My dad has had numerous skin cancer and precancerous spots removed from his head. My first cousin (my mother’s brother’s son) died of throat cancer. My maternal grandmother had ten brothers and sisters who lived to adulthood. Any guesses how many died of one form of cancer or another? Those of you who guessed any number lower than ten are leaving us today with a year’s supply of Rice-A-Roni, the San Francisco Treat™. All things being considered, I think that makes my chances slightly better than those of the cricket currently running around in the tarantula tank waving a sign that says THE END IS NEAR. So. Me, I’m making an appointment with the dermatologist to have a mole on my back checked out. Feel free to go lay in that coffin shaped box and be microwaved if you’d like.

I’m being pestered by the Self Esteem Monster and his good friends the You Aren’t A Good Enough Parent Monster and the Your Kid Sucks, Too Monster. Gavin is already four years old and he isn’t yet writing his dissertation on genetic mutations in the three toed sloth! He doesn’t have his paperwork in to be Stephen Hawking’s next unpaid intern! He forgets whether ni hao is Spanish and hola is Mandarin or vice versa!

Ok, seriously, he had his birthday party on Saturday and only two kids of the eleven or so we invited came. Is he the stinky kid no one wants to play with? I don’t *think* so. I mean, we bathe him once a month whether he needs it or not. It annoys me that most of the parents couldn’t even be bothered to call and say thanks for the invitation but we have other plans. I keep trying to tell myself that Gav had a great time no matter who was there. If the other parents didn’t want to take advantage of a free admission for their kiddo to the Children’s Museum, that’s their missed opportunity. Fuck ‘em. I still have those monsters hiding behind me waiting to kick me in the butt, though.

He’s four and counts in his own order. He recognizes his name and the letter G, but anything other than that is a wash. I was reading at his age. He’s still wearing pullups at night because he’s such a heavy sleeper he doesn’t even know when he wets them. Granted, I walk and talk in my sleep so I guess I can blame his genetics for that.

Screw all that! He’s polite. When he sees someone walking their dog he runs up *to the owner* and asks, “please may I pet your dog?” before going near the animal. He’s determined to learn to skateboard, and puts on his pads all by himself and brings us his helmet to put on. He sings silly songs to himself. He’s quick to give hugs and kisses and tell people he loves them. He likes all animals, not just your standard dogs and cats. He wants to play with the snake when we get him out, and he likes the tarantulas, too. He says hello to birds and bugs. He’s learned that we don’t squish bugs just because they’ve accidentally walked into our house. We take them back outside so they can go back home to their bug mommies and daddies. He knows not to leave water running because that’s wasting, and he uses cloth napkins because they can be washed and used again.

Piss off, monsters. There are things Gavin is not, but there are many things he is, and it’s all going to be ok.

SO YOU thought you might like to go to the show

Music does funny things to the brain. I’m not going to regurgitate this study or that study saying how it affects mood (although there was a funny one with mice listening to Anthrax who all killed each other). My own personal experience means more to me than someone else’s study. My own personal experience makes my heart start pounding hearing those words.

Pink isn’t well, he stayed back at the hotel,

The Wall. My sophomore year of high school I bounced back and forth between mania and depression with dizzying speed. Total obsession with someone kept me oblivious to how I was hurting myself, how I was hurting people who loved me, how I, myself, was hurting. I listened to this music over and over, oddly, because someone else liked it rather than noting the parallels with my own life. It seems I never listened to the words as a whole concept album. Almost 20 years later, the depression and suicidal tendencies of the main character are obvious. At the time I didn’t think about it, but I certainly understood when a friend killed himself a couple years later. Maybe on some level I was listening.

Are there any queers in the theatre tonight?
Get ‘em up against the wall.
And that one in the spotlight, he don’t look right to me.
Get him up against the wall.

I don’t like to hear it today. Any song from that album on the radio gets an immediate jab at any other preset button to turn it off turn it off turn it off QUICK. I have my own wall trying to keep the depression the paranoia the panic away, and that music seems to hold the key to breaking down the wall. I don’t want to remember that time. I don’t want to go back there.

