Weird Dreams, Installment III

Here's another weird dream, but this is one I've already turned into a story. It's basically exactly as I dreamed it, but I had to make up the end because I woke up before I found out what happened. As a matter of fact, while I was dreaming it, I knew it was a dream and I was totally freaked out by it, but I didn't want to wake up because I wanted to see what happened. I copied this from my website Life in a Box so there are links throughout it that will tell you what certain things were inspired by. Here is "21 Hillside Drive":

“What’s this? Another one?”
My older brother’s voice resounded through the house. Starved for entertainment, I followed the sound to the den. Rhyner stood beside our father’s desk, holding an antique telephone above his head as if challenging someone.
“Did you buy this, Marj?” He turned to me. I shook my head and went to examine the phone more closely. Rhyner held it out of my reach, but I could see it well enough. Although old-fashioned, it showed no signs of aging.
“Is it a replica?” I asked. Our family had avidly collected antiques all of my life. I knew more about antiques than I could ever care to know. The youngest, I was the only one who didn’t really like them.
“How am I supposed to know?” Rhyner exclaimed. “I certainly didn’t buy this piece of junk!”
This was the fifth antique item to just appear in our house. The first four—a lamp, a pen, a pair of glasses, and a camera—had all turned up in Rhyner’s room. No one claimed to have bought them; they just came from nowhere. They all came from the same era—around the time our British Colonial house had been built—and all looked brand new. The mystery annoyed everyone. This was a game in a family that detested games.
I did not share in everyone else’s annoyance—I was freaked out. I’d been excited to move to the small tropical island of Singapore, and, furthermore, into an old bungalow built when Singapore was a British colony, but I’d become a little wary after I’d heard the stories. Neighbors had told us stories of 21 Hillside Drive being haunted. Some guy had apparently gotten murdered in it in the thirties. It really seemed strange to me that while everyone agreed on the same story, they all remembered a different family name, and none of them could remember whether the killer got caught.
When things just started mysteriously appearing, I attributed it to ghosts. My parents disregarded my fears, and my brothers laughed at them.
“What’s wrong with him, Marjery?” My other brother, Ford, wandered in. Of my three brothers, Ford and Rhyner were exactly opposites while Basil fell somewhere in between. Ford and I got along best. And if asked to choose, Basil usually sided with us.
“Did you buy this?” Rhyner waved the phone in Ford’s face.
Ford blinked. “Do you really expect that little of me? Even Marjery can see that’s a cheap replica.”
I nodded my agreement.
“Oh! Throw it away!” Rhyner tossed the phone at Ford and stomped out of the room.
“Good grief,” I commented.
“I guess it’s a personal insult to Rhyner to have something so cheap taking up residence in his house. Look here,” Ford tugged on the wire. “It’s connected to the wall, and it’s one of those old-fashioned jacks too.” He knelt next to the wall and I joined him. The wire didn’t have a phone jack that could easily slide in and out of the socket, the wires went straight into a small round hole in the wall—a hole I’d never noticed before.
“Now who would do that?” Ford wondered.
“It’s weird.” Goose bumps popped up on my bare arms.
“Maybe it was Dad.”
“I don’t think so.”
While puzzling over this, we heard Basil and Rhyner arguing in the living room. Rhyner let out an angry yell and stormed up the stairs. I followed Ford to the living room. Basil sat in a beautiful wing-backed chair that I’d never seen before. It didn’t match the living room at all, but I knew Mom would love to have it, replica or not.
I looked up the stairs to see Rhyner glaring at me. I quickly turned back to Basil.
“It’s rather comfortable; it can’t be too old,” Basil remarked. “I wonder where it came from.”
He looked at me with a strange expression. Ford followed his gaze and smiled.
“What’s up, Marj’? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Ford said.
I didn’t know, but maybe I had.
Before I could explain, the old-fashioned bell on the front gate tinkled. Basil got up to answer it, and Ford dropped into the chair.
