Feeling Betty Botter’s Bitter Butter at Home……Under Devon’s Look of Death

I have been told…..according to the “Law of Attraction,”  there is either Love…….or lack of love.  I feel I’m in a blurry in between. Not sure what I was drawing to me tonight in facing an unfortunate plight after taking one, two…tooo many bites, which is so unlike the careful food faring me. Quit counting in the pleasure of the moment, until….Found out! Caught!  Causing and Affecting a certain……  In- coming! that even the illusion of time could not prevent or delay.  Love’s frequency waylayed in taking on a barrage unmatched by any other: Devon’s calculated look of death just now.

Should really feel more sad than this.  I am in bed, contemplating an early retirement,  in Mark’s green terry bathrobe.  Punching out a Click clack Mooooooo blog in bed. Covers drawn cozily around me like a Jo Boaler fireside MATHS chat.

The door opens a creaky crack in submission to an inevitable quieter punctuation.  The scowl and beginning of an insidious silent treatment, prefaced by a more loud and animated assault only moments ago.  At the door, she waits….calculates, in a Tell Tell Heart-like way, minus the coal oil lantern.  This kind of creeps me out, the way she stretches the fowl emotion in the moment’s downloading, like the stretch of a threatening rubber band, until complete, taut, and then slack again in leaving. Will she murder me in my sleep, or is that just the CSI season premier playing in the front room?

Realize I have been holding my breath.  Sigh relief, laying down a weary burden of guilt in disolving into pillows. Softer than selecting  and sitting on a  NYC busy “just painted” park bench after a longgggg day and longggggger Central Park walk.

I am the unsuspecting, unbeknownced sitter , unaware of ‘Wet Paint.” Reduced to base somatics in plunking down on a bench, and over dosing on cookies.

My bed is a leary cell mate. Submit happily to it at the end of the day in wishful abandoned promise of welcoming  office visits.   No mercy migratings today.  Just home to the Justice Center.

The gray primer paint will not wash off.  Have to wonder if I have set myself up for this…in poor late night choices, and in allowing myself to be this tired in work and love arrangings.  In this I have been in and out of almost sick.  Like a Rocky Moutain spotted tick.   Keeping foolish late night writings  I yawn, and wonder when and where I’ll ever learn.  In my dreams.

Guilty of two offenses. The first, neglect of body and deprivation of blessed sleep. The second…..I ate the crust off of the Devon’s blondie pan of goodness.

Bond set at….to be determined, but have a hunch it will involve buying additional Wilco baking pans at Bed Bath and Beyond.  Actually, I did not simply stop, and restrain in sampling.  I………wolfed  the entire lucious perimeter of the buttery delight.  Thought into existence the law of attraction in the form of my daughter’s exellent baking had made these especially for me.  I was wrong. She had made them……but secretly for herself, and maybe her dad, her favorite. Likely because he changed a burnt out headlight on Big Black for her.

Tried to think back to this morning …….when she liked me more.  When I took her into school early to take an Algebra Quiz, worth 100%  good feelings, in spite of sleep deprivation.  And perhaps some compensation for being the caring parent attending Parent Teacher Conferences.

I love my Devon.  She is a great example to me.   She is a successful seeker of exellence in academics, and in most things of life.   In matters of boys….quite the novice, much as I am quite the novice in matters of teen age girls, and in making and keeping friends.  I am swallowing dry tired consequences, under the wrath of a foster mother making me eat my bread crust.  Defiance is an eight letter word that when disected remsembles a once intended, beautiful fiance, much like “the little mermaid” who taught the vocabulary lesson this morning…longs for a lover far across a cold, obsidian Coppenhagen sea in castles and cloud wishings.

Now I covet sleep in a like manner.  And will submit to this thing that has what is best for me in mind.  I will dream of softer beds, and cheerful Guild Club quilted comfort on a blue nagahide sickbed, shared with Teagan, and Marren, where we will search for search for our daddies together in taking secretary controlled substances, and Benadryl creams.  Just glad the epi-pen packing  nurse leaves that cupboard open for  me to play with extra longgggggg applicator Q-tips

I am not alarmed by the sound of a tamper proof defibrilator, nor by a random hallway hug from Marren.  Or the returning hugs of Braedon, that come more and more like a favorite magazine subscription of Popular Science.  He is a new customer, like the other email men in my life. The boy checks in with me just about as often as I check in on my boys on email and gmail.  Cyber hugs, and real hugs, and Temple Granden squeeze chute dress hugs feel good.  Almost as good as how that hot, 9×12 cake pan hugged those curling blondie love-handle hips, before I had my way with them. Buttery love. Some day I will learn the rules of friending, and love, and parenting. Maybe.

I am not normally the cookie, blondie type, or any sweets type any more……Sport the caviat, “Bring me apples, or bring me death!! But tonight I had several weak moments, in a row……Rows that intersect perpendicularly, a lot like the chocolate chip cookie dough crust.

I enjoyed every bit of it.  Should have known better than to have come between a Devon and her desert creations.  If I had eaten the crusts off of bread, it would have been a NON-event. I hate eating bread crusts.  But I had crossed the line…BIG TIME…..entering into a kind of cookie “point of no return.  Now I was just another amateur no body bakery taster in the presence of “the Devon.”  I have been demoted.

Feeling sooooo exhausted today, toafternoon, tonight….nearly fell asleep in my meeting. Thankfully, I did not but came close, afraid that in one or two looks, Karen, the NUES lady may have seen me twitch in trying not to close my eyes in her book making informance.  I was truly sorry, but could not help it.  Suddenly empathizing Jason  in his Monday morning pass out, and crazy sleep walk routine into calapse of the “Dead Weight” move.   I am forever seeing myself in the unruly derelict student. ha ha.

Found myself in gentle threatenings to call his mom.  He finally came around, and as the day progressed, he redemed himself.  At least enough for me to praise him on the phone to mom, before requesting her assistance in dealing out an earlier bedtime routine.

Devon was not nearly so forgiving with me,  as I was with Rip Van Tinkle, the boy who likes to sleep through MATHS lessons, and then leave to go to the bathroom on a whim.  I make one last trip myself.  Then melt away to the sound of rain outside, still enjoying the buttery, battery, after taste, in spite of just brushed Tom’s Cinamint teeth.


About hrobertson2013

“Each man ( and mermaid) will be like a shelter from the wind and a refuge from the storm, like streams of water in the desert and the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land”. Isa 32:2 NIV Warning: The author of this blog is not an ordinary individual. Even Mermaids need a rest from all that's real and grown up. Welcome to the wonder of blog. Come be audience to all that's wet and wild in her stories, poems and thoughts. Instructor by day, super hero by night, and mystical mermaid by summer. Whenever she has the fortune of diving into a pond, reservoir, or mountain waterfall, you'll find her there swimming, and singing songs of life.
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