A million little hands, and no naps.

How is it that Ender always seems to have one million little hands, ready to grab, twist and rip, but I only ever seem to have one? While he is not crawling or walking, he definitely has learned how to scooch his little butt around the couch and across (and off) my lap. This makes any time on the couch a constant wrestling session. Except, of course, when he is asleep. Then my precious little angel can be surrounded by a number of things that usually cause a hazard and a nuisance. Nail clippers, bank cards, cell phones. These are all things that you probably keep near on hand without thinking. Now I keep filing these things away, and then promptly losing them.

This morning I had what is called 'civil war breakfast'. It's really great. You take some stale cornbread (which I made yesterday with cornmeal and whole wheat flour, makes it more filling) heat it up in the microwave (not period, ha) and butter it, then you put some honey on it. Pour milk over the whole thing, so it's nice and mushy. You end up with this delicious sweet cornmeal type porridge stuff. It was great because I kind of overbaked the cornbread so it was very dry and not so great for eating. There are still leftovers though, after my civil war breakfast (which my husband refused to try, despite my prodding) so I suspect it will be served with the brown sugar and mustard glazed ham that just came out of the oven.

I've also been writing a screenplay. As of...yesterday. I don't really want to give away the premise, in case it actually gets made into some crappy university movie that I can show people some day. Either way, writing it has been interesting. It's actually a rewrite of a screenplay that I wrote while in university. It seems in the computer switches over past years, it didn't survive. It wasn't heartbreaking though. I remember it being strong in concept and weak in execution, so I was happy to have a chance to rewrite it and pep it up with my older, wiser, writer's voice. Writing a screenplay is very different than writing a short story. You can't use overly flowery language, or it sounds trite and horribly contrived. The key (for me) is to dumb down the language of the characters to an almost foolish degree. Then it sounds realistic and not like ten different Nicoles in different outfits acting out a drama.

I am extremely exhuasted, both in mind and body. The winter seems to just be dragging on. My baby carrier has not arrived, Friday being the last day before, according to Babyhawk, it is officially 'late'. Last night Ender woke at midnight and didn't go back to sleep until four, and then woke again at seven for good. Mike is napping before work. I wish I could nap. But I can't. I'm not sure why, maybe it's the coffee I desperately guzzled upon waking. Sometimes I just wish someone was around to take care of me, while Mike takes care of the baby. Someone to brush my hair and rub my back and tell me everything is going to be just fine, as long as I make it through this one day. One day at a time.

In response to my last (rather pathetic) post, my grandmother suggested I attend service at a Unitarian Universalist church. For those of you who don't know abotu Unitarians, I'll send you to this site, where people can explain what Unitarians believe much more succinctly than I ever would be able to. My grandfather was a Unitarian minister and I always enjoyed attending service there. I like how God is taken in the abstract, and its emphasis on social justice and community. I think that's what I need right now.

That, and a nap.