Lucky in's blog: "My thoughts into words"

Shall a spare a small moment to write, dear readers? To sneak in a moment of stolen passion with you? Besides myself and Emma, everyone else in the household lie abed. Snoring, huffing and...coughing. I sip from my searing rainbow cup and glance now and then behind me. This is a stolen moment....with you. Even as I type, I sigh. I hear Shane coming down the hall, coughing all the while. He will wake up at least one person and that chain will continue, until I am busy once more. I sigh. And then immediately feel guilty about it. I feel badly, he is sick. Has been all week. But I need my time. I need it badly. Yesterday I went in for an eye exam. When they called me into the backroom and asked me to sit down I looked at the Lady with concern. "Are you ganna poof my eyeball?" She smiled...and nodded "Yes." "Pleeeeeeease don't POOF my eyeball!!! I'm allergic to it!" She smiled once more "It's just air." "Oh...I mean...it really, really freaks me out!" I chewed on my lip and tried to beg with my eyes...which doesn't work so well with straight women. "It's better then the alternative." She mumbled as she positioned the huge honking machine at my chin level. "Please sit forward and place your chin ..there." I stared at her "What's the alternative?" Maybe it was better. Perhaps it was something so UNPOOFY, that it would make me happy. She shrugged "Back in the day we would put numbing drops in the patients eyes, and then use a metal stick to test your eyeball." I leaned forward at once, placed my chin in the holder and stated "Poof away...what's taking you so long?" Just for the record. I hated it. I jumped, screamed and was done in 5 second. "Now go get Shane..." she told me... "But don't scare him!" She called after me. Damn it. The Poof lady has spoken. A few minutes later Shane walked out, his eyes skinnied, his lips pursed. "I hate that." "I know!" And we held each other. The bad thing was...I need glasses. Which I knew already. My Bells palsy has taken a toll on my left eye. I was so concerned, I thought I was going blind in that eye. When the doctor came into the room and slipped a honking metal machine over my nose and asked which slide was better "1...or 2.., 2...or 3..,.3...or 4..." and like magic...whalla! I could SEE in my left eye! I wanted to rip the machine away from my face and kneel before him. I wanted to tattoo his name across my ass and start a new religion in his name. I was cured! I was fixed! I was almost BLIND and he fixed me! My heart pounded with happiness. After the exam I asked him, my voice dripping with gratitude..."It was horrible huh? i can't see out of that eye." "Actually it wasn't so bad. Both of your eyes are healthy. You can wear the glasses at your discretion." Really?" my mouth dropped open "Yes really. With a corrective lens you will be 20/20 again in Both eyes." "Oh." I thought, and then smiled and excused myself to go and see Daphene, the frame lady. I'm a drama queen, so naturally I was disapointed that I wasn't making the papers for the most amazing person ever to have to deal with one fucked up eyeball. I really thought that Dr. Guarcillo would call friggen Ripleys...or something. Huh...I'm normal....go figure. Shane had his exam and we picked out our frames. I knew the ones I wanted. They are red and Vera Wangish. Shanes remind me of buddy holly a little bit. They were expensive. Whatever...I'll be normal in cute stunna shades.

Somehow between watching children, buying cars and preparing my household for immanent broke-dom, we managed to fit in a couple of trips to the Bull. To dance, laugh and shoot a few rounds of pool. I have only found the time, once this week, to write. And I snuck it too. My house has been crazy, but happy. Filled with family, food and laughter. Messes, belated valentines and not enough down time. In the twelve days that we have had guests, my house was turned up side down. We had four dogs barking, runnng and pooping. Four kids hopping and yelling and laughing. And three adults smiling..but bewildered by it all. I have known Melanie for god knows how many years, we met when we were twelve. Her children are mine, and vice versa. When we are both in the house, our children have two mammas. It seems she was here longer then 12 days, so much has happened. On the last day she was here, we took a long drive out to see my daddy, and her grandparents. There was grass, finally, surrounding my daddies headstone. That made me happy. And what was once a dry, barren landscape, is now dotted with sheep on the mountain side and wet grass beneath our feet. I wore flip flops, and my toes were bathed in cold water, with each step I took. I didn't mind. It made me feel closer to this earth. It is sad to introduce Dustin to marble, scribed with my fathers name, instead of the man. He stood next to me and wrapped his arms around me, infusing me with warmth from behind. I cried. And he held me tighter. It all is surreal when you stand above the man who was taller then anyone who ever lived. Stronger then an Oak tree. It is tremendously difficult for me to look down upon my father. But it is needed. Respect to be paid. Introductions to be had. Later that day Dustin introduced me to his mother, again a name written on Marble, a loved one beneath earth. His large fingers traced her name as he cleaned off her grave. He knelt and placed flowers, and when he stood my arms held him. We walked away. That in itself is difficult. Their place of rest is where they reside, besides in our hearts. You feel them THERE, more then anywhere. And to walk away, with a whispered goodbye scented with tears...is the hardest of all.

