Carnitas/Cherries

Belle ate carnitas all weekend.  We shared a carnitas plate on Friday, eating pork, rice and beans with corn tortillas.  We ate the same on Saturday, only in a burrito.  I ordered Belle her own plate of beans, rice and corn tortillas.  Belle took one look at my burrito and demanded we switch plates.  Thus began the delicious toddler trip into satiety.  

I paid four dollars for a cup of certified organic cherries at Saturday's farmers market.  One of my market friends rolled her eyes because I dared spend that much.  I bought a good super fruit for a good memory.  Belle and I had fun making a mess while eating these cherries.  I learned Belle can climb back down the stairs while eating these cherries.  That's money well spent.

Value

I got diapers at $0.075 each.

Belle foods

I offered Belle one quarter of a can of split pea soup and rice simmered in beef broth.  Belle ate a little rice before walking over to her cabinet of Belle foods.  She returned with two jars of carrots and a jar of apple fruit blend and ate them.  Well, alright!

Former creative writer

I earned a B.A. in English (Creative Writing) from University of Southern California fifteen years ago yesterday.  I remember a great-aunt sending flowers.  These same flowers were quickly trashed by me after my grandmother insisted they'd been charmed or jinxed with black magic.  I remember graduating alone, no one from the family able to attend, not even my grandmother.  I remember a classmate inviting me to her celebratory dinner, going, and feeling sorry for myself for not having family of my own to rally around me.  I remember my grandmother's health begin to decline immediately after I earned this honor, to the point where she felt compelled to blast me for wasting my money on what she considered a useless education.  My grandmother died the following May, a little over a year after my university graduation.  I'd inherited a rental property and become its manager by then.  Without any support, and never, ever any encouragement to trust a mentor, I just stopped writing the fiction and poetry I once loved.  Last year, after Belle's unexpected birth and slow growth, I finally nailed my diploma to the wall to remind myself of my own achievement and competence.

Then I read this article about wimpy kids:

http://www.psychologytoday.com/articles/200411/nation-wimps

Guide posts

May 6:  Six years in Alameda.

May 7:  Belle is 17 mos old.

May 8:  Fifteen years since I earned my B.A. in English (Creative Writing).

May also marks seven years since Garrett passed and fourteen years since my maternal grandmother passed.  I would like to think that both Garrett and Sidney are cheering Belle on from the great beyond.

Poop

I referred to recent events in my personal life as a shit storm and literally shit on myself at the end of the weekend.  Belle and I had eaten chicken and pasta salad before heading off to a Cinco de Mayo party.  I'd enjoyed spare ribs and a few beers at this party.  I'd shared with Belle walnut brownies, cheesecake, grilled watermelon, barbecued chicken and deep fried flour chips.  Belle farted an obnoxious fart as we were leaving the party.  She fell asleep in the Moby as we walked the fifteen blocks home.  That's when things went wrong.

I started itching as I carried Belle home.  As I rubbed my itchy eyes in the dark, I could feel them swell slightly.  I destroyed my up do with the intensity of the itching to my scalp.  I asked God to get us home quickly and safely.  As we neared home, I could feel myself begin to pass out.  I grabbed hold of a tree to steady myself.  It was the same tree I'd held onto as I laboured with Belle.  I could see the black spots taking over my eyes as I approached my walkway.  I collapsed at the front door and crapped my pants.  I managed to find the keys, free a crying Belle, who had also just pooped, from the Moby and stumble inside. I threw myself onto the couch and weakly called a girlfriend in Pennsylvania.

Belle followed me into the bathroom downstairs, where I'd gone to pull myself together.  My "Make Love, Not War" pants were ruined.  I had poop stuck on one foot.  I also had a crying, stressed out toddler I had zero compassion for.  Regardless, I picked Belle up and took her upstairs to the bathroom with the tub.  I turned the water on full blast and stepped in while still fully dressed.  I even had the Moby still tied onto me.  I just lay there in the bath, the green dye from my skirt bleeding into the hot water.  Belle calmed herself by grabbing her plastic teapot and holding it under the facet to catch the water.  When the water ran cold, and I felt better, I undressed myself and stepped out of the bath.  I had to recover quickly.  Belle still needed to be changed and put to bed.  I didn't realise she'd also pooped until I opened her diaper.  I gave Belle a shower and she went right to bed as soon as we got there.

We woke up this morning with nary a trace of illness.  I have cleaned up most of the mess.  I had poop on my handbag and tote bag, not to mention my shoes, the welcome mat and the concrete near the door.  My train had completely derailed last week when I found myself stressed. I have walked away from the source of stress.  Here's to good health and a better week. 

Where do I go from here

Parenting and Children.

Friendship.  Children.  Family.