wellspring of oddity

Today was the day to tell you a story about Thursday's date with Wandering Nana. This is not that story. That story is still coming--- sometime soon, but for today we have this.

The other day Bean woke up at 3am calling out for her woobie Bo. She does this sometimes, all sleepy-confusing and horrendously sad Toddlerese, "BO BO BO BO BO BO". I think she dreams that he's missing or has left on a walkabout or is otherwise engaged. And maybe she can't find him when she wakes up. I say maybe because quite frankly, when it first started happening several months ago I shot up in bed at the first hair-raising freak-out cry --- took myself out from under bedcoverings, down the hall, and into Bean's room before I'd even cracked an eyelid. (I am quite serious about her sleep. When Bean sleeps happy, EVERYONE sleeps happy. And the Whimsy wants to sleep happy. So.) On this particular first-time occasion, I finally opened my eyes inside Bean's room, standing over her crib as she mournfully cried out BO BO BO BO BO. I expected to find her helplessly rolling across her crib, arms pinwheeling and groping in the dark for the missing blanket. Instead, I found Bean completely unmoved, back-to-crib-mattress, simply CRYING OUT IN ABANDON for the blanket. Willing it back to herself with the tenaciousness that only comes from a two-ish toddler. And the blanket? LYING RIGHT NEXT TO HER FACE.

(There is a point to this story. Sort of.)

So the other day--- Bean wakes from a Bo-Gone-Rogue nightmare (or whatever). Which means that she woke me. I tried to roll back to sleep once she had quieted down (had clearly reconciled her differences with the blanket), but the damage was done and I was AWAKE with the all caps AWAKE at 3:37 am.

After fighting with myself for a good forty minutes (making five revolutions in bed, hoping to find a comfortable position), I decided to give up and sit up. Turn on the laptop. Luckily I could do this because Chip was in Portland. I say "luckily" when really I mean "unfortunately" but that's neither here nor there. For the sake of this very long and largely pointless story let's just commence with Whimsy: awake at 3:37am and sitting with her laptop.

I decided to use the time to clean out some files. In the process, I stumbled across a number of unfinished blog drafts. A plethora of blog drafts. Most of which were actually decent (or at least mildly entertaining).

Which means that I'm going to try to resurrect a few of them and post them here this week. Which also means that you're going to be seeing this little disclaimer a few times: written several months ago... may no longer apply... but enjoy nevertheless.

How does one end this kind of long and pointless introduction to a bunch of disconnected writing bits?

With a collection of my favorite partial entries that cannot be resurrected (if you vote for your favorite in the comments and I might be persuaded to resuscitate that entry):




1. From the fictional book: Your Post Partum Body, 12-months and Beyond

At the 19-month mark, you will begin to discover that your body is miraculously snapping back into shape (reader comment: if by 'snapping back into shape' you mean that you discover aches and pains that have heretofore been unknown to you - including stiffness and soreness that never existed before, then YES)



2. Bean has a crush on Elmo. These days I fully expect to find her penning long fangirl letters in yellow crayon. Oh Elmo, you're the only one who fully understands me. We are meant to be together, me and you, hanging out with that horrible Mr. Noodle (what is his PURPOSE, other than to annoy me?).



3. A love letter to Clear Lake, California



4. From the Diary of a 30 Day Shredder:

Day 17. I suspect there is something going on between Jillian and Anita, the perky brunette with the killer abs. Her smile does not reach her eyes, if you get my meaning. I think she may hate Jillian with her wee-muscle-bound limbs and her KEEP PUSHING THROUGH and her ARE WE FEELING THIS? I'M DEFINITELY FEELING IT. In fact, I think that Anita is secretly plotting Jillian's brutal death-by-3-pound-weight.