Good morning, sweet maggots

Because of my job, I leave the house at around 4 in the morning while everyone else is slumbering silently.  Well, almost silently; Eva snores like a jumbo jet landing on the lawn next door.

Before I head out, I generally slip into the girls' room for a quick goodbye (unless I don't have time because I'm searching frantically for taxi money).   I've always had a sort of superstition about leaving without giving them kisses.  It's as though I think that my goodbye kisses will somehow protect them.  Forget those annoying seatbelts, kid, MAMA'S KISS WILL KEEP YOU SAFE.  Go ahead and jump in the car with that stranger who offers you a Kit Kat...MAMA'S KISS WILL KEEP YOU SAFE.  Dumb, I know, but when faced with the overwhelming stress of sending your little butterflies off into the big bad world, you hold onto any talisman you can find to keep the zillions of daily dangers at bay.

Anyway, I slip in and go to kiss them...Eva snoring gently, Addie in her usual position on her stomach with her hands down by her sides.  They're so beautiful when they sleep...so sweet and soft, and for a brief shining moment, NOT MAKING A MESS.

Now, here is another example of how different my trolls are.  With Eva, I could tie my kiss to a cinderblock and drop it on her head from three feet up, and she wouldn't wake up.  With Adele, I could stand across the street and THINK about kissing her, and she'd wake up.  This morning, she stirred in her crib when I kissed my hand and brushed her head with the tips of my fingers...but she went back to sleep.  Eva, of course, didn't MOVE.

That little moment kept me warm inside for much of the morning.

Violent change of topic - there's a spider THE SIZE OF MY HEAD living in our compost bin.  I swear, that ugly mother builds her web out of TWO-BY-FOURS across the mouth of that bin every single freaking day.   Today I smashed through it with a squishy bulb of fennel and some celery that had miraculously turned to green rope while hiding in the back of my produce drawer.  Hoping she'll finally get the message and GET THE HELL OUT OF MY COMPOST BIN.  Hate those things with a passion normally reserved for flying during thunderstorms and picking soggy turds out of the tub with my fingers.

On that tidy note, I'm off to make supper.