“It is very comfortable. I’m moving this to my room before Mom sees it.” He picked up the chair and headed for the stairs. Confused, I sank onto the couch.
I stayed there until I heard footsteps and voices enter the foyer. Voices with British accents—who could that be? Curiosity overcame my fear and propelled me to the door, but at the door my fear took back over and held me still.
The foyer was our foyer but not quite. The walls were white instead of blue, and a hat tree holding various hats and umbrellas was the only furniture. Basil and a man stood talking.
The man wore a black suit with a thin tie, and an overcoat though one hardly needed a coat in Singapore—the temperature never got below eighty degrees. He had small glasses and a prim little moustache. As I stood watching, he took off his hat and handed it to my brother. Then, as he took off his coat, I caught sight of a gun under his suit jacket. My heart pounded. Guns were illegal in Singapore.
“Is all of your family home?” He asked in a thick British accent.
“I think we are—shall I gather them in the parlor for you?” Basil’s mouth moved, but the voice coming out had just as much of an accent as the other man.
I clasped my shaking hands together. Looking down I realized I no longer wore the jeans and t-shirt of a moment before—I wore a dress. A black dress. And Basil a black suit.
“There’s Marjery,” Basil said. “Go on in with her and I’ll round the others up. I’ll try and convince Mother to come, but she’s still a bit—upset.”
“Understandable, understandable.” The man nodded.
I didn’t have time to wonder what they were talking about for the man came over and took my hand.
“Miss Windsor, my deepest regrets for your recent loss.” He planted a kiss on my fingers. I resisted the urge to recoil—he had to be at least forty! “I am Inspector Maxwell.”
I couldn’t even force a smile as I pulled my hand away. I led him into the living room—not my living room, but the living room of this house—and sat down in a chair. I didn’t know why, but I began to understand. Rhyner was dead, I knew that much. I also knew that he’d been murdered. I didn’t know how I knew, I just knew. I didn’t know why I wasn’t sad, but I felt like I’d already cried all of my tears.
“You have a beautiful home—one of the newest on the island, I understand,” Inspector Maxwell attempted conversation.
I nodded. Where was Ford? I needed Ford.
Inspector Maxwell and I sat silently as my family made their way in one by one. Ford came last—he too wore a dark suit. I breathed. I would be okay now.
I reached for him, but he ignored me and crossed the room to sit in a chair by the wall. His eyes avoided me; his face had a closed look. A tear slid down my cheek and splashed on my hand.
Mother and Father sat side by side on the couch. They sat straight, not looking at anyone. Mother’s tears had ceased, but her red eyes evidenced their existence.
Basil sat in the chair beside me. He spied my lone tear and reached for my hand, but he wasn’t the brother I needed.
The inspector cleared his throat, attempting to dispel some of the unease only to replace it with new, fresh unease.
“Our investigations in Rhyner’s death keep leading us in the same direction,” he said. “We believe it was a family member.”
The room itself took in a gasp of disbelief.
“No!” I cried, surprised at my own British accent.
“I won’t take this,” Mother said in a hard, cold voice. “We are not murderers.”
“As of right now,” Inspector Maxwell continued. “You are all suspects. None of you are to leave the country until further notice.”
“We will do what we please! We are not suspects!” Mother stood, her hands clenched at her sides.
“Mrs. Windsor, I beg you—“
“No!” Mother held up one gloved hand. “I will hear no more! Leave my house at once.”
“I need to ask a few questions—“
“No!”
Basil glanced at Father who still sat on the couch, unmoving, then stood up and took the Inspector’s arm.
“Perhaps you could come back another time to ask your questions.” Basil led him out of the room. “Like I said, Mother’s still rather—upset.”
We remained silent, listening to Basil bid our visitor farewell. Mother sat back down when Basil came into the room, and Basil took his seat beside me again.
I looked around at my family—this family that was supposed to be mine—and I knew something else, but I didn’t know how I knew it.
One of us was a murderer.
Another tear slid down my cheek and splashed on my hand—a tear of guilt.
Ford finally looked my way. His eyes burned with disappointment, but I knew he’d never tell.

