Skip to main content

wondering, cold water



I wake Oona every morning with a bottle -- first I pick her up for a cuddle and then set her back in her crib propped against a pillow, and she waves me off and I say drink your bottle and then I go back downstairs to make my lunch.



But the last few days she's been doing this thing where she wants cold wa-der, cold wa-der run over the bottle -- because it's hot, hot -- cold wa-der, cold wa-der and I'm wondering where the fuck did this come from? and I find out C's been doing this thing where she either runs water over it for about three seconds or pretends to run water over it for about three seconds and then it's fine ... if there's one thing C loves to do is build up pathologies, yesterday it was the Smurfs on dvd but then she had to run out to the liquor store and Oona showed no interest in Papa Smurf or Hefty Smurf or not even Vanity Smurf so we just turned it off and went back to playing and roughhousing.



So I told Oona her bottle was fine and said drink your bottle, it's fine and turned to leave and she looked at me and then stood up and heaved the bottle over the side of the crib and it shattered over the carpet.



So that's the end of bottles.



While we're at it, we might as well try to break the sussy (pacifier) and two-baby-doll (two babies, two babies!) pathologies as well, because some day we will be in some situation where there is no pacifier (there is only one that will do right now) or baby dolls and that will be a very bad night. I had her sleeping free of both for a long time but then C worked hard to reverse that. With C it's always a combination of wouldn't-it-be-better-with-this? and it's-just-easier-with-that whereas I am a total dictator, killjoy and all-round bad person.



Tin-drum storm on the roof last night and the news warning about wind and rain so I came out three-layered and boots-heavy this morning only to find myself dying about halfway to work, just wet pavement and this watery-warm sun, the promised wind nothing but a breeze and me carrying bundles against the tow-coloured glare, wondering at a what a fool I am to listen to some weatherman.



Two guys who could be brothers if not identical twins sleeping in the front seats of an older model van on the street.



A giant can of Coffee-Mate sitting on curb. I'm sweating so much I walk right into it.



Sometimes I wonder if there is enough cold water in the world.

Comments

  1. Global warming, it's the fault of global warming.

    ReplyDelete
  2. kwichurbelliayekin berger.

    ReplyDelete
  3. You are just so good at creating images with words. Good luck with the pacifier! My in-laws slowly convinced one of our nieces to give up hers by telling sad stories of children whose parents couldn't afford to buy them binkies. Oh those poor children! Imagine! No binkies! Eventually, our niece voluntarily donated hers.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

the indisputable weight of the ocean

People are always telling me that my work is too dark. So I've put up this sunnier story, but even it has a shadow, as its original publisher – a fine Atlantic Canadian literary magazine called the Gaspereau Review – is no longer in business. ---------------- It was a simple enough thing and that thing was simply this: Edmund Kelley was a gentleman. Of course his mom called him her 'little gentleman', as in 'Oh Edmund, you are my perfect little gentleman,' which did seem to hold to a certain logic that these type of things often follow, considering her affection for him and the fact that he was, after all, only ten years old. Still, Edmund himself was not particularly fond of the diminutive aspect of that title. Gentleman was enough; gentleman summed up the whole thing rather nicely, thank you. He was definitely a more refined version of your average child. He lived in a state of perpetual Sunday m

Oona Balloona (doesn't care about new tables)

Well, it's Friday, and since I'm pretty depleted in the chit-chat department, I might as well put up some pictures of Ol' Giggles At Ghosts before Grandma starts sending me hate mail. Man, what a goofball. At this rate it's going to be, like, eighteen years before she has gainful employment and moves out of the house. I mean, come on . * * * * * C is especially crazy and frantic today. About two months ago she decided that she no longer liked our dining room table (take that, dining room table! no more BFF for you!). Since then she's switched the dining room and kitchen table (and all the rest of the furniture in the house -- about thirty times, but that's another story) as a provisional solution while she scoured area stores for an upgrade. And she thought she had found one, on Wednesday, at JYSK ( Whatever , I said). But when she ordered it, JYSK called back to say that they were really low on stock, and that the stock they did have was damaged, and

some paintings to keep you company

  at the stations of seeing ; mixed media on cradled wood panel, 24 x 30 inches.   $350 local.     At the Stations of Seeing I expected something on the level of poetry moving the machinery within but instead it was wreckage and difficult instructions Recursive Procedures for Life Structures and that sort of thing. IF—THEN—ELSE where the option is optional CASE, which is multi-situational DO—WHILE the function is zero BREAK and LOOP again and again until failure. please CALL, if you can, or while you are still missed. . . . I went away for awhile, for various reasons, and now I am starting to come back. Where I finally end up is anyone's guess, but one of the stations on the path of that return is a willingness to sell my art again; this post is about just one of the larger paintings I currently have for sale for clients and customers in the Kingston area. A good place to start. The prices for these works are lower because the transaction is personal, easier — come by my stud