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Dramatic production put on in our living room last night: She brought all her American Girl dolls downstairs, patted all their little backs, rocked them, sang to them, and put them in a chair to watch TV. Why? She needs Marisol, the new American Girl doll. She borrowed a catalog from a friend at school yesterday. We weren’t even out of the car line before she was shoving Marisol in my face. LOOK! Marisol! She’s only available in 2005! (It’s only March, I pointed out, and it’s past your birthday and nowhere near Christmas.) I can get her for spring! she said. What? We are now getting spring gifts? (Where’s mine?) Easter! she came up with. Sigh. She is difficult to resist, especially since I happen to love American Girl dolls, too. I pointed out that I hadn’t seen her play with her dolls lately. No sooner did we arrive home than the production of doll-mothering began.
I have no idea where she picked up her evil ways.
Posted by Suzanne McMinn | PermalinkI’m falling in love with my merman. I’m not sure if there is any point in writing the rest of the book because after the scene I wrote yesterday, there is no way I’m going to let this other wench have him. HE IS MINE. I’m jealous of her. I want it to be my soft lips he places his hard ones against, my desperate mouth he breathes his oxygen into, my needy tongue he accidentally touches with his, my cold, shivering body he holds underwater against his lean, mean, hot, safe-but-dangerous build. I want to know that twenty feet above us on a dark, storm-washed bridge, terrorists would kill me but for this amazing man of secrets who pulls me into the deep blue and mysteriously, shockingly, oh so sexily, keeps me alive.
I would live undersea forever for him.
I bet he doesn’t even have a cat that will wake me up at 3 a.m. EVERY DAY. Cats don’t really like water….
Posted by Suzanne McMinn | Permalink
"It was a cold wintry day when I brought my children to live in rural West Virginia. The farmhouse was one hundred years old, there was already snow on the ground, and the heat was sparse-—as was the insulation. The floors weren’t even, either. My then-twelve-year-old son walked in the door and said, “You’ve brought us to this slanted little house to die." Keep reading our story....
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November 2009
"First it's glowing, then it's snowing! A pause, then screaming squalls and williwaws. Bright but bitter, then a thaw. Yet again it's cold and storming: What ever happened to global warming?"
Friday, Nov 20
Fair
Currently: 51˚F
Feels Like: 51˚ F
Hi: N/A˚, Lo: 34˚
weather feed courtesy of weather.com - thanks!
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