My reading week is seriously lacking in reading. Snatching a few pages of Peter Ackroyd while babysitting the critter doesn't count. Things have been tightly mushed together. As in, I sleep, I work, I eat, walk the dog, and sleep. Last night I was watching Ivy until 12:30, and this morning I was there at 9:00. But I guess I deserve this, what with only taking one class. Plus, Ivy is a genius and one of those lifelong things I don't mind giving time to.
For example, (and I know my last post was all about Ivy, I know that), today we went to Grimmet Park and she clambered around on the big kid's jungle gym. She's really adept at trickier things like the rope ladder and twisty slide, especially for a 3-year old. And you know those spiraling fire poles? Where gravity turns you in faster and faster circles? Ivy pwns those things.
The craziest thing was the jump. Ivy was standing on the wooden platform of the jungle gym, about level with my head, and starting to get bored. With a glance at the wooden ladder she'd climbed to get where she was, she suddenly, with a clear sense of purpose, leapt nearly six feet to the ground. She's THREE. And she fucking FLEW. There was no crying, either. She landed in a crouch and stood up slowly, looking at me with big eyes. Part of me felt guilty that I hadn't stopped her. It happened so fast. But mainly, I was impressed. I couldn't jump from that high when I was ten. I really couldn't. Not that it would have hurt me (although it might have, stick figure that I was), but I would have been too scared to try. Ivy isn't like that. She tries first.
In non-toddler news, tonight I hung out with Kim and Ciaran. They have a swank new apartment with lots of blank walls and clean carpet. I plan to murder them and move in. We walked to a Mexican restaurant and back through my old neighborhood, which was nice. I love Kitsilano. It smells right. Ciaran called me a "bloody preemie". This too brought me joy.
There are so many things I want/have to do over the next few days. My inbox is piling up, and if I wrote for a solid week I wouldn't get everything done that I'd like to. Tomorrow Marian and I plan to sequester ourselves in my room and stare goggle-eyed at the television for hours. Possibly there will be shrieking. And Friday is a long-delayed dinner with Kimi. Yom!
I realize how bland it is when I go over my upcoming plans in dear-diary-ish detail, but there's something comforting and ritualistic about it that I can't resist.
And hey, I'm sleeping again. The Caffeine Effect has been pushed back to 1.5 kilometers from the Line of Control, as air force planes severely damage supply camps of The Brain Smarts in day-and-night operations.
Who? I need to get into bed. I need water. I need toilet. Go now. Get.
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3 comments:
I don't think it's bland. I actually like when people just ramble about what they do all day. I think it satisfies my voyeuristic curiosity.
wtf? where did my comment go?
I like the rambling, too. More rambling.
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