One More Thing

Last night was date night/Twin Peaks night.  Neil and I haven’t had one of those in a long time, so Isla spent last night at Dad and Anne’s, playing with their cats and probably having too much sugar.

She left and my heart felt like Swiss cheese. She came back and I touched her face and said I love you.  She gave me her plastic Skye from Paw Patrol to keep until she gets back and out she runs demanding that Campah turn some music on for the ride over the river and through the woods five minutes up the road.

I was nervy yesterday.  Hours before, I’d made Isla a sandwich so big it didn’t fit in her purple lunch box, which goes with her in her teal panda bear school bag to nursery which is another place she goes without me.  But she loves it, and that’s how life goes.

Anyway, she left again for a sugar rush.  And I gave Skye the plastic toy an actual hug.

Neil and I watch Twin Peaks while eating shrimp stir-fry and and at various intervals I’m saying, ‘What the shit are we watching?’  Which is not entirely unlike what I said when we binge-watched it a few years ago.

‘What the shit are we watching?’

‘Twin Peaks?’

‘True.’

We watched and wondered then it was this morning.

We had coffee and thought the house was too quiet without cartoons on, but didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.

I was reading and thinking about another coffee when Dad ‘stops in’ as he does, to talk about ALL THE THINGS.

He’d dropped Isla off  at nursery this morning and today’s topics over coffee were:

  1. Siberian kittens
  2. Internet connections and how they are so, um,  temperamental up here.
  3. Isla’s birthday.  Three next month.  How?

 

Dad left several times and then came back, not unlike Isla or Columbo,  for one more thing.

Now.  Y’all know I love my Dad.  You can read about it here.

However.  On the sixth trip back after 1.5 hours, I said , ‘I love you, get out of my house.’ He leaves, but then smooches his face in the kitchen window singing the old version of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme. To which I replied, ‘I love you, FUCK OFF.’

Now.  You might also remember my father doesn’t like when I swear.

He thinks it shows a lack of whatever the hell it is, I forget.

However.  I’ll always remember a conversation with my Grandma, the one who’s Dad’s mother.

When I was a kid, I asked Grandma if I could swear.

‘Creatively.  And only when there are no other words for it,’ she said.

And I’ve kind of thought of it that way ever since.

In related news, I hope Isla and I have the kind of relationship where when she grows up she can always come home for coffee and one more thing.

And I hope she lets me in when I visit and we talk about all the things.  She can even tell me off sometimes.

Like when I smudge her kitchen window with my face.  And I’ll laugh, the same as Dad did today.

Dad, one more thing.  Same time tomorrow?

 

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Coffee and Questions

I’ve been blogging for a long time and you might have noticed I’ve been trying to be more consistent with it.

Since I’ve come off my various hiatuses, I’m curious about why you’ve stuck with me, and other good stuff about you, my groovy readers.

If you would be so groovy, and answer these questions, that would be swell.

1. How long have you been reading my rambles and how did you find me?

2. Are you disabled, a parent, a reader, a writer, a traveller, or a coffee drinker?

3. Are you one of my parents?

4. Are you Neil?

5. Are you an expat, a mover, or a third-culture person?

6. What’s your favourite blog, and what would you like to see more of on mine?

7. If we’ve met, how did we meet? (this could be a lie)

8. What books are you reading at the moment?

Whether this is your first visit, or you’ve been around as long as this blog, thank you.  I appreciate your friendship/support/blunt advice/gentle nudges.

Let’s chat.

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Image from bustle.com

A Damn Fine Cup of Coffee

Weekend-Coffee-Share-Nerd-in-the-Brain-4If we were having coffee and ask you how your week’s been treating you?

I’d tell you I looked in the mirror this week, and it’s actually dawned on me that I’m actually 36.  My kid is nearly 3.  Next month, Neil and I are married four years.  Seems longer.  And not long enough.

Did I mention that I spilled coffee on Frank the laptop and I’m back on Truman the Giant Desk Top?  It’s actually meant more writing has happened recently.   And to that I say, whatever works.

I Skyped my Mom this week.  We all fit on the same screen.

I might have asked Toast Coffee House if they deliver.  To Skye.  Because y’know, that’s where I am.  If you can, go visit them and have a Peanut Butter Mocha for me.

Did I mention that I’m thinking of joining a knitting group?  Or that I don’t actually knit? Maybe I’ll try, but we have to see if my wheelchair fits in the knitting group building first.  Because it might not.  And that’s a thing.

