Saturday, December 21, 2002

Sometimes I forget that although I want to move beyond little kid things, Rachel isn't quite ready. I took her to the mall today, because she came the other day and said, I want to go see Santa, and although the other two proclaim their non-belief loudly I guess they haven't convinced Rachie.

When we got there, there was a miniature ride-on railway, and it turned out that she wanted a ride on it. I said, without much heat, "Are you sure?" and the next thing I know I've paid two dollars and she's riding on the engine, ringing the bell, and there's another girl about the same size as her sitting in one of the carriages. The train probably would have seated about ten kids, but as there were only the two of them the operator (I think) gave them an extra long ride, and when she got off he told us there was going to be a puppet show, and of course, we had to go and see it.

It was actually quite a good puppet show, as these things go, and didn't turn religious until the last minute or two, and Rachel was totally into it, clapping on cue and shouting things and generally having a good time. Kirsten and Ian at that age wouldn't have been, they've always wanted to be more grown-up than they are. Funny how these things work.

Next was Santa. She hugged him and told him she wanted a skateboard. He, amazingly, told her he didn't think that would be such a good idea. We've been telling her that for ages, and have got her a gameboy. (which she also wanted)

Then she did her Christmas shopping. She bought everyone a stuffed bear, each one wearing a different colored sequin shirt. The cashier laughed when she said, "I'm done my Christmas shopping now."

On the walk home, she said to me, "I think his beard was sewn on." Maybe next year she won't want to go, but I'm glad that I managed to find time to do it with her this year....

Sunday, December 15, 2002

It's raining, maliciously and unrelentingly. On the floor in the coffee shop, while I'm waiting for the bus, there's a piece of paper that I want to pick up and read, but don't. My mother phones with her annual list of what she wants me to buy. I dutifully write it down. Then she tells me all the same stories she told me yesterday when she called. Now I don't point that out any more, I figure if it makes her happy to tell them again, who am I to be a killjoy. She's been drinking, I can tell, she says she misses me. My mother only loves me when she's drunk. For a while. Then comes the stage where we're all being nasty, or so we're told. She asks me for the eighth time when my last exam is. "I've had it already, it was on Tuesday."

Those of our readers currently in Australia should know that they are always welcome here, at any time, for any length of time, and for any reason with no questions asked. Just thought I'd throw that in, in case decisions are getting made.
more of this... bizarreness
just think of how much could be accomplished with this energy... snowmen?