Some Good Old Cereal Humor

I bought a box of King Vitaman this week 'cause I thought they looked like Honey Stars, a cereal I used to get in Singapore. Mike claimed that it's tasteless, but then I found out he's never actually tried them. As we discussed them and studied the box, we discovered a list on the side panel entitled "King Vitaman's Court of Riddles." We both found them absolutely hilarious so I just had to share them.
1. What time is it when the king's feet hurt?
-Time to change shoes
2. Which of King Vitaman's knights weighs 300 pounds?
-Sir Lunchalot
3. (This was our favorite) What runs around the King's castle?
-Mice
4. What's the King's favorite cereal?
-King Vitaman
5. How much cereal does the kingdom eat each day?
-A Moat Load
6. What's the king's favorite sporting event?
-Dragon racing

We laughed for about ten minutes over number 3. Of course, Mike had been awake for almost 24 hours straight. I have no excuse. Perhaps you'll enjoy them as much as we did.

A tough evening

Gehrig and I said good-bye to my mom this morning. She was pretty sad so I spent most of the day worrying about her. But now I'm home alone (Mike's working this weekend) and Gehrig's asleep, and it's sinking in that I might not see my momma for four years. I've never been away from my parents for that long. That's not even what I'm so sad about though. I'm terribly sad that Gehrig's not gonna be able to be close to his Grandma and Pop-pop. He'll see pictures and talk to them on the phone and stuff, but it's not the same. He might not even really meet them until he's four! This makes me terribly sad, and I just want to cry.

The life of a missionary kid and missionary grandkid, I guess. For all the good points, there are definitely bad points too. Poor little Gehrig is the one who suffers this bad point, even though he may not realize it.

until...
Liz

PS Don't think I wish I weren't an MK. I wouldn't trade that for the world. I'm just sad about this particular aspect.

More than you wanted to know...

my name is liz.
i like to write.
i grew up in singapore.
i have three older siblings.
my birthday is may 16.
i am no longer the only unmarried one in my family.
i have nine (going on eleven) nieces and nephews.
i love the color blue.
i used to have an '89 geo tracker named blue32.
now i have a white gmc jimmy named chuck norris (although he is out of commission at the moment).
i'm a city girl.
i love gilmore girls.
i have a thing for names.
my niece, mandie-beth, is named after me.
i have a masters degree.
i spend a lot of time reading.
i love kids.
i'm trying to become ambidextrous.
i like the powerpuff girls--especially bubbles.
i'm a black belt in tae kwon do.
i want a lot of kids.
i love giraffes.
i think 5 o'clock shadows are hot.
i like jeans.
i'm not amazingly fond of airplanes.
i like to sing.
i like being back stage.
i married a guy named michael.
i like to yoyo.
i enjoy building websites, but i'm not too thrilled with keeping them up to date.
i want lots of cats and a couple of dogs.
i kind of like cursive.
my two biggest weaknesses are shoes and chocolate chip cookies.
i believe you shouldn't listen to christmas music before thanksgiving.
i love to drive a stick shift.
my son is named after lou gehrig, the best baseball player ever.
i'm an avid skater.
i tend to be organized, but there's a black hole under my bed.
i love thrift stores.
i wanna be different.
my goal in life is to be the mother of a lot of kids, writing teen fiction in my spare time.
i'm a missionary kid and proud of it.
i'm 5'6", but i wish i were shorter.
i'm a stickler for the subjunctive mood.
i have blue eyes.
my four pairs of glasses all got broken and now i just have two.
i was homeschooled with a.c.e.
i am a golden retriever with beaver tendencies.
i survived hurricane ivan.
i like poetry.
i'm always early.
i think "the reason" by hoobastank is an awesome song.
i have a best friend who is my kindred spirit.
i love to eat mee goreng, kuey teow, chicken rice, nasi lemak, and hot plate tofu.
to kill a mockingbird is one of my favorite books.
i'm totally into fonts.
i adore my family.
i'm not fond of art classes.
i think psalm 139 is beautiful.
i'll take pepsi over coke any day.
i get emotionally attached to pens.
i have dimples.
i'm a big dickens fan.
and, finally, yes, i do know i'm weird.

