A few weeks ago, summer felt like fall. One sparkling afternoon Tyoma and I played with chalk in our pajamas. I drew long lines down our gritty asphalt drive while Tyoma marked off notches. Continue reading
Distribution Of Books In Our Downstairs Library
Heh. Over the summer, I had some extreme boredom moments when Tyoma felt unwell. Since my sick boy needed me nearby, I asked, “What can I do with myself?”
I decided to categorize all my downstairs books and plot the distribution on a bubble graph. Since this wasn’t quite fancy enough, I extracted and “steampunked” the bubbles.
If this distribution included all my books, the short story and atlas book numbers would. Yay books!
Original Bubble Graph after the jump.
Weeks before my son’s fourth birthday, we said good bye to his pacifier. His souska* relieved anxiety and soothed him to sleep. His pacifier was a wonderful tool and improved the quality of everyone’s life. We were sad to see souska go, but Tyoma was developing a ghoulish open bite. Imagining a future of uncomfortable dental head gear, we decided to take the pacifier away.
Last weekend, Egor and I enjoyed a few hour to ourselves. I parked my butt in front of my laptop to research Pre-Raphaelite and Symbolist paintings. Egor skulked off to dig around in the basement. Ten minutes later, I heard music. Egor had unearthed the harmonica.
I love harmonicas. They are the happiest, blingiest musical instruments ever invented. When I was a kid, my Grandmother played old country tunes on her harmonica. It was magic! How could anyone coax music out of a stubborn metal bar? I spent a childhood summer trying to teach myself. I could not figure it out.
So, when I heard my husband playing a song, a fiery joy bloomed in my heart. I hopped out of bed and clattered down the stairs, singing. In the kitchen, I did a tiny dance and fussed over the harmonica. It took ten minutes for the intense nostalgia and pleasure to subside enough for me to be calm.
I realized then that I had been celebrating the harmonica concert on tip toes. In fact, I toe walked non-stop as I enjoyed his playing. Huh. I never really thought about it before. Why do I do this? Well, it feels great. The combination of pressure and balance blends with the joy I feel.
And I do feel joy. Pure, mindless ecstasy. The sensation is so intense, it automatically triggers a physical reaction. This connection between mood and body certainly underlies the human desire to dance. Such a pity that this drive was installed in such a clumsy body.
Fortunately, my husband jovially puts up with my fits of rapture. He spent the rest of the day practicing harmonica, oddly playing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” amidst blues riffs.
After the second hour, of “Twinkle,” I almost asked him to choose another song. But, he has his thing, and I have mine. For revenge, I planned to ambush him with a lecture on French Symbolist painters.
We’ve been pulling our hair out, trying to figure out how to cope with killer baby! He skips naps and seems so wired in the evening. We decided to pick up a trampoline to give him an outlet for his energy. So we haul the red beast home from Toys ‘r Us, assemble it…
..and it immediately becomes a home for his letters!
I’m pleased to report that after a half an hour of organizing letters, he went on a jumping frenzy and seemed much calmer afterward!