If we were having coffee, I’d ask if anyone else has to do pre-mission missions with a freaking tape measure?  Because that’s a thing, too.

I wonder if I’m turning into a pissed off wheelchair-user with a chip on her shoulder the size of a Peppa Pig puzzle piece.

How long have we been having coffee?  Seriously?  And how long have I been talking about the same things?

If I asked you what you’d like to talk about, what would you say?  Because I actually want to know.  Let’s talk about you.  I’m here.

And in October, Neil and I are going to London for The Twin Peaks UK Festival.  Because that’s a thing, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This Is How They Get You

OK, so this actually just happened.

Isla:  I love you.  And your wheelchair.  You’re my wheelchair Mummy.  I don’t want another Mummy.  Mummy, are you sad?

Me: No.

Isla:  Why you crying?

Me: Because I’m happy.

Isla: What?

Me: Because I’m happy.

Isla: What?

Me: Because I love you very much.

Isla: Yeah, I love you, too.  Can I have an ice-lolly?

 

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Mailbox Monday #1 (For Me)

My Dad came over this morning.  We had coffee and talked about life and books.  He says he can’t keep up with what I’m reading.  That I start to twitch if I don’t have a new book to read.  All.  The. Time.  That’s not true.  They don’t have to be new.  I like used books, too.

Last week, I received not one, but three secondhand books:

Six Stories, by Matt Wesolowski.  I originally bought the audio version (using an Audible credit).  I fould the podcast format hard to connect with, even though I LOVED Serial, etc. I got the paperback in a book swap group I’m part of on FB.  It was sent to me by the lovely Clair, who has a review of Six Stories on her blog Have Books, Will Read.

I also got Mischling, which intrigues me on lots of levels, but I’m not ready to read it yet.

AND, AND.

I took part in my first Blind Date with a Book thing on Litsy.  I received Lost In Austen , and will be passing it on to a friend and Austen-obsessive when I’m finished.  I already have said friend in mind.  Don’t ask me for the book.  Maybe another one, but not this one.

ALSO.

Josy at A Walk and a Lark recently recommended that I read What Language Do I Dream In?  

I love when people tell me to read books, and Josy is pretty cool for someone you know, walks for fun.

AND SO,

This was my first Mailbox Monday.

How’d I do?

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The books and a painted dinosaur.

 

Everywhere

Weekend-Coffee-Share-Nerd-in-the-Brain-4The snow of a few weeks ago has melted and the sun has come out in Skye.  I’ve spent more time outside than in this week, and have been drinking more water than coffee.

I wore Isla’s sunglasses over mine when I picked her up at nursery, because when I do that it makes her laugh.  And her laughter is brighter than the sun that’s come out, dried us up and slightly fried our brains.

This week has included road-trips and picnics and stopping to let cows and sheep cross the road.

Isla made friends with two dogs, and conquered actually jumping on the trampoline.  Up to now, she’d just been standing in the middle looking really excited about a time in the future when she actually took a jump.

The future is now.  Or something.

One of the road-trips of the week was to check out a second-hand treadmill that now lives in Neil’s home-office.  (How many hyphens can I fit into one garden-path sentence?  Well.)

Neil actually used the treadmill this morning, while Isla and I played hide-and-seek.  Very early this morning.

We then made Isla go out and wash the car.  Isla asked to go out and help Neil wash the car.  I followed after with a book and the vain hope  of getting a tan on my other arm.

However.  And.

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you I miss you.  That I wish I was in Edinburgh listening to Constance Hall with you.  Or running with the books with you at The Strand.  Or helping you avoid writing up your placement notes.  Or having coffee with you.  In Australia.  Or Glasgow.  In your living-room.  Or in my kitchen.

In Levittown.  Or Miller Place.  In this year.  Or 1987.

I’d ask about your week.  And your life.  I’d throw you a book.  And give you a hug.  And we’d watch Isla on her trampoline.  Because I have a kid.  And she has a trampoline.

Hi.  Have a coffee.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Isla Says

Isla: Mummy, fix this. (teeny tiny plastic toy)
Me: (Trying) See, Isla, this is the kind of stuff Mummy needs help with. Because this toy is a little piece of-…
Isla: PLASTIC, Mummy.
Me: Yes, dearest. Plastic.

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(Welcome to the new thing where I share the funny stuff my kid says.  Hi.)