Sleep deprivation drunkeness

It's funny how when you're exhausted, it's like being drunk. Thoughts formed in your mind come out differently from your lips. Like drinking, you also learn to behave while under the influence, eventually. After having two kids so close together, I know when I'm going to be too tired. When I'm likely to trip on things and fall, I know then to walk slower, and be more observant. I mostly know when to talk carefully, so that I don't really say what I'm thinking, or so I can actually say what I'm thinking and remember what I wanted to say. It's like you have to force your natural senses into overdrive. I guess it's a survival instinct, in some way.

It's not as fun as being drunk. But interesting to observe.

hope for the future.

I heard a band on 89.9 WEVL and looked them up. They are The Abrams Brothers, and the band members are three Canadian boys aged 18, 18, and 16. I was impressed that they are so young, their music is impressive, and it's not Britney Spears pop garbage. Far from it, in fact.

From their bio on the website: In 2008 The Abrams Brothers recorded, Blue on Brown, a tribute to folk legends Bob Dylan and Arlo Guthrie. The album of bluegrass and gospel covers features an all-star cast of Canadian artists such as Bruce Cockburn and Amy Milan (Broken Social Scene) and demonstrates the groups deft musicianship as they keep up with Dylan and Guthrie’s fast rhythms and intricate guitar finger-work. They even got the nod of approval from Arlo Guthrie himself when the man heard them playing his songs and said, “these guys are way too young to be that good.”
One of the boys is named Elijah. Like my boy, which further endears me.

Up yours, Jonas Brothers.

Should be folding laundry...

I like this form of poetry a lot. It is called the villanelle. It has specific, intentional meter and form, and I think it has more substance than free or blank verse. Someday when my kids are older and I have more than a half hour to myself a day, I'd like to learn a whole lot more about poetry.

Here's a poem I came across a few years ago, supposed to be from the perspective of Mary Magdalene. It's odd, but thought provoking.

and with that, he bowed his head

Your turn of neck has summoned up my grief;
the coma curvature of words you leave,
my lungs heave past their desire to cease!

Past habits float, reanimate belief;
hands tremble over table settings, weak,
Your turn of neck has summoned up my grief.

These laden counters seek a slight reprieve:
your unused rations build my sorrow's pique.
My lungs heave past their desire to cease.

(P)Reparations should be made: the rude thief
of morning comes again, with warmth oblique.
Your turn of neck has summoned up my grief!

I only found an empty, perfumed sheath,
your body gone, ardor becomes antique-
my lungs heave past their desire to cease.

I followed on humblest terms, however brief,
yet now it would be me: the first you'd seek.
Your turn of neck has summoned up my grief,
my lungs heave past their desire to cease.

Hospitality room.

We've been visiting in St. Louis. I think this city is well organized, the parts I have seen, and certainly well policed. Cops everywhere. Which is good for the crime rates but rather unsettling when you're driving back to your hotel room after an Anheuser-Busch tour. But I don't like it here. I could not live here...it's too big and busy.

The Anheuser-Busch tour was terrific. It's the most fun I had here. I'm not just talking about the free beer. Did I mention FREE BEER? And, the tour was free. Which, of course, is always good when you have kids. Out of the zoo, the mall, pool, and playgrounds, the kids were best behaved at the brewery. Maybe it was the delicious scent of yeast in the air. Or the massive Clydesdales. Perhaps the energetic guide helped keep their attention. Maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that Mama and Daddy were anticipating free beer and were in especially good moods. One never can tell.

I can say I am now endeared to Anheuser-Busch. Especially after noting that the company is the importer and distributor of Becks in the United States.

The tour was great. The hospitality room at the end of the tour offered free pretzals (very good ones, too) and free beer. They didn't have the Michelob Irish Red that I wanted to try on tap, but nonetheless the two free beers were cold and crisp and lovely. There were pretzals, like I said, which the kids loved, and also soda and water for anyone who didn't want beer.

That's hospitality, folks.

You know what?

I don't even like blogging, really, I don't think. It's rather useless and meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

hmm....

Either my blog needs more pictures, or more posts about breasts.



My husband took my son shooting for the first time today. Elijah shot a nine millimeter. I was a little scandalized because I think generally a nine mil is seen as a gangster gun. Look, it's true. But Joe said Eli was too little for the .45, too much recoil. I guess that makes sense and is a good excuse.

I just don't think a nine mil sounds very knight-worthy. My son is a knight, from Narnia, as he insists. He's quite good at fencing with a wooden sword and shield. He also gets wounded well; he falls to the ground with a groan, grimaces and grasps his pretend gaping wound, and calls for his older sister to come and use her healing-dragonfly-blood-magic-tincture on him. It's quite entertaining. I am proud that he plays fair and takes his licks.

To continue, my son shot a gun today. The type of gun (gangster or otherwise) was of no nevermind to him. He was ecstatic that he shot a tree. A big tree, too! I acted very impressed and asked how big. Apparently, the tree he shot was "big as sky".

He did say the boom of the gun was scary. I think he just says things like that to warn me that certain things are scary, because he doesn't seem actually scared of anything that he calls scary. He said the fireworks on the 4th were scary, but he was very happy and not afraid when we were there. It's nice to think he's trying to look out for Mama. Because, as Daddy says, women are little and scared and need lots of kisses.

Whatever gets me a kiss from a sweaty little boy with big blue eyes, I'll agree to.

Breasts: More than just look-pretties.

While giving a new mother advice, I said, "BREASTFEED!" She basically said, "Huh?"

Thank you, past generations, for leaving my generation without any instruction on the perfection of God's design when He created woman.

I've heard one two many times, "Well, if I do breastfeed, I'll pump. It's gross to have the baby suck on my nipple!"

Lord, have mercy.