one-handed entry

July 1, 2006

Not one-handed for any naughty reason, I'm holding Elijah in the crook of my arm with my hand curled around holding his bottle in place. 

Saturday morning, Marlene and I were both awake early, and the kids both slept in (in a manner of speaking: Eli to 7:30 or so, Gigi to 8:30am) but had to talk through several months' worth of accumulated anxieties and irritations before we take advantage of the brief window for sexual activity.  Honesty: it's a great aphrodisiac, but very very expensive.  Now Marlene's taking a shower and Georgia's kicking around in her easygoing way –

G:  [at bathroom door]  Mama, what are you doing?
M:  Taking a shower.
G:  OH.
M:  Gigi, would you take this for me?
G:  Sure.
M:  Gigi, do you know what a big girl you are?
G:  YES!

Now I hear her whimpering from the master bedroom – not a bad whimper, but one that means she's trying to do something she can't quite do, or reach something hard to reach.

What was on the table this morning?  I'm miserable at home with two kids – [because] the apartment is a tremendous mess – [because] finances are dicey so I can't do what I have done in the past, which is to hire someone to help me when it gets out of control.  Marlene hates it especially when the kitchen is nasty and doesn't understand why I don't pick it up as I go.  On my own internal agenda: stop hating everything, starting with God.   “Jesus Christ” is starting to come out of my mouth more as a curse than a prayer.  Bad news.

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