Barricaded by blood...
My old journal gave up lots of little pleasures. Some of my very favourites were moments with Chloe. Most of my moments since then have found their way onto flickr or paper diaries, do you think LJ will always be here? Should I be duplicating things of importance? Do you?
Though the girls near seven years apart, they are similar. Often Olivia will perform some individual feat previously accomplished by Chloe, something thought to be unique, not merely a stage of development, leading me to point out how much alike they are, feeling the need to tie them to eachother.
Their differences are apparent. Both thoughtful, tender, spirited and fun, one is a soap bubble, no a series of bubbles set free on a puff of air, rising and popping, iridescent in sunshine, merry laughing, wide-eyed. The other indulgent, languid, day-dreamy and sardonic, a summer stream, luxurious, silver movement and cats.
Olivia does not like baths. To be specific, she doesn't like the idea of getting into a bath. Once settled into the frothy heat (jacuzzi jets on, please mom) she'll happily transform into a mermaid and spend 40 min frolicking, dipping, diving, floating in the tub.
Last night, she did not want. What she did want is for me to spend money on webkinz pixels, "It's just ten dollars!" pouting, spoiled princess. To be told no is often too blunt for her. She prefers for me to say I know you want, I would want too. It's hard not to be presented with your every whim and wish, I understand, I do. Sometimes we have to wait for things. Sometimes wishes don't come true and it's very very sad and hard. Then we hug and comfort. But I was too busy. I was too busy shopping for exactly what I wanted an iphone 4 with otterbox case.
Well. I would pay for my error in judgment. I was to be bricked up in my space. Left to wither and die, a punishment be-fitting Parisan royality, my catacomb the kitchen. Olivia shut the french door between the kitchen and living room. She didnt slam it, she has been warned but it shut smart. I didnt pay attention. I was designing my contract with Telus Mobility. When I finally ~finally~ decided on everything, leaving the page up but not hitting send. I strolled across the kitchen. Startled surprise, a scream. OH MY GOD.
Olivia had dragged her toybox to the door, a french door, I could see through to the other side. She had piled pillows, blankets and stuffed animals on top. I was shut in (shut up?). She was ecstatic. Glee and mirth and delight, she had asserted herself and won. The Queen is dead or will be soon. Hahahahahaha. Unfortunately, the door opens in so :(
Obviously, I couldnt ruin her fun. I asked, pleaded, begged, "Will you let me out?"
"NO!"
awwwwwwwww. Though Chloe spent many a time writing me angry messages about my treatment of her and posting them on her door, announcement, a proclamation detailing my faults, she never imprisoned me.
I let Olivia wallow in victory until she missed her mommy. She avoided bath-time, success! She still doesnt know about the door. All she knows is she didnt have to have a bath. It was too late. Instead we played Guess Who, I Spy and cuddled in her bed.
However, today she will get clean. It's Palm Sunday. I rose from the dead a week before Jesus kiss,
XX
Though the girls near seven years apart, they are similar. Often Olivia will perform some individual feat previously accomplished by Chloe, something thought to be unique, not merely a stage of development, leading me to point out how much alike they are, feeling the need to tie them to eachother.
Their differences are apparent. Both thoughtful, tender, spirited and fun, one is a soap bubble, no a series of bubbles set free on a puff of air, rising and popping, iridescent in sunshine, merry laughing, wide-eyed. The other indulgent, languid, day-dreamy and sardonic, a summer stream, luxurious, silver movement and cats.
Olivia does not like baths. To be specific, she doesn't like the idea of getting into a bath. Once settled into the frothy heat (jacuzzi jets on, please mom) she'll happily transform into a mermaid and spend 40 min frolicking, dipping, diving, floating in the tub.
Last night, she did not want. What she did want is for me to spend money on webkinz pixels, "It's just ten dollars!" pouting, spoiled princess. To be told no is often too blunt for her. She prefers for me to say I know you want, I would want too. It's hard not to be presented with your every whim and wish, I understand, I do. Sometimes we have to wait for things. Sometimes wishes don't come true and it's very very sad and hard. Then we hug and comfort. But I was too busy. I was too busy shopping for exactly what I wanted an iphone 4 with otterbox case.
Well. I would pay for my error in judgment. I was to be bricked up in my space. Left to wither and die, a punishment be-fitting Parisan royality, my catacomb the kitchen. Olivia shut the french door between the kitchen and living room. She didnt slam it, she has been warned but it shut smart. I didnt pay attention. I was designing my contract with Telus Mobility. When I finally ~finally~ decided on everything, leaving the page up but not hitting send. I strolled across the kitchen. Startled surprise, a scream. OH MY GOD.
Olivia had dragged her toybox to the door, a french door, I could see through to the other side. She had piled pillows, blankets and stuffed animals on top. I was shut in (shut up?). She was ecstatic. Glee and mirth and delight, she had asserted herself and won. The Queen is dead or will be soon. Hahahahahaha. Unfortunately, the door opens in so :(
Obviously, I couldnt ruin her fun. I asked, pleaded, begged, "Will you let me out?"
"NO!"
awwwwwwwww. Though Chloe spent many a time writing me angry messages about my treatment of her and posting them on her door, announcement, a proclamation detailing my faults, she never imprisoned me.
I let Olivia wallow in victory until she missed her mommy. She avoided bath-time, success! She still doesnt know about the door. All she knows is she didnt have to have a bath. It was too late. Instead we played Guess Who, I Spy and cuddled in her bed.
However, today she will get clean. It's Palm Sunday. I rose from the dead a week before Jesus kiss,
XX