(borrowed from life in a box)

Well, Hello Again

Mike said I never talk about him on here (this is due to the fact that my family and friends grew sick of hearing about him and disallowed me from gushing), so I decided to write about our love story. This one is for (and about) Mike.

I have almost always been known as Steve's sister. He is two years older than me, and infinitely more popular and talkative. I was content to be in his shadow my whole life. He was a sophomore when I was a freshman in college, and this worked much to my advantage. He knew everyone, and he introduced me to everyone. He introduced me to Mike.

I was, as 90% of freshman girls are, boy crazy. I met Mike my freshman year, but I was actually interested in someone else at the time (this was back in my "dumb guy" phase--thank goodness that ended!). Sophomore year, however, I was over my freshman crush, and we began to eat lunch or dinner quite frequently with Mike. I thought he was hilarious (one of the funniest people I'd ever met), but I still wasn't really interested.

I was talking to another girl about Mike when she happened to mention that he was the biggest flirt on campus.

"Nuh-uh. He never flirts with me," I said.

"Well, you must be the only girl he doesn't flirt with then," she answered.


This bugged me because: 1. I was a pretty big flirt, and 2. I hung out with just guys so often, that a lot of them tended to think of me as "the girl who's a guy." I hated that. So the next time we had dinner with Mike, I posed him a question.

"I heard you're a flirt. How come you never flirt with me?"

My brother was appalled, but Mike didn't even blink.

"I didn't know you wanted me to."

"Well," I said. "Maybe I do."

He willingly complied. This whole exchange made my brother extremely annoyed, and he forbid me from flirting with Mike. And that is how it all began.

I was just beginning to step out from my brother's shadow, and his trying to boss me irked me. The fact that my brother didn't want me to flirt with him, irked Mike. It was perfect.

Let me tell you, Mike is one champion flirt. What started as a game (I seriously was not interested in him at all), quickly escalated--for me anyway. While I was falling madly in love, Mike still thought of me as Steve's little sister. He tells me now that he couldn't have been interested in me--I was only twelve! (I was 19, thank you very much) Everyone warned me to be careful. I assured them we were just joking around, but I was lying.

I knew he was just joking around, and I would lay awake at night wishing he weren't. Sophomore year passed and Mike grew bored with me. He finally made my brother mad enough that he forbid me from speaking to Mike at all. I could tell Mike was quickly losing interest in even talking to me, so I went along with my brother.

Over the next two years, I tried to remain friends with Mike. I no longer had the huge crush, but my stomach would still get butterflies every time I saw him. If he had bothered to flirt with me more, I probably would've been right back in love with him again. Finally I gave up. He graduated my junior year, and I barely noticed. We both had other things going on.

I came back to school senior year ready to find a guy. This was my last chance. Fall semester I started hanging out with a guy I didn't even really like. We never actually started dating, but we came close. He turned out to be pretty much a jerk. I was amazingly stupid to be willing to date a guy I didn't even have real conversations with, and that really woke me up.

I resolved that spring semester would be different. I had read The Rules (a book I recommend to any girl of dating age), and I had decided that I was not going to date anyone unless I was really, really sure. If a guy wanted to date me, he was going to have to work pretty darn hard.

I hadn't even thought about Mike for almost a year until I saw him in the VC. I had just gotten a tray of pizza with my friend Ashley when I spotted Mike walking towards me.

