plays three instruments! WHY is that her lowest grade?" Um...A- is not too shabby and she got it because she forgot to hand in one of her papers...), I am not too concerned with her school work.
She came in and sat next to me on the bed.
"I'm almost done with this last one in the series, Mama," she said. "I need a new book. Any ideas?"
Well, let me just say here and now that she thinks I am a brilliant book picker outer because I was responsible for bringing Harry Potter, Hunger Games Trilogy and The Mysterious Benedict Society into our lives.
So, I have set that bar high. But, now...I'm sort of bewildered. I told her that I would think about this and get back to her tomorrow. So, c'mon, trusty readers, don't fail me now. I need suggestions for a really good book for a 12 year old girl who ADORED all three of the books mentioned above.
She likes fantasy, I think it is fair to say.
And because so many of you have asked me if I am sliding into a depression or something because of my last several posts...I should tell you that I think I have cut it off at the pass.
Last night, I lay in bed resentfully listening to Bing snore peacefully.
I was feeling grousy about my car (and yes, it does need a new door...it would actually cost MORE to fix the damn hingee thing...and that sucks, yes? And seriously, dudes....you KNOW Bing. Do you really think she can be trusted to get that door painted? Remember now that it took her THREE years to finish the paint job in the bathroom....)
Work has been stressful. So many little children suffering WAY too much emotional trauma.
True Story: A foster parent calls me to ask if I know if she can get more money from social services if her foster child is declared autistic. I tell her that I don't know (this is a lie...I do know that they get more money if the child has a disability, be it physical or mental...) and she should call her health and human service worker. An hour later, this SAME woman calls and plaintively asks if she can have her foster child evaluated for autism since he "shows signs like he spins in a circle and such and he don't like nobody touching him, plus he don't play no good with the other kids in his class."
God, double negatives just depress me. But, even more so, it depresses me to see people running their foster homes not out of their heart, but their pocketbook.
So, feeling stressed. Poor kiddos.
It is getting cold, like really cold here. Like hard freeze cold. I have no idea why I am here since unlike my ancestors, I am a wussie pants about cold weather and I detest snow. But, as Bing helpfully reminded me....we both have good jobs and that is lucky in this economy. So, we stay.
My marriage has been more work than play lately. Some weeks/months are like that. You just have to roll with the punches. Living with someone who is one's opposite might be sort of exciting at first, but as the years go by, it is painfully obvious that all the love in the world won't change the fact that you see the world through very different eyes.
So, last night I tried to sleep and told myself to find my happy place.
And I blame Oprah for the fact that I was doing this. She would not only be finding her happy place, but would also be diligently writing out a "gratitude list" as well. Well, fuck that.
Because when you're Oprah, I don't imagine it is too hard to find a happy place. You enjoy that million dollar condo in the windy city, girlfriend. And I seriously doubt if you have ridden in a car with a door painted a different color than the rest of the car. And if Steadman starts to get on your last nerve, well...you and your bestie, what the hell is her name? Gayle something? Anyway, you and Gayle can scamper off on a private jet to New York and go shopping for that perfect jewelry. Those of us who live in the real world sometimes have trouble finding our happy place. But, I was going to give it the old college try.
I thought of an ocean. Too big. All that water flying at me. No. I thought of a lake. Better, but the truth is that I am a born and bred prairie girl. Water doesn't soothe me much.
Okay, I thought, think of a mountain. This made me think of rock climbing. Rocks made me think about that guy who had a boulder pin his hand to a canyon wall and he ended up amputating it. I don't think I could do that.
No happy place there.
I thought of a forest. Wild animals and small vermin. Panthers and raccoons. No thanks.
A meadow. Now, meadows look lovely, but if you have ever stood in one, you know that all those movies where lovers are lying in them are big fat lies. If you lie down in a meadow, when you get up, bet your bottom dollar, you will have chigger bites.
Ok. A desert. I already have dry skin. I don't need more.
I was feeling sort of hopeless and then suddenly it hit me.
The perfect idea.
My happy place:
A new car smell. AHHHHHHHHHH.
So? Any book suggestions? And anyone else love beetles?