Stream of Consciousness

It’s almost 8:00am and both kids are still asleep.  Maybe I have time to do my twenty minutes of free writing right now (20 minutes? I usually do five).  Maybe I won’t.  I bet they wake up in the next ten.

Wildling stayed in her own bed all night.  Such a relief after the last week of her being up and screaming at 3:00am.  She did wake up and yell a bit last night, mostly about how she wanted us to turn the closet light on.  I’m glad she finally told us why she’s been having a tough time going to bed.  “Sometimes I think there is a black Tyrannosaurus Rex in the room and he’s going to eat me so I have to hide.”  Will told her there wasn’t one and it wasn’t possible for there to be one, and she said “I know, but sometimes I think that anyway.”  I asked him if he called her racist and why does the scary dinosaur have to be black? He didn’t find that funny.

So I guess today we have to go buy a nightlight, since that’s what I promised her.  We’ll go to Target.  I recently read a blog post? or article? I can’t remember, but it was a bunch of crap about how impossible it is to go to Target without spending lots of money, and how if a woman goes in there, she can’t get out without spending at least $100.  I thought it was ridiculous, but then some of my online friends were discussing the same thing, and how proud they are when they go in for just one thing and only leave with $100 of extra crap.  This is why we’re broke (not we, as in Will and I, we as in the collective middle class American population).  Stop spending money on crap, people!  I get so aggravated at the sheer quantity of stuff that people buy.  It doesn’t enhance your lives.  Nobody needs all that plastic made in China ridiculous nonsense.  You buy it, you use it (or forget you have it and stash it in a box somewhere) and then it either breaks (likely) or you throw it away or donate it, and someone else spends money on it and they don’t need it either.  There is a cycle of junk.

My mother-in-law is guilty of buying all that junk.  Her house is full of knick-knacks, stuff that I always wonder why was this even made? Who ever needed this?  At least she buys at thrift shops.  My mother buys a lot of crap too, mostly for her grandkids, and always it’s new stuff.  She can’t buy used, oh no, that wouldn’t work for her.  I took her to the thrift shop near my house last year or the year before and she said it was her first time ever being in a thrift shop.  The difference between my parents and my in-laws? My in-laws are happily retired and living in a paid off house.  My parents are still working, my dad in a job he hates, and their house isn’t close to paid off.  And that’s what they get for spending money they way they do.  I never want to be in their position.  Will and I want to retire early.

Interlude: I hear Wildling. 

Six and a half hours later, maybe I can finish.  I’m not sure this is how twenty minutes of stream of consciousness writing is intended, but I also don’t think I ever have a solid twenty minutes to myself.  Ever.  Ever. Or at least not since fall of 2010.

Mellow is sleeping; Wildling is eating and discussing the mouse trap we used over a year ago.  Mama, do you remember the mouse trap?  We used it to keep mice from getting in our house.  Yes, I sure do remember it.  I also remember how you think we gently caught the mouse and took it outside to its home, rather than breaking its neck in our pantry and disposing of it.

We’re working on pest control.  We have a silverfish infestation.  I kind of suspect that somewhere under our house there’s a great big centuries old demon queen silverfish who is spawning her millions of young and attempting to run us out of our house.  They’ve eaten parts of some of our books, and, most annoyingly, damaged our wedding album.  The worst damage in there was when I picked it up and accidentally squished a juicy huge silverfish between the pages.  Silverfish blood damages photos. Yuck.

I can’t believe I actually have time to write and I’m just talking about dead silverfish.  Wildling is squeaking like a mouse now, which is weird because she’s also being a train.  I like that she likes trains.  I’m so glad she’s not in to princesses.  Everyone assumes she is though.  At the ER the other night, they tried to give her a sticker and started out with trying to get her to pick a disney princess one.  The nurse was asking her favorite and assumed she was just shy because Wildling was just staring at her.  In actuality, Wildling doesn’t know any of their names. I think the only time she’s played any princess games is with an older friend who was assigning her parts. Wildling didn’t know what she was doing but was happy to follow along and be the evil stepmother or whatever.

Speaking of princesses, why the hell does everyone assume girls want to be them?  Surely there is something else out there that girls can aspire to be.  My daughter used to want to be a dinosaur, now she’s always a train. She’s even wearing a red dress right now, because the train she wants to be is red.  Yesterday she wanted to paint her whole body red.  Her whole body, except her face and butthole and vagina (her words, not mine).  She ended up only painting her legs and belly before she got distracted by Will making popcorn.

Ok, twenty minutes in two ten minute segments. Not bad.

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