Like a Cat

Speaking of cats, The Awful Mother had another litter. She removed them from our sight, and I have no inkling as to their whereabouts or state of alive-ness.
Has she eaten them?
Has she not?
I don’t know.

What I do know is that she’s having her kitten-bearing abilities stripped from her. A penalty for eating her own kin. The jury (made up of me and the guy I married) was in unanimous agreement… the cat must and will be barren.
It’s better that One Awful Womb should perish than entire litters perish in starvation and cattibalism.

That said: I met with my counselor on Friday. He gave me a list of 8 “c” words that kind of encompass an emotionally well-balanced person.
Curiosity was at the top of the list.

“Curiosity?” I asked, “What does that mean?”
(Obviously, I’m not lacking in the curious area, even without knowing EXACTLY what he meant by it. Or maybe my nose is just brown.)

“A healthy appetite for the world around and beyond you.”

I have it in spades, and not the irritating variety that plagued Pinocchio.
I want to learn HOW TO DO new things.

I don’t care if I’m perfect at doing them, but I can’t satisfy this hunger to learn the HOW behind things. I fall head first into canning jam and I love it… I love the sweat on my forehead that beads up and falls onto the syrup spills on my counter. I love the steam, the botched batches that make me laugh and wonder WHAT I’m going to do with them because throwing them away feels sad.
I make myself laugh, thinking of giving them away as “heartfelt” gifts… and making the receiver eat it in front of me thereby pressuring them into lying about the greatness of the jam that doesn’t resemble jam so much as it does ROCK CANDY.
I move on from water bathing jam to freezer jam which is easier and better and my blood sugar hates me for it.

I tear apart a sewing machine but the ending result is that I CAN SEW PAJAMA PANTS and do basic repairs on pillow cases.
I make my own cleaning supplies.
I buy essential oils and make my own bath soaks and healing cocktails.
I want to pull taffy but I’m too lazy to buy a candy thermometer, and I’m trying to brown my nose up not just toward my counselor but my BLOOD SUGAR as well.

I get after my daughter, “Don’t you start a bracelet before you finish crocheting and put away the paint before you get out the duct tape (for wallets).”
“But I’m not done with the paint…”

This curiosity thing is hereditary, and I can’t truly expect her to put her yarn and paint away in favor of jewelry making when I’m sitting on top of my own pile of yarn while I scrapbook.

This morning I woke up after an evening of working on my gigantic granny square project which is going to look something like:

And I felt the hunger -the ache -the NAGGING CURIOSITY to do something I’ve been dying to do for years. More than pull taffy. More than make my own make up so I don’t have to keep buying it because I always get the shades wrong and don’t realize HOW wrong until I run out of foundation, quit wearing it because I’m too cheap to buy more, and get no less than 4 compliments on how my color has improved.
I want to make cold-pressed soap.
I want it more than I want lunch.

Making cold-pressed soap at home

I’ll wait until Christmas to buy some supplies… but truly, my curiosity is ticking like they say it should.
No issues here.

The other 7 “c” words… they need more work. I’ll list them here so you can do a quick self-check and maybe bum a little off of my sessions.
CONNECTED (to others, God, self)

In other news, we went to Disneyland for our 10th Anniversary, and here are 5 quotes -one from each of us -to sum up the experience.
“This is heaven! HEAVEN!” ~Lacy

“When I grow up, I am never taking my kids on that ride.” ~Trenton, on Space Mountain

“HI, HONEY!” ~Alice (pronounced Eliza Doolittle style, without the Hs)

“This was the best idea. I almost don’t care that we’re going to have to amputate my feet.” ~Mom and Dad

I learned that though many claim the beach to be amazing, it doesn’t hold a candle to the wide open spaces of Arizona. Why?

Here’s a family picture of us at the beach. My toes and everyone other certifiably crazy person in my family who thought the beach was really exciting.
It’s not exciting. Unless terror excites you.

I’m grateful for beaches, but I’ll retire in the cactus and have my pineapple shipped in thankyouverymuch.

Can I really make it until Christmas to order my soap making supplies?

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