#Storytime With Slice Of Life

[whatsupbeanie]

Babies can be so hard to read sometimes haha! I’m just glad I didn’t offend this baby somehow, apparently she just has very intense facial expressions when she’s curious about something. 

[birdmagician]

Do you have a favourite food that when you have that you can't stop eating until it finishes? Many years ago, when I saw an avocado I thought it is the most hideous food I have ever seen. After some time someone convinces me to try it. And after that, it is my favourite food.

[nancypullen]

Hello?

Anyone still here? I don't even remember the last time that I posted. The job is consuming me and I'm looking for reasons not to quit. There, I said it. It's too many hours and I have no life. I don't have time to do a single thing that I enjoy. It's definitely taking a physical toll on me - sciatica, ankle issues, etc. BUT (and isn't there always a but?) I'm stuffing money into my savings, I enjoy my lovely coworkers, and there is potential to do more things that I think I'd be good at...my displays are a hit, the children's librarian is making noise about having me do some storytime activities, and I'm getting better at the things that I found daunting when I started. The library is a comfortable place for me, I just wish they'd cut me back to true part-time, 20 hours a week or less. I wanted a small job where I could meet people and do some good. I didn't want to hand over all of my waking hours. Having said that, I should admit that I've had a lovely string of three days off. Mostly because I had the week from Hell with only Sunday off prior to that. I'm 60, I'm not built for long days and late nights anymore. Only a granny would consider working until 8 pm a "late night". In my youth anything before midnight was considered early. Every night when I get off work my watch congratulates me for being active 9 out of 9 hours.

I don't even want to do anything that feels good for nine hours, let alone stooping, lifting, walking, carrying, pushing carts, and maxing out my smile muscles. Something has to change but I can't bring myself to be a quitter. I hate to quit something that I'm good at, but I hate missing out on my life even more. Now that I've whined about that - what's new with you? Tried any new recipes? Gone somewhere fun? Getting excited about the feel of SPRING in the air? I'm itching to poke around in the gardens. My tulips are all up and look exceptionally healthy, so we should have a burst of color soon. Robins have been singing to us and there's a woodpecker making noise daily which is a sure sign of spring. When the males start drumming they're claiming territory and looking for a Mrs. The birds and squirrels seem generally happier, like they've been waiting for those first sweet daffodils to appear and wake up the earth (maybe that was just me). Any way you slice it, Old Man Winter is packing his bags. He can be slow and stubborn about leaving, sometimes giving us a last blast, but he's definitely departing. We'll set our clocks forward on the 10th and it's going to be so nice to leave work at 6:15 or so and enjoy a little daylight. I miss getting some sunshine during the day. During my lunch break I go down to the wharves by the Choptank River just so I can see some sky and soak up a little vitamin D. Turns out I am definitely solar powered. In other spring news, I ORDERED A ROSE BUSH. That's probably not big news to most folks, certainly not worthy of capital letters, but this one is special. I've wanted one for a while, couldn't find it (at least not at a price I was willing to pay) and if we leave this house I'm going to dig it up and take it with me. It's a Zephirine Drouhin rose. She's a deep pink climbing rose, very fragrant, very hearty, will even thrive in shade (I'm guessing it might not bloom as much) and, best of all, it's thornless!

She's going to be planted in a sunny corner where she can climb all over my little porch nook. I'm so excited! Of course the picture above is a long way off for me. When mine arrives it will look like this...

Never say I'm not a dreamer. I'm positive that this is in my future. Honestly, how could I resist this?

Description

Intoxicating Raspberry Fragrance

Introduced in 1868 and a favorite ever since, Zephirine Drouhin Climbing Rose is a romantic, fantastically fragrant, old-fashioned rose that is still one of the most popular climbers today. No modern rose has been able to exceed it for sheer performance, rich raspberry scent, and generous season-long bloom, and if you make Zephirine Drouhin Climbing Rose part of your landscape, you will treasure its beauty and generosity of bloom.

Peaking in spring and fall, the loose, double blossoms of vivid cerise-carmine provide outstanding mass effect. Each bloom is about 4 inches across, opening from a long, pointed bud and made up of 20 to 24 richly colored petals that are infused with a strong, evocative raspberry scent. Just one flower is a delight, so you can imagine what a vaseful looks and smells like.

This old French Bourbon rose grows vigorously to 15 to 20 feet high and 4 to 6 feet wide and, remarkable for any rose, performs well in part shade. Zephirine Drouhin Climbing Rose is an excellent choice for north-facing walls and areas with little sunlight. Zephirine Drouhin Climbing Rose will continue to bloom in summer, but its heaviest showing will usually be in the cooler temperatures of spring and fall.