Surprised, I said, "Mike! What are you doing here?" Remember, he had graduated the year before.

He, being funny, turned around and walked away. I shrugged and walked the other way to sit down at a table with Ashley. I was over him; I wasn't just going to stand there looking like an idiot waiting for him. He found me a few minutes later and was friendly. He told me he'd come back for grad school. He gave me his phone number and told me to call him for dinner sometime.

After he walked away, I turned to Ashley and said, "Not gonna happen."

I did write his number down, but I never used it. A few weeks later he called me and asked me to dinner. I figured since he'd put some effort into getting my number, he actually did want to have dinner with me so I said okay.

We went to the VC, and we even sat on the good side (as opposed to the loser side) per my request. We stayed there talking until they chased us out. I knew it wasn't a date--he just needed someone to go to dinner with and he didn't have many friends left in school. It was fun though.

He once again told me to call him, but I once again didn't. He asked me to dinner a few more times, and, if I didn't already have plans, I went with him. Sometimes it was just us, and sometimes Chad or Bobby came along.

One night I went to dinner with some of my friends, and we walked past Mike and Chad. I stopped to say hey and talk for a minute. Apparently Mike had been having some bad dates recently, and had been lamenting to Chad. As I walked away, Chad turned to Mike and said, "Well, why don't you ask Liz out? She's cool. You have fun with her." (or something along those lines) Mike kinda shrugged it off, but he started thinking about it.

He called me within the next few days and asked me to dinner. We talked on the phone for at least an hour. I had no idea it was any different than the other times we'd gone to dinner, but it was different for him. Once again, we stayed at the VC talking until it closed. I got a little scared because that night, some of my old feelings started coming back.

After that, he started asking me to dinner frequently. Unfortunately, he is a procrastinator and I plan ahead. He would call two hours before dinner, but I would usually already have plans. If I did, he and Chad would sit at a table by the chicken tenders line (by this time I was sick of all cafeteria food and at three chicken tenders at every meal) and invite me and my friends to join them at their six-seater table.

Before too long, he made it clear that he wanted to date me. There were two obstacles, however. One was my brother. The other was the promise I had made to myself. We sneaked around, trying to avoid anyone who knew my brother (which was hard). Mike claimed we were dating, but I maintained that we were merely "hanging out and having fun."

Mike was worried to death that when I told my brother about us, he would tell Mike he couldn't see me. I assured him that our relationship was different now--I was older and Steve wasn't as protective. When I finally did tell him, he merely said, "So that's what you've been hiding. Well, whatever. It's your life."

All semester I prayed about our relationship, and by the end of the semester, I finally admitted with peace that we were, indeed, dating. The next Christmas we got engaged, and we got married the next summer. Now we have an adorable little baby and have been married for almost two years.

Way back in my sophomore year, my friend told me I had to face reality. Real romance isn't like the stuff you read in books, but she was wrong.

Fairy tales do come true. I found my Prince Charming.

Until...
Liz

Weird Dreams Installment II

This is a dream I had while in grad school. This is one of the ones where I'm merely an observer.

It's World War II Britain, and the dream begins at a large estate in the country. Five children (four boys and one girl) are living there alone with their nanny. Their parents are gone, and they have been gone for so long that they are now presuming them to be dead. The estate is so far out that no one ever visits--the children and their nanny are the only ones around.

One day a man, woman, and their two sons show up claiming to be the children's uncle and aunt. Since the children's parents are dead, this man and woman are now their guardians (sorry, but I didn't dream any names). I know that these people are really just after the children's money and estate, and the nanny suspects them as well.

Within a few days, the nanny disappears. The man tells the children that she left them, but now the children are becoming suspicious. One by one, the boys disappear. The little girl doesn't know what has happened until someone in town wonders how they are doing and why they haven't heard from them. The "uncle and aunt" take the little girl and their own sons and hide in the attic. Some men, including the typical British inspector in an overcoat and derby with a big moustache (actually a recurring character in my dreams), come investigating. In the main room downstairs, they find the dead bodies of the nanny and the four boys laid in a circle. They don't know there is another child. Since they don't find anyone else in the house, they assume that the nanny killed the children before committing suicide.

