I was outside with the boys while Dave was bathing Katrina, and something or other was really bothering her and she was crying up a storm. It was really, really loud, punctuated by full-body screams, and the whole neighborhood must have heard it. It worried me rather than bothered me, despite the volume and intensity, because it sounded like painful crying instead of angry tantrumy crying.
Julian asked, "Can the moon hear Katrina?" I half-joked that she was pretty loud, it must be able to. "NO," said a scornful, skeptical Gabriel. "Of COURSE the moon can't hear Katrina." Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Moon's Ears....ah, a childhood gone. "She has to be even louder than THAT for the moon to hear her!" Whew.
As soon as I was done trimming Gabriel's disgusting toenails, I went to check on her, and by then she was fine. A rear-end rash, best guess. It reminded me that we actually haven't had any major tantrums in a while.
Dave and I and our architect were livid together about something this jerk at the city building department told our architect today. He wants to charge us a "developmental impact fee" for adding bedrooms, which we're not doing, but he insists our house is a 2BR/1BA. And it was, 30 years ago, but has long since already been a 5BR. What makes him think it only has 2 bedrooms now? Friggin' realquest.com!!!!!! Never mind those pesky official city records!
I'm finding myself feeling almost insecure these days, I think because my home is so topsy-turvy, with projects everywhere. The kitchen still isn't unpacked, boxes are in every room, and it's just a mess. Nothing serene or comforting at all. And despite the rental's vastly improved kitchen, bright sunniness, attached garage and big leafy trees out front, I miss our house. Warts and all, it had character and quirkiness and unexpected spaces.
Anyway, that's the least of my worries right now. Much more pressing is the auditory range of an orbiting natural satellite.
6/10/08
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