My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

(Not) American Idle


Harrumph! I am slowly driving myself insane. I’m on another hunt. For a doll from my youth. I had one of these annoying flashbacks last week of a bunch of cloth dolls I had as a kid and loved. They were either based on a series of books (and I’m not sure if they were books aimed at children or gift-type books that would interest children; they were poem-y, if that makes any sense) with large-headed children with round black eyes and no other (I don’t think) facial features. I can’t even remember the name of the author or illustrator of the books.

So, I’ve been pointlessly searching doll websites which, let me tell you, is frightening. The soulless, evil stare of your average bisque-head doll is...creeping me out.

If I have time today at the library I’m going to look through the picture books in hopes of finding one of these books. Sigh.

Otherwise, what else?

Oh, Dusty finally lost her other front tooth. She's got a big gap in the front of her mouth and it’s causing her to lisp a bit. It’s actually quite endearing. I’m hoping she’ll let me document this gap for posterity but I’m not holding my breath. The tooth fairy has been very good to her so we’ll be making a shopping trip to the art supply store soon.

Red has been waking several times in the night (all before midnight, thank goodness) crying. I don’t know what to attribute to this. At first I thought it might be tooth pain. Her two-year molars are coming in. So, I dosed her with ibuprofen before bedtime but it made no difference. I’ve calmed her down and gotten her back to sleep...only to have her start crying again. Maybe it’s bad dreams? She’s got a lot of fears these days, everything from food touching to trucks rumbling by the house can set her off.

This morning during breakfast, Dusty and I discussed reasons why she’s having trouble sleeping.

“Maybe she misses Scribbletown,” Dusty said, “Or maybe she doesn’t want to be three.”
“Well, but her birthday’s not until next year.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want Christmas to come.”
“Why wouldn’t she want Christmas to come?”
“I don’t know. She hasn’t told me,” says Dusty the Augur.

When Red woke up, we did a Man on the Street interview.

MOTS: “So, Red, tell us! Were you crying because you miss Scribbletown?”
Red: “No.”
MOTS: “Is it because you don’t want to be three?”
Red: “No.”
MOTS: “Is it because you don’t want Christmas to come?”
Red: “No.”
MOTS: “Is it because you’re afraid of bread crusts?”
Red: “No.”

So, we’re really no further along in understanding this mystery. Hopefully the crying will peter out soon and peace and quiet will be restored.

Dusty and I did get the beginnings of a retaining wall built on either side of the pathway yesterday. This wall will mark the new border for the flower beds on either side. It will, in fact, double the size of the beds. Eventually. If it ever gets finished. And, if I mixed the cement well enough that the whole thing doesn’t crumble to pieces by spring. Next weekend we’ll build more wall and perhaps get started on the pathway itself.

I also managed to make: the last batch (probably) of apple cobbler, cheddar cheese muffins (which Red decided were deadly poison and kept calling them “cake” and wanting cake and being incredibly pissed off when all I’d offer her were poison cheese muffins), and five-bean chili.

I cannot be accused of being idle. Nay!

P.S. My office smells like dead mouse. Which is nice.


12:53 p.m. ::
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