The house is locked up and left to sit until the war is over or the owners are found. The uncle and aunt tell the little girl that if she is very good, she can become their little girl and live there with them; but if she is bad, they will kill her too. She tries very hard to be good, but it seems like she keeps messing up.

The aunt begins to feel sorry for the little girl, and begins sneaking her money so that she can run away. The uncle finds out and kills the aunt. Now it is just the little girl and the man and two boys. One night, before going to bed, the man tells the little girl she has one more chance. She is just getting into bed when the two boys come into her room and begin pulling on part of the ceiling that is hanging down. With a crash, the whole ceiling falls in and water floods the room (I'm not sure why there was water in the ceiling). The boys go running back to their room, leaving the little girl to take the blame. She is scared to death as she sees the man's bedroom door opening, and I'm about to cry, I feel so bad for her.

Then I wake up.

I think this is partially inspired by The Others, although I hadn't seen that in years. Some of my dreams tend to get kind of freaky--this is only a slightly freaky one.

Still more to come...
Liz

weird dreams? let me tell you....

i had a string of weird dreams last night, and i just love telling people about them. a lot of the time i dream movies (stories where i don't figure in at all)--most of those are pretty freaky. at my old job, everyone was always ready to hear any of my dreams. i've turned a couple into actual short stories, but i fear i'm beginning to forget the rest. i've decided to start recording them on here so that i can share them with others and remember them at the same time.

i'll start with one of the ones from last night--there's not much to it and it's especially weird. i can't remember how it was connected--or even if it was--to the rest of my dreams. somehow there was a baby that was abandoned by his parents. in order to save him, a priest and some nuns had sent him to live all by himself on a star. he probably wouldn't be able to survive (there was nothing for him to eat, for instance), but it was a better chance than he had on earth (i'm not sure why). this mean kid had followed him to the star, but we weren't sure if he had hurt the baby or not. then the baby's dad showed up, wanting his son. we (i'm not sure how i was involved in all of this, but i was there) all had to go to the star to look for him, but we couldn't find him. the mean kid had come too, and it turned out he loved the baby and had tried to help him. he thought the priest had done something with the baby so he pulled out these snakes and threatened to let them go if the priest didn't tell us where the baby was. the priest didn't know; he said the boy was the last one to see the baby. the boy let the snakes go, and, of course, they attacked me, the innocent by-stander. then, while i was trying to pull the snakes off me, the boy remembered what he had done with the baby. it turned out the star was actually a zip-lock bag of frozen food, and the boy had opened it and let the baby inside so he could eat the french fries.

i woke up, relieved that the baby was okay.

told ya' they were weird....

more to come....

until...
liz

oh, david hasselhoff, you disappoint me so...

i am sorely disappointed and disgusted with America's got talent and America in general. i enjoyed watching the show initially this season (even looked forward to it), but a moral person can only take so many burlesque shows, strippers, and cross-dressers (or worse). and the thing that tops it all is that they keep saying, "this is a family show." my family certainly will not be watching things like that, and it just goes to show how horrible American society has gotten that such shows are considered "family shows."

this whole thing is very depressing to me. this isn't the kind of world i want gehrig to grow up in. i want him to be a good boy, but how can i keep him from all this evil when it is everywhere? i don't want him to be sheltered to the extreme, but is there any other option anymore? i guess all we can do is pray and do our best to teach him right and wrong. just because America in general accepts some things does not mean that they are acceptable. will it be enough though? this is what i worry about.

until...
liz

ps i am soooo not a fan of david hasselhoff--never have been. he was actually my least favorite judge...when i used to watch that evil show.

hooked on wordle

this is anyone lived in a pretty how town by ee cummings

and this is annabel lee by edgar allan poe

and this is one of the game, my book i'm trying to get published.

copycat

i was intrigued by hannah's wordle, so i decided to do one of my blog. apparently grammar is pretty important to me (despite the fact that i just used "so" as a conjunction).

i love...

