My daughter has a RealityWorks Baby for the weekend. She’s had the same baby for all three years of high school. She calls him Gerard, after the notorious lead singer of My Chemical Romance; fortunately, he doesn’t behave like the singer dude. He’s kinda like a grandson to me now, and I look forward to his visits. However, this time (she’s in Grade 11 now, so there’s no more tippy-toeing around) Gerard is set on hard. He still not as persnickety as a real baby, but he cries a lot. And for longer periods. The maternal instincts haven’t faded over time, and I still wake up every time he wakes up, and get panicky if he cries for a long time. I keep wanting to take him from her and see if I can calm him down. In any case, he’s excellent birth control. (Editor’s note: she just dropped his head back, accidentally. He’s screaming, and she’s pacing the hall while bouncing him and crooning to him.)
I am looking forward to having grandchildren someday.
Today was the first T.Dot Reading Showcase. It wasn’t bad, although the audience was just a little small – perhaps 5 people who weren’t members of the group. Didn’t even get a large number of T.Dot people (T.Dotters?). I read twice: some poetry for Homme de Sept-Iles and the first part of Salmacis’ Kiss. Discovered that I quite enjoy reading in public, and would probably have enjoyed it more if I wasn’t worrying about all the other things happening at the reading – or not happening. It was easier to read my own stuff than Homme’s, but both were fun. Does this mean I can do this publicity stuff? We shall see. Somehow, it seems contradictory to have a writer reading their stories.
Homme de Sept-Iles paid me for reading for him. In chocolate. Very good chocolate.
Shuffled home from the reading – wired but foot-weary – to find a card on the floor in front of my apartment door. It seems Mississaugan mayoral candidate Mr. Fromm is going to send himself home; one would assume his family emigrated to Canada, given that he bears no resemblance to any of the First Nations. I wonder if he really thinks banning immigration is a good way to get elected? Given Mr. Fromm’s last name, I presume he only wants Mississaugans of European descent; according to the 2006 census, only 34.8% of Mississaugans are from Europe. Do you suppose the Polish and the Russians and the Dutch are okay, or does he only want Germans? Either way, he’s not likely to get too many votes. Perhaps he – like myself – is not very good at math. I’d say something rash and absolute such as if this ass gets in, I’m moving, but I don’t think I really have to worry about it. I just object to him putting hate literature on my doorstep.
Am now babysitting 9 teenagers at my ex-husband’s apartment. The man tells the kids they can have the group over, and then decides to go to a party himself (okay, it’s his sister’s birthday party, but still…). The kids are loud and obnoxious, but one of them keeps bringing me chocolate and cookie dough, so he’s in my good books. We had some issues with the bedroom door closing (uh, no), and couples in the closet (it’s safe space: no need to hide). It took us two hours, but I think we’ve firmly established the rules, and we can all live together for the rest of the evening. Above the sounds of the yelling and squealing and other things that I can’t identify, Gerard is giving the occasional squawk. They don’t put these things in the parenting books. Would anyone have a child if they knew that 17 years later there would be 8 others and a squawking baby in their house? No. The human race would end.
My ex-husband owes me chocolate for this.
Tomorrow is likely to be a very calm and boring day. Life returns to grammar and ESL and ordinary writing, now that the T.Dot Reading is over. We’ll be having a literary m&m later this week, and we’ll see if we want to do this again.
Just heard, “Why has nobody coloured on his nipples?” Must go investigate. *sigh*