A riddle, from the mind of my nutty nuthead

"I feel hungry for somefin. Somefin delicious. They have black covers and white fings. You know what shape they are? A circle. They're not Swedish Fish that you don't want me to have. I had two of dem. You know what I mean?"



Hint:

Love

I never have a camera when I really need one - this picture was taken with my phone, and it's fuzzy and incomplete. Tonight, my quirky 4 year old was a star. He is that critical one degree off from center, just enough different that people think he fits in but he doesn't, quite. Tonight, though, he was the main event, and I've never seen such joy. He decided to try jumping off the diving board, and as he dithered and fretted like any nervous 4 year old but more so, everyone at the pool gathered around and supported him. Instead of yelling at him to hurry up or get off the board, as I'm sure I would at their age, the other kids in line started chanting and clapping their encouragement. By the time I got on the board myself and tossed him in to put us all out of our...not misery, but anticipation, people were placing bets on what he would do. I later heard that a child we don't even know was being herded from the pool at this time and protested to his father, "please, wait, I want to see what happens." I grew up in a small town, and even so I've never seen such a thing, where one child's fear and excitement transports a community. I don't think it was just the ever-present alcohol that brought tears to my eyes. My children are so lucky, to have this love in their lives.

Love is the strangest thing. Everyone feels it, and who can define it? Of course I love the boy - I "grew him out of me," as he says - but what motivated all these friends and strangers to see past his obstreperousness to the momentous occasion it was for him? What, for that matter, makes all the lovely people in my life tolerate my recently near-constant drunkenness and frequent weepiness? It feels like sheer ingratitude to be anything other than radiant with joy in the face of such an unasked for, undeserved outpouring of kindness and acceptance.

I still often wish for the imagination and courage to write, and feel like something of a failure for falling back on medicine. If I had the courage, and the perseverance, I would begin my writing career with some kind of testimonial to friendship, some kind of homage to the friends who hold me up with their laughter and love. The ones who kiss me and say they love me, even when I let them down. The people who know everything about me and those one step removed who offer their support on faith alone. The kind strangers who love my children on my behalf, or me on theirs, and cheer on my strange son at a moment that could have been mundane but which these beautiful rare people rendered transcendent.

This is me, writing up my lab report

My summer class has improved somewhat, mostly because I ditch at the break most days, bring my laptop (to play spider solitaire) every day, and have made some...well, not friends really, but acquaintances at least, to amuse me. AND I got 104% on the first test, because I rawk at Chemistry. Except for writing up lab reports, which I do not want to do, since I just did one two days ago and my whole self is rebelling against the idea of doing another. Suck.

Randomness floating through my head as I cultivate ADHD as an alternative to schoolwork: Angelina Jolie just wants to be me - now she has 6 kids and her last two are boy/girl twins, just like me. Take away her money and her looks (and, to be fair, her energy - just that travel schedule would kill me) and we'd be twins ourselves. Facebook - it's finally growing on me, after having an account for ages and seldom checking it. Now I feel like a private detective, hunting down people from my past. Plus it's something else to do during class. Shoot, the nagging voice in the back of my head that says I'm going to be up all night writing this godforsaken report has shoved all the detritus aside. Guess I'll go back to staring blankly at my lab notebook.

Anyone have some paint I can watch dry? Or sniff?

I started my summer class today - I'm taking the second semester of general chemistry because it's a prerequisite for everything I have to take next year. The thrill of being back in school had already worn off a bit after one semester back, but now the thrill is gone baby gone. I have never in, let's see, 15.5 years of school ever ever been as bored as I was this morning. My professor is quite literally the dullest person I have ever encountered. He spent a solid hour reading the syllabus aloud, then another hour and a half reading slides slowly and repetitiously, then writing out on the overhead exactly what he had just read. And this was, so far, all review material. The class runs from 9-1 every. day. for 5 weeks, but I only made it until 11:30. I packed up my things and walked out while he was lecturing. I do realize how rude that is, but my only alternative was to start yelling and throwing things. I can not believe I have to go back in the morning, but at least this time I know to bring entertainment for myself. Like heroin.

In other news, my two oldest boys are at sleep-away football camp this week. The house is very quiet, and the 7-year-old is having quite the run of mood swings. He reportedly has a great time every minute of the camp until he lays eyes on me, and then he bursts into tears and collapses in a heap. I believe I'll restrict future visits to ones from a distance, using binoculars.

My nutty 4-year-old had a very frightening incident on the 4th, in which he vomited blood (boy do I never want any of the kids to ever do that again), but he bounced back more than completely and has been a reassuringly holy terror for the past couple days. Just now, my husband told the boy, as he tucked him in to bed, that our 9-year-old was going to give him his old Woody doll, from Toy Story. The boy's reply? "I don't want a soft Woody, it will just break and we will have to throw it away! I want a hard Woody!" How can you not love him.

You are what you eat

Last night, before the stomach flu my children have been passing around finally laid me low, I was imagining how model-thin I would be if I had never eaten a chip in my life. I think, actually, that I'd probably be dead of malnutrition, as chips have made up the bulk of my entire food intake (see graph for detail). Clearly, I have a problem, and there are no chips anonymous groups to help me.