-mike
-gehrig
-brown
-writing
-jeans
-brown and pink shoes
-cool glasses
-rollerblades
-gehrig's room
-gilmore girls
-bubble tea
-jeta grove
-singapore
-orchard road
-blue32
-friends
-emails
-facebook
-flair
-cary grant
-dr pepper
-hanson
-yoyos
-my momma and daddy
-christmas
-email surveys
-jude
-my siblings
-hms pinafore
-coffee bean ice blendeds
-the tenant of wildfell hall
-pensacola beach
-chocolate chip cookies

i associate various things with various things

i guess most people do, but i think i'm slightly more extreme in my associations. anything i ate or was around when i got sick, i associate that with sickness. this particular trait ticked mike off when i began associating krispy kreme donuts with hurling. i couldn't go near the place for over a year--i'm just now getting to where i can eat donuts again. baked spaghetti and lasagna are still completely out of the question *blech*.
even i will admit my associating has gotten ridiculous. when i was first pregnant, i was nauseated and exhausted all the time. add to that a stomach virus and a stressful work situation and you've got a pretty miserable time. now i get sick any time i think about anything i ate or did during that period of time. kristen heitzmann used to be one of my favorite authors, but i was reading a series by her then and now even looking at her books makes me nauseated. for the longest time downtown repulsed me, but i think i might be getting over that. i tried listening to audio adrenaline the other day and immediately felt sick. don't even get me started on food... (much to mike's dismay, jack in the box is a place i can never go again).
so, yeah, i'm weird.
life's going well. work's slightly busy, but that's okay. i'd rather be busy than bored. gehrig does a good job most of the time. he just sleeps in his carseat. i daresay i have the best baby ever. i have spoiled him a little though. i never knew how painful it is to hear your own baby cry. but i've decided that he'll be much happier in the long run if i let him cry now. so naptime has been a little rough for the past few days. he's doing better though. i haven't rocked him to sleep in two days. :( that's kinda sad and good at the same time.
gehrig definitely has burke blood--he loves music. if he's really upset, the only thing that settles him down is if i sing to him. yesterday he was lying on the floor and i was singing to him, and he started singing with me! i mean, obviously the kid didn't carry a tune or anything, but it was a definite attempt to sing. guess we've got another baby genius on our hands.
but then, with me for a mom, what did you expect?
until...
liz

pet peeve

it is a well-known fact that i am a grammar snob, but there's something i especially can't stand. people who claim to be grammar snobs yet have atrocious grammar themselves. i can excuse the occasional misplaced comma, apostrophe, or misspelled word; but come on, people, if you're going to claim to be picky about grammar, learn how to use punctuation! not capitalizing letters or spacing stuff funny for style's sake is quite different from unclear punctuation and spelling. i mean, look at ee cummings--the rebel himself--he still used correct grammar and spelling while being completely original (i admit his poetry is my guilty pleasure).

so...my point? i don't know. i just get annoyed is all.

until...
liz

a new blog...will it last?

well...i was looking at other people's blogs and thinking how fun they looked so here we are. i already have a blog (http://skoog.blogs.friendster.com), but it's so outdated and i didn't feel like taking the time to change everything. so laziness is prevailing already. not a good sign.

gehrig is five-and-a-half weeks old. it's sad and exciting at the same time. he's getting to be more fun--smiling and starting to coo. i think he's especially strong and smart. i know parents always think that about their children, but gehrig really is. he truly is the sweetest and best baby ever. and i thought nobody would top jude.

i can't think of anything else to say right now. perhaps later. boredom usually inspires creativity.

until...
liz