"A race car driver" he says.
And then pauses.
"No, that's kind of dangerous. I might crash and lose a limb or something. Maybe I want to be an Australian Crocodile Hunter. 'ello mate."
And the pause.
"No, that's probably not very safe either. Maybe a basketball player. Or a soccer player."
pause. pause. pause.
"Actually, none of those sound okay. I think I'll be a Chuck-E-Cheese worker."
To which big sister Dani adds her support:
"Nope. That's not a good one either, Jake. A dirty kid could kick you in the tenders."
"It's either that or crocodiles." he says.
And Charlie. Sweet Charlie.
Oh, the good ole' days.
Well, no use dwelling on the past. Moving on...
I think Charles Whidmore is Penny and Desmond's son. For real guys. So Ben tries to kill Penny, Desmond beats him up, Ben escapes, and Desmond goes to Eloise. He gets his family to the island to save Penny's life....but gets there a LONG time ago. Richard finds their son Charlie and thinks he's their "special" leader. So he grows up on the island. Turns out he's not special.
And when does Locke actually return to the island after turning the wheel? Maybe a LONG time ago. So he could be responsible for a lot of stuff off of the island before they even get there in the first place?
And Rose is a "time traveler" like Desmond because they were both exposed to a lot of radiation (her chemo) which is why she knows so much.
And the guy who talks to dead people is the Dharma guys son, and he grew up on the island with Charlotte. Which is why he has nose bleeds, too. But he and Charlotte never met because Whidmore made sure they didn't because he didn't want them to recognize eachother when they teamed up.
And Frank the pilot has something serious to do with it all. I'm pretty sure.
And remember the "Economist"? The boss of Syid's red-head girlfriend who ends up shooting him for a name? Her boss doesn't like technology. Like Jacob (he freaked out over JOhn's flashlight). And like Locke. Hmmm. Maybe Locke was the Economist.
And Kate is pregnant with Jack's baby. To immitate Claire on the first flight.
And Charlie visited Hugo. And Whidmore set up Syid's arrest, with a twist I can't figure out because he's not surprised to see everyone on the plane. And Claire came for Aaron. Or something like that.
This was a compilation of sleeplessness and online theories that have been plaguing me this weekend.
I feel much better.
And Richard Alpert was on the Black Rock.
And I was kinda in denial...like, I know I make them all the time; and I get sad when a beauty pops into my head and I can't corral the do list enough to make it; and I stare at people's handbags, rather embarrasingly; but I never thought I really had a thing. You know?
But then I saw this on mermag.
I totally wasn't prepared.
So I followed the link to madebyhank.
And I definitely have a bag thing.
I got cotton mouth and started to sweat.
Conan is preparing tonight for a big training meeting tomorrow so I bought myself a 75% off box of chocolates to cuddle up with while I watch the last two recorded episodes of LOST. I was looking forward to speculating and Dark Butter Caramel, but instead, I can't stop looking at bags.
It's definitely a thing when it interferes with priorities.
I stays closed by my bed until we have something to talk about. My clicky pen attached, the ribbon marker holding the next blank page, and the elastic band keeping our conversations from leaking.
This is where I put the thoughts that may keep me up at night.
Like this...I often lay awake watching the ceiling fan fling around all the things I didn't get done that day. So one night I made two lists. What I Did and What I Didn't. Just to stop it from splattering all over my walls.
Then I closed my eyes comfortably; because the black book told me I was a dork. The length of my did list very clearly illustrated the fatal flaw of my tired mommy eyes...they tend to blur the done and fixate on the not done. Sharpening the image, until I can't stop staring.
I'm grateful now I can watch my fan fling the did. I'd much rather wake up with that all over my face.
We celebrated Dani's decade on Friday with crazy friends, food that will kill ya, and no sleep. Good times.
I finally won a working typewriter on ebay. She sat on the couch and wrote stories while her friends danced down the runway of dressup heaven. She told me when the world is corrupted with technology and handhelds, she can plop down her typewriter and compose while everyone's waiting for a connection.
I love her. She makes my cheeks hurt.
My birthday is the day after Dani's. I'm now officially a year older than I think I want to be. Where did 1994 go? And cassette tapes?
Conan got me a real live green ipod, and a clean house.
So, here's what I'm pretending you'd like to give me for my birthday. I have a sweet load of itunes money to spend (thanks Corrie); and I'm a little anxious about it all. This is a tricky expenditure. It must be spent wisely! No impulse buys, no assumptions of greatness, no fake people recommendations.
It's like you only have $3 to spend at the bakery and you're staring at this gigantic gooey dripping with chocolate ganache torte something, and you know you want it, but you're sure there's something even more dangerous in the back. So you'd like to talk to the kitchen.
What's your best music! Tell me what you love. Be selective and specific.
Spill your musical beans...
Gee, thanks guys.
I packed up the little ones to look at some church pews in Rutledge on Saturday. As excited as I was to roam the giant antique barn, anticipating a lucky pyrex find, it became the hum of the tires that kept me savoring the day.
Memorizing the sound of my babies. Giggling, singing, burping. Rolling down my window and hoping for a sunburn on my left cheekbone. Writing the stories for the faces that built the old abandoned homes along the treeline, and smiling at the visions of kids in bloomers running to the barn carrying a basket of beans and cornbread for dad.
I love old things. And little voices.
My favorite part was peeking in the rear view mirror. Watching Kacie sleep, making up her dreams, and locking the innocence of Joey's quiet stares out the window in my brain forever.
It was a good Saturday.
Because they're smart.
3 segments and 50 million impatient kung fu chops later, there was Rachel in her kitchen. (bright lights and a choir of angels) With beautiful gadgets. And just when I thought the can opener on waxed paper would bring me good tidings of great joy...she got to her last tip. I knew it was fate that brought me there to the kitchen of Rachel Ray that morning. She was beautiful to me.
So the smart people dared me to do this.
The not-naked-anymore hanger cookbook holder.
Thank you smart people.
Don't call me at 10:00 am. Me and Rach are busy.
Here is my previous solution to reading big books in the kitchen.
The naked-hammered-pliered-shut spoon cookbook bookmark...holder.
she does good work.
The kids were home yesterday, due to the slush.
So we made muddy slushmen.
And some ate the muddy slushmen.
And one got angry with her dirty sassy slushman.
And then I took pictures.