ALL ABOUT: Huginn,Muninn,and Me

First post, Where it Begins, dated 5.2.09. Click to view.

“All God’s children are not beautiful. Most of God’s children are, in fact, barely presentable.”

-Fran Lebowitz

I suppose this first bit ought to be an introduction of some sort, and so I shall oblige. . .

I am Me, wife to one and mother to the other of my two favoritest people in the world. That they are cherished above all else is in no way meant to imply that they are the easiest of creatures to manage. If simplicity is what you seek, I recommend cats; they’re nice, require next to no effort, AND fuzzy to boot. I have one, he’s great. I also am the caretaker of two exceptionally recalcitrant dogs, in addition to the afore-mentioned husband and child.

As if that wasn’t enough for one frail mortal to bear upon sloped shoulders, my determination not to return to work after the birth of my beloved daughter left us with a severe monetary deficiency. I had the exceptionally clever idea to fill that void by taking a couple of work-day children under my proverbial wing. Little man N is now 11 months old, and baby A is nearly 7 months old. Both of these little monsters angels have been hangin’ out at my place since they were around 2 months old. My own darling girl is 1, and swiftly approaching her 2nd birthday. Oh! And did I mention that I ended up with a part-time night job, anyway?

*EDIT* As of January 2010, Puff is 2 going-on-12, Baby A is 15 months old, and Baby N is not hanging out with us any longer. I’ve recently started to sit for a pair of 6-month old twins, and I am pregnant with another due in April of next year. All else remains the same. . .more or less.

EMBRACE THE MADNESS!

But I love them madly, every last one, and so it’s worth the trouble they get me into. Oftentimes I feel quite like Charlie must have on his great glass elevator – (Cracked as a crawfish) soaring uncontrollably into space, hemmed in by such fantastic notions as Vermicious Knids, Goolies, and the occasional Oompa-Loompa or two (Crazy as a crumpet). With nowhere to go to evade such nonsense I find it most effective to fall into it. The world of a toddler is a wonderful escape from the mundane, but you MUST remember to proceed with EXTREME caution, lest you become lost; A trail of breadcrumbs is seldom enough to find one’s way back into “reality”). Am I the mad one at this tea party? That, my friend, can only be determined by the other guests. It all depends on how you look at things anyway, (I highly recommended upside-down) and ultimately everything loops right back to where it started anyway, so maybe you shouldn’t bother to think about it. . .

I am mother, hear me whimper…

 Second post, Where it Begins, cont., dated 5.4.09. Click to view.

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

-The Mad Hatter (as written by Lewis Carroll)

I imagine that I ought to take a moment to give definition to this blog. Just a hint of something to lend some vague shadow of meaning to this chaotic jumble of words. Perhaps we ought to begin with the name of the thing itself.

Once upon a time, long long ago, and far far away, there was this Norse dude named Odin. Odin was a pretty slick character. You know he was made of awesome ‘cuz he had a pair of pet ravens – and who doesn’t want a pet raven?! Plus the Vikings thought he was pretty hot stuff, and everybody knows that Vikings are as badass as it gets. Anyway, said featherbrains were called Huginn, who was associated with thought, and Muninn, whose job was memory. They rolled out at the crack of dawn every morning and spied on everything in the world until dusk, when they brought their master the lowdown. Apparently Mr. Odin was an incredible animal trainer. . .I can’t even get dogs to listen to me.

When broken down into bits, the handle on this blog is nothing more than Thought, Memory, and Me. As a title, it isn’t nearly as prepossessing or enigmatic as one could hope for. Phooey on dispelling mysteries!

And as for the why factor. . .

I first must admit that I have proven to be a complete failure when it comes to journals. Numerous defeats over a 20-odd year period have convinced me to scrap the idea altogether. But when my Puff was nothing more than a wiggle in my tum, I resolved to keep a running record of her intrinsic charms. She’s nearabout two, and I find myself with nothing written on the subject save a few haphazard scribbles jotted into miscellaneous lost-and-found notebooks, and a couple of calendars covered over with arbitrary events. This is a disaster, to say the least, and this blog is my attempt to remedy the situation. I’m no Muninn. My memory has never been what it used to be, and so I must begin collecting the chronicles somewhere, lest they dispel with the passage of time. And so, this.

I can not know if I will be any more successful at diary-keeping in blog format than I have been utilizing the old pen-and-ink method, but one can’t know until one tries, and so I shall. It is not my intention to present a well-written masterpiece, by any means. All hail the comma splice, bad grammar, and abundant ellipses. . .

Incidentally, I’m not a fan of the word ‘blog.’ It reminds me of boogies, monsters that live under beds, and the mild depression that comes after a week of rainy days. As far as words go, this one simply isn’t fascinating. There is no sparkle, no pizazz. I get bored just saying it. There? You see? I fell asleep just now. In the future, rather than referring to this page as a blog, I shall call it: A fantastical conglomeration of brain-pan ruminations. *nods* Yes. I should think that will do very nicely.