I swear, Gavin’s toys reproduce and multiply like mad rabbits when we aren’t looking. Once upon a time all of his cars could fit into one little toy organizer bin. Now I have one large bin on wheels mostly full, and every time I turn around there are more under foot. Reaching for a pen in my purse? Pull out a firetruck. Going to set my coke down on the table? Race car in the way. Don’t even think about trying to put clothing down on the vanity in the bathroom before taking a shower. There will be at least 2 Transformers in the way, and quite likely they’ll have some kid’s meal toys joining them. Best to walk out of the bathroom in a towel and figure out what to wear in the bedroom. Just watch out for the airplane on the floor in front of the closet.

Baby step by infinitesimal baby step, my computer is getting back to working the way I want it to. I just need this one to creep along until I get a decent laptop, then it can die a merry electronic death. Photoshop is now reinstalled, my Wacom tablet is reinstalling as we speak (recommend I shut down all other programs until you’re blue in the face, I’m not gonna do it), and my other Photoshop add-ons are queuing in the hopes that I’ll reinstall them as well. AlienSkin, you’re in luck. Some of the others, not so much. I’m discovering that I have way more stuff than I actually need. At least my hording tendencies take up less physical space than my mother’s. But for reals, yo, the next time my computer tells me it wants to be rebooted I’m going to find Bill Gates and kick his retired philanthropist ass.

Correcting. My Wacom still won’t reinstall. Fuckity. Rhymes with cupboardy.

Since it has been pointed out to me that I am epic fail on blogging, here I am. Consider ass kicked. Mine, that is. I’m too short to kick anyone else’s ass. Well, Gavin’s, but that’s no fun and I’m not interested in having Children’s Services on me again.

I went to buy Steve some sinus meds last night. Since we all know we just want pseudoephedrine to build meth labs and blow up trailer parks, I walked to the counter with my May I Have This Medication Please card and pulled out my driver’s license so he can make sure I haven’t bought up my full daily supply at the Walgreen’s across the street.

*scan* *beep* Um, I’m sorry ma’am. I can’t sell you any of this completely legal, no prescription required medication. Your license expired two months ago.

Oh noes! Do not want!

*blink* *lol* Funny. I’m glad you noticed that. Obviously, I hadn’t. Neither did the cop who pulled me over last month.

So there you are. Steve is still sick, and trailer parks are safe from me for the moment.

Reading cnn.com. Down on the lower right, there’s a frame of

Stories you may be interested in based on past browsing

All very well and good. Normally they aren’t too far off. Today, while reading the article on the freezing temps hitting the Midwest, I get Court: Mom, 4 kids were choked to death. Pray tell, WHY exactly would I be interested in reading that?

When looking at old friends and thinking about old things turns mild homesickness into a palpable ache, it’s time to stop looking at Facebook and start trying to find a house in Orlando.

Please, someone explain to me why I have suddenly succumbed to Facebook. I’ve avoided it for ages, I don’t bother to check MySpace anymore, and yet here I am. Adding friend requests like nobody’s business. Oy.

And while you’re at it, please tell me why I’m looking through people with whom I went to high school. As if I want to remember the vast majority of them.

Oh well. Just call me the little joiner. Feel free to send me a message on there. Unless of course you can’t remember my last name, in which case you can leave me a message here.

I’m half-arsed pondering starting another 365 project this year. I don’t think I’m going to do another self-portrait one, but I am thinking about doing a photo a day of something. I need to get my hands on my camera more often. But then again, I have too many hobbies/interests as it is. Between the time-sucking net, knitting, mixed-media art, photography, crochet and trying to get back to blogging, there aren’t enough hours in the day. And did I mention my Doctor Who obsession, and reading, and playing Civilization? Somewhere in amongst all that I need to be with my family and sleep. Working and eating are optional.

One thing at a time. Perhaps I’ll renew my flickr pro account.