A note about potato soup.

I held you in high esteem, but you have ruined your reputation within my house, and within my heart. You should be ashamed of yourself.


...In simpler terms, I spilled potato soup ALL OVER the kitchen floor today. Or rather, the potato soup spilled itself? That sounds better. More like its fault, instead of mine.

Anyway, still yum, but ver disappointing, annoying, and hard to clean up. Curse you, potato soup.


Right now, I'm working on a short story for Halloween. Nothing anyone is going to see, nothing serious, just a bit of practice before NaNo rolls around, and maybe something to save until next year, or even a few years from now, when Trinity will be old enough to understand. She likes hearing my stories.

Speaking of Trinity, she spent time with me today, and oh, how I wanted to beat her but kiss her at the same time! I can't deny that she is, or can be, extremely irritating, but her extreme sweetness, intelligence, and honesty always make up for the bad moments. My God, she is precious.

I never wear my hair down around her, or around anyone, really, because it has gotten so long, but I had just brushed it and she kept stroking my ponytail and saying, "Your hair is so pretty!" I asked her, "Do you want me to take it down so you can play with it?" She told me yes, so I did, and she loved it. "I want to brush it!" she told me, so I let her, which turned out to be a painful experience, but still cute on her end. She then stood in front of me, running her hands through the front part of my hair, but she started grabbing on and pulling, which obviously hurt, so I grabbed her tiny hands and loosened her fingers from my hair.

"No hair-pulling, okay?" I whispered. She nodded, and went back to what she was doing. A few moments later, again, she had two handfuls of my hair and tugged, harder than before. Out of impulse, my voice went up and I yelled at her. "NO, Trinity! Don't pull anyone's hair!" It wasn't a harsh yell, but it hurt her feelings anyway. She dropped my hair and her hands fell to her side, and she slouched off towards my mother's bedroom. Her head was bowed and her lips were pouted, and she looked so incredibly sad that I wanted to rush after her and cover her face with kisses. I called for her, but she didn't respond. Finally, I got up and went into the room, where she sat in the dark on my mother's bed, her arms crossed over her chest. I sat down next to her.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, but you can't pull hair. Not anybody's. It isn't nice." I wrapped an arm around her tiny body, and she rested her head against me.

"Okaaaaaay," she mumbled, still sounding upset.

To make her feel better, I did something that usually worked: "Hey! Do you wanna get on my back?"

"Yes!" she squealed, up on her feet and behind me in no time, crawling up onto my shoulders. I carried her from the bedroom to the living room, trying so hard not to hit her head on anything (and succeeding) to show her mom and my mom. We went back into the bedroom and I laid down on my back, which was her cue to start using me as a jungle gym. She put a pillow on my stomach, counted, "1...2...3..." and then jumped up and landed either on her stomach or on her knees, on my stomach or chest. Oh God, it hurt, but she was having so much fun.

See that? I take the pain just to let her have fun.

A few times, she hurt me pretty badly, standing directly on my hip bone and then standing on my freaking boob. Holy shit, it hurts still. Both of them. Anyway, we had fun. I love spending time with her.

It sounds crazy, but she has so much personality. More personality than anyone else I know. It's amazing. I have a feeling that, with age, you lose and gain aspects of your own personality, but the things you lose are much more... important than the things you gain. Who wants to lose the child-like wonder? No one. I really don't think anyone does. It adds such a beauty to the world, such a magical charm. I like to think I still hold on to at least a small piece of my own child-like wonder, or at least have regained some from spending the past 3 years with a infant/baby/toddler who has a true gift of finding the "Ooh, ahh!" quality about absolutely everything.


It's 10:41 pm, and I would like to go to sleep, but I can't. Not until around 2 am. But fuck, I am so tired.