The rich, medium-green foliage (coppery-purple when young) is very mildew resistant, and the canes are thornless, making Zephirine Drouhin Climbing Rose great for planting where traffic is heavy or children are nearby. This classic, time-tested climbing rose is the perfect choice to train over a trellis or porch, or trim into a formal hedge. Plant in moist, well-drained, loamy soil. I mean, what more could I ask for from a rose bush? Raise your hand if you think my optimism is setting me up for huge disappointment. I can't help myself. It's like my love affair with hydrangeas - they often break my heart but I can't give up on them. I'm sure that Zephirine and I will become besties. I have no other news to share because I can't really talk to you about funny library moments/patrons. This town is too small for me to try to change names to protect the innocent - people would know. I doubt anyone around here knows I have a blog but I'd rather not chance angry villagers in my yard with torches. I suppose I could talk about the rude elevator repair guy who has been in the building for at least two weeks with no end in sight. Our elevator was due for a complete overhaul so that's what's happening. The foreman on the job is a Trumpy, rude, misogynistic jerk. I said what I said. It's not just me, other employees who have dealt with him say the same. It's something every day. Last Wednesday I was setting up my displays for the month of March and he started making noise about the Women's History Month display. I gave him my steeliest gaze and told him that he is vastly outnumbered and to tread lightly. Then the jerk points at a book and said something along the lines of, "Why is that book there?" I saw what he was pointing at (Kamala Harris bio) but decided to make him say it. So I asked which book he meant, he muttered, "second shelf, far right". I responded, "OH. THE VICE-PRESIDENT? That's history." accompanied by a look that dared him to say more. He walked off and I admit that I was surprised that he wasn't dumb enough to be wearing $400 gold sneakers sold to him by a certain con man. My display was filled with books on amazing women - women in science, women in the arts, women in the military, women from all walks of life and political persuasions. The only thing that didn't belong was a narrow-minded doofus, so I got rid of him. I can't wait for the elevator work to be completed but I admit that I don't want to be the first one to use it. He really doesn't like us. It's probably not just us, I get the feeling that he goes through life like that. That went negative, didn't it? From gushing about roses to wanting to squash a bug of a man. Oops. Speaking of men, Mickey is waiting for lunch and then I think we're going to go poke around at the auction house. I'll make salads for dinner and then do a little meal prep for the week ahead. I'm back at work tomorrow after some lovely days off, so I need to get myself mentally prepared. The Edgewaters came over this weekend and the grandgirl was quite entertaining - lots of playing, fort building, reading, and fun. It was nice to have that family time. Alright, I'm outta' here. I hope that this blog post finds you smack dab in the middle of a good day. I hope that you're content, and that you're taking care of yourself. Feed your body good food, feed your mind good thoughts, and treat your heart with tenderness. Stay safe, stay well, spring forward! XOXO, Nancy

[weirdanecdotes]

I Learned to Hate in Nursery School

This is not an anecdote I share casually. Lovers and husbands have heard it, best friends, a therapist or two. It’s not the kind of story you tell to just anyone. But then, no one who’s heard it has ever believed it so…

In my earliest memories, Papa was going to Georgia Tech and working nights, Mama worked as a bookkeeper for Rhodes Furniture Store, and I got sent to a nursery school when I was two. Small children don’t see the big picture, don’t understand the good reasons behind the arrangement of their lives. They only know what they need and resent not getting it. Maybe I needed more love and attention than other children did. But, I doubt that. I knew for sure that I wasn’t happy being put in a system that only noticed me if I deviated from the prescribed regimen.

O how I cried! And begged! And pleaded every morning, “Please, I don’t want to go, please, don’t make me. Please, Mama, take me to work with you, please don’t leave me in that awful place!”

In retrospect, I feel bad about dumping all that guilt on my poor Mama; she really had no choice. Papa was in college and worked double-shifts at a greasy diner. But they needed more.

From my childish point of view, my parents were as cruel as Cinderella’s, dropping me off into that teeming play yard to be jostled about by other babies whining, “Please don’t leave me here.” It was really a very high-class school located in a white frame house in Buckhead across from Regenstein’s Fine Clothing Store on Peachtree Road. All the very best struggling two-income families sent their tot-bodies to be warehoused there.

The Art Room and Rainy Day Playroom were downstairs in the basement and the other classrooms and an office were upstairs. The facilities were as nice as nursery schools can be, I suppose, and the curriculum wasn’t much different than the way Kindercare’s are run today. I could have been happy if I had accepted the situation, but that was the problem; I just couldn’t get used to having somebody telling me what to do almost every minute of the day.

It was the uncompromising schedule I disliked the most. Everