Oh, wait - there was lot's of room. Because, it was only me, in a bed, by myself. I stretched and then fell asleep for 6 hrs. S T R A I G H T. Oh my. No pulling, pushing, tugging, gnawing, gnashing, cat-clawing, damp hell-breath. It was wonderful. But, nevertheless lonely. No warmth, snuggling, funny coos, grunts and grumbles, no touchy-feely, no connection. I'm glad, so glad, to be home.

Soon, we will be taking our longest and first family-of-four (not three) trip to Rapid City for a friend's wedding. We have the tiniest car that has four doors - a Toyota Echo and some how we will try to manage 4 people, 2 car seats, and enough clothes, food, toiletries, and qaaludes to make a 4 day trip manageable. I just hope on the way back one of us isn't curled up, shaking, in the fetal position in our surprisingly large trunk. But I have faith it will be fun and the kids will enjoy the parts that don't involve traveling for hours upon hours in the tiniest car that doesn't need to be wound up.

My biggest hope is that we get to visit Reptile Gardens and I can show all the wonders that mesmerized me as a child to Little Miss and Little Man.

Yesterday was one of those blissful Sundays. Strangely it involved me judging a tattoo contest - I don't even have one myself but when you live in a community this small and get pegged as the artsy freak in high school, well, people remember you when it's 10 years later, and 2 days before a tattoo contest and there is nary a judge to be had. It was fun - although I secretly hoped I would get one on the house. But, as the same-same stated, would you really want a free tattoo?"

As fun as that all was, it wasn't the highlight. Oh, no. The Hub got off work early which meant our grand total of together time was bumped up to 2.75 hrs. this week. It was nice, and very walkable outside so we packed the kids in the bike trailer, but did it push style, and ventured off into the breezy, balmy April evening. About 3 blocks away I could tell where we were headed. No kids, we do have a Dairy Queen but the creme de la creme of our fair city is the Twist Cone - which opened on the first day of spring, much earlier than it's usual late-May opening, dependent on all the 14-yr-old "look-who-grew-boobs-over-the-winter" girls, getting out of school for the summer.

So we sidled up to one of the outdoor windows and ordered: 2 baby twist cones, one with sprinkles and a PB cup Twister (not to be confused with Blizzard) made with chocolate ice cream. The coolest here is that they put candy eyes on every cone. Being good, I took my tiny "baby" cone and savored the sweet creaminess. Little Miss enjoyed her sprinkles and I fear I created a tiny multi-colored monster, for that night we hit sprinkle rage, sprinkle despair, sprinkle crash and the next day - sprinkle hangover and sprinkle withdrawal that didn't simmer until a 3-hr afternoon nap, the likes of which she hasn't taken for at least 1 year. But it was worth it even though I myself have had sweets tremors all day.

Tonight was a night of fits. Small ones, but fits nonetheless. Right now I'm fighting the nic. She was my best friend time and time ago. Tonight is bad though. I've hit 5 drinks and the weather is warm and rainy. Many a memory of cigs and drinks and conversation over the calming affect of warm spring rains made a lovely evening with friends. It brings memories of less responsibilities, earned selfishness and seizing of the moment, no concern of the future - embracing now. I guess that's what smokers do. That's what is hard to let go. You don't stop for the now, you stop for future: influences, health, even the next mornings' coughs and headaches. But the now was sweet and inviting; the inner most hugs of sweet smoldering atmosphere you exuded with every puff.

Also, tonight I was going to allow a dessert. Shit! Who needs dessert when there is drink? So I tasted, a small portion of a friends - not even remembering now, what it tasted of. I do know that I succumbed to 1 Coke and 1 Pepsi this week. That is good - for me. My highlight was feeding my daughter a limey cheesecake bar and then licking my fingers afterwards.

Little Miss has learned a great deal about our cordless phone, mostly how to push the button to turn it ON and that O-F-F is how to "TURN THAT OFF AND STOP PLAYING WITH IT ALREADY!!"

I'm talking to The Hub over the phone and I ask Little Miss if she would like to speak to her papa. The usual gleeful "Yes!" comes as a reply followed by, "Papa's quiet, Shhh papa, quiet so mama can turn you on."

Because we like silent seduction here.

Little Miss has jumped with both feet into the pool of make-believe. Before getting bent out of shape by something she's telling us that she has just done we have to investigate to see if this is based in reality or in the surreality of her mind.

Crunchy peanut butter on toast:
"Look at the tiny peanut heads, shhh their sleeping, sooo cute peanut heads."

"Are you hungry sugarpop?"
Walks over the the mini-piano and stomps on the keys. "Piano says no!"

Running into the room - "I spilled tea allll ooover!"
I start to get a bit crabby as we've talked about touching mama's tea a million times, so I ask, "Where?!"
She points to an invisible spot on the carpet next to her overturned toy teapot. "There . . . it spilled eevvverrrryyywwheeerre!"

Spills in the land of make believe are so easy, and why are there so many letters in a "I'm-two-and-I'll-be-3-in-June" girl's word? Ah, dramatic effect.

It's been 2 1/4 days without candy. It's been like quitting cigs all over again. I now realize I think about candy - mainly chocolate - as frequently as people are statistically, supposed to be thinking about sex. My biggest challenge so far: Finding an m&m on the floor and not eating it.

Let the judging begin.

Tonight, at a public event, though family friendly, I'm reminded again that public nursing is only for those with little boobs. Props to those who can stealthly whip it out with little notice or - at the very least - delayed notice. I applaud you. But myself, with the double consonants, can take out a small amphitheater. My nearly-9-mo.-old son was sleepy and cranky so I excused myself to a fairly spacious restroom simply for my own shyness. He still barely latches to the entire nipple, no areole to speak of which, in the beginning lead the and couple months worth of blisters and searing pain but I persevered and nearly nine months later I have nips of iron that have their own loan shark and knee-breaking ring. But, due to my own modesty and having had exposed them more than I'd care to admit to myself during my concert/exhibition phase, I try to keep them to myself and those that need them for practical uses - "Yes, Hub, that's entirely practical."

Swimming along as a happy little fish with a few recently acquired fishy riches, I hit a snag. My responsibility lagged slightly and smack with a paddle right to the head. Ouch! At least the bounce back should be quick as this has come at a time of overtime hours, bonus checks, and tax returns. But just when I think we're ahead something falls through. Blame is pointless and foggy. Paycheck to paycheck is well-toed line - the light at the end of the tunnel is faint, but there nonetheless. I'm wondering how others keep their finances in check? How do you stretch a buck? How do come up with quick cash? Have you ever hit a snag? How were you able bounce back?

There is no one perfect day, weather wise. Here in South Dakota we do not have that - at least not the textbook — southern California, 80F, sunny and balmy — variety.

Here we have weather, we have seasons, each season can make its own perfection. Just last night, at midnight was one of those times. Perhaps, 30F, fluffy snow coming down. The town was dim-lit in that glowy orangeness of the moon's reflection on the new-fallen snow. The tone of which makes everything seem about 5 degrees warmer, inside and out. I started to wipe the wet fluff from my car as the still night stretched before me and I made the perfect snowball - the humidity and temperature hitting just right to form little orbs of kinetic fun. I waited and waited for someone else to come out of the building. Finally, I threw and missed but the joy was in the toss, in the glow, in the melting crystals on my lashes. Today it continues, but with a brighter, busier tone and the Hub and I showed Little Miss the wonderment that snow and weather in SD can mean. We danced in our own little snow globe, perfection surpassed.

Disclaimer:This is even more of a rant post than usual. So, I'm hurt by those who'd much rather be lied to by near-strangers than stomach having to hear a from-the-heart conversation. Delusions can be grand, sure. But from those presumed closest to you, wouldn't one prefer a bit of BASED realism. A bit of . . . um, perception? Sure, those doors can be opened and you don't even need a lying sack of shit to paint you a pretty picture of yourselfm, you can delude that on your own.

Gleefully fulfilling only the shallowest aspects of certain holidays I find myself filling pearly translucent plastic eggs with glittery shiny, metallic wrapped candies and miniature sleeves of sugar-shelled goodness. This will be my first egg hunt as the hider, not the hunter. As I'm filling these tiny cracked treasures - only doing so now, so that I know how many are left over for myself to eat - I notice holes in the ends of each perfect half. Were these left for the tiny plastic newborn chick so that it could breathe until it's miniscule jigsaw was ready to cut the perfect circumference of the egg so that it may stretch out into the sun for the first time? Tiny plastic chicks are a little OCD like that.

The other day my dear sis sent me home with a few of her workout tapes. This is her passion. Shelves upon shelves of workout videos - she doesn't need to buy a membership or pay for extra classes or find a personal trainer - she owns them all. The craziest thing - she uses them every day. EVERY DAY!

So I finally get the ambition to try one and I pick the dance mix thinking Little Miss would enjoy it with my. She loves yoga and breaks out a few poses from time to time so I though she might like dancing. She got the marching part down and then made the mistake of looking over at me while I slid, shimmied, pumped, sunshine-hipped, popeyed, sashayed, sambaed, then "brought the party back". I saw the most horrified look on her face. To say I couldn't keep up is an understatement. My booty was still in aftershocks from the samba when I was five moves ahead trying to popeye.

Not sure if it's whiteness, midwestness, or uncordinatedness. Yes, all the above is an option. But, I can so, SO bring the party back. Uh huh.