To say our music style is different is a huge leap...no a bound. My favorite musician are Justin Nozuka, Regina spektor and Jason Mraz. His are E-40, Tupac and T-pain. I'm not saying I don't enjoy SOME of his music. But he rarely enjoys mine. I will make my stereo SCREAM Jason Mraz....and he will cower and cover his ears. "Dance with me!" I demand. Walking up to him and shaking my hips. "No!" And he'll run for the hills. (our bedroom respectively) "BABE!" he'll yell for me "Comere and dance with me!" Ill walk down the hall and see him nodding his head to some bass driven music. The lyrics peppered with "Fuck" "Nigga" and "Tits". I'm not saying that I don't approve of his type of musical expression. He does only get to blare it when the children are not home...."But still..." I ask "How many times can someone say Nigga?" I then proceed to count instead of dance. Today Melanie left, and my house was a mess. I pulled on Dustin's collar and pleaded "I need to clean before we do anything! I can't live like this!" "Okay..I've got the living room!" And he plugged his ears with his earphones. "Deal! I've got the kitchen!" And I plugged my ears with my own. Together, but separate we cleaned and danced and sang out loud. We met in the kitchen. I danced with a great big black trash bag, slipping it over his head and shimmying close to him. Mouthing the words to my song, while he mouthed his. His hips swung and he smiled into my eyes. I laughed up at him, moving against his body. My music beating a cadence into my head. Finally, I thought, as we danced together...bodies in perfect rhythm, We found away to dance together...and not cower.

Somebody stole my potato. This makes me sad. It was a happy slice off of the end of a regular spud. I noticed, right before i was chopping into it "Hey! that looks like a happy face!" I immediately called Shane's attention to it, and then Dustin's. "What do you see when you look at this potato? I queried "A Happy face." Shane replied. Dustin nodded. "Wicked coooool!" I hummed with glee. I had decided that it was my lucky spud. I considered framing it in a shadow box and praying before it each day...I could see myself years down the line, blessed with umpteen good Karma (Thanks to my Lucky spud of course) and Getting it's smiling happy face tattooed on my left shoulder blade. It made me happy to think of Dustin staring into it's beady eyes when we humped sometimes... But alas. That was just a quick peek into a future not to be. I soon discovered that when you turned the potatoe piece upside down, it glared at me. With a frown and pursed lips. I squeeked with happiness. "It's a too-fer!" I exclaimed, and immediately quizzed everyone who came into my house that day...(And the next) "What do you see when you look at this potato?" After the initial crazy look, (that to be honest dear readers, I am used to getting....um...often) The people I asked would humor me. Yes. Humor me they may have...but see the happy face they ALL did. Only 50 percent saw the sad face. Whatever. Only true genius, as i explained to Shane,...can see BOTH faces of the lucky spud. I considered then the tool that I had in my hand. Hmmmm. This COULD tell me if people were super smart or not. Shake your heads if you must... Laugh...go ahead...but wait... A neighbor came a-knocking the other day. He wanted to use the manuel for my Van. "Hmmmm." I pondered "Will you bring it back and not steal it away forever?" "Of course!" He answered, looking insulted. I pulled out the potato..."what do you see when you look at my spud?" He looked. "A happy face!" I nodded...and turned it around. "And now what do you see?" "Hmmm...kinda a sad face." "You are wise, " I nodded And handed him my manuel. I scared him, I know it. Shane laughed and exclaimed from his video game chair.."MA! You should sell that thing on Ebay! People will buy it!" "NEVEAHHH!" I shrieked Tonight I was chopping potatoes for dinner. I make the best fried taters ever, ask dawn...anyways. I was randomly searching out potato ends..when all of a sudden..I GASPED. "Where's my potato!" I looked up down and all around...and despite the fact that I've told my children to do that for 13 years...it didn't help. My spud was gone. Thrown away by myself maybe, when my mind was elsewhere.... Stolen by a jelous neighbor who wanted the power of the tater for himself... We shall never know.... (Okay..It was probably me. I do get scatterbrained sometimes) I like to think that a homeless man will be digging in my garbage next week, looking for recyclebles...and come across Ted the tater. Perhaps.