I wanna be a dancer.  A hip hop dancer.

A couple weeks ago I baked seven loaves of bread and we've already blown through four.  Bread-eating machines, that's what we are.

Last night a guy yelled across his table to tell me I was cute.
Yeah.
That happens all the time.
:)

My custard exploded on the stove and I learned that our stovetop is hinged and lifts up easily.  Very like the hood of a car.  There is where a good bit of the custard was.

I don't feel ready for work tomorrow.  My nerves aren't ready for the whining.  My back's not ready for the lifting.  My patience isn't ready for the bickering.  My legs aren't ready for the chasing.  My head's not ready for the screaming. 
And I still miss them so much.  After only three days.  So maybe my heart's the only part that's ready.  And it'll be enough.

What's going on? 

A couple weeks ago I lost my winter coat.  I don't know how that happened but it's gone.  And last night I went out with a friend, put my coat (my spring coat) down so I could go dance and someone stole it.  Someone stole my spring coat.  Crap.  So in the space of a month I've lost both of my coats.

That's stupid.

I love to play.  I love little more than to laugh really hard with my friends.  To enjoy their company, and know they're enjoying mine.

When I was really young my mom stayed home with us while my dad worked to support us.  And I loved being near her.  I would hang onto her leg when we went places I'd never been.  I knew I belonged with her.  One of my earliest memories is of being two years old and left in the church nursery, wailing as I watched her say goodbye to me through the glass.  Until we were five and six and they divorced, she's what made me feel safe. 

So when I was six my mom had to drop me off at my dad's house on Saturday.  We would begin spending half the week with him and half the week with her.  Mom and I were both wailing this time, and we said a last goodbye through the glass of the door.  Both our hands pressed up against it.  I was wrecked.

My dad had two little girls.  Both devastated.  What now?

He played with us.  We would all sit on our soft brown couch.  Dad would hold us, one on his lap and the other tucked under his free arm and he let us cry.  While he prayed quietly, I'm sure.  And then sometimes just before the tears were over he'd get us bowls of ice cream.  I'd eat ice cream while I sobbed the last few.  And then we'd play.  Thank god for my dad's playful heart.  It saved some of the sweetness of our childhood.  He'd invite our friends over or we'd get out board games or puzzle books or run around the house until he caught and tickled us.

Thank god for my dad's playful heart.

So today as I did the dishes, I was thinking to myself about how much I love game nights.  About how much I love to play.  And that as much as I've had to heal from that time, that I've also learned to regard playfulness as a precious part of my life.  To enjoy myself and my friends.  I've learned the importance and sometimes-priority that playing should hold in my week. 

It's good for me to remember the grace of those times.

Sightings...

Went to the mall to see a movie with a friend and walked right past the lead singer of Everclear, pushing his kid in a stoller.  It made me feel cool.
And then went to the Good Friday service at church and Donald Miller appologized for not holding the door for me.  I said it was okay.  And then I proposed.  Except that I didn't propose.  Shoot.

And I don't know what's going on with my site.  I'm glad you can see my pic, but I can't even get to my comments(among other things) without going back to my private page and then to the feedback log.  Oy.  Any tips?

Can you see my profile picture?

Geez.

I decided it would be fun to design a xanga theme because it's been so long since I've updated my page.  Well, holy moley, was it rough.  The controls are so hard to navigate and when I choose something it tends not to show up on my final page, even when it says it's saved.  Anyway, I finally came up with this, and can't see my profile pic, the general info below it, photo strip, blogrings, friends.... just about everything in the left collumn.

So can you see my profile picture?  And any of the other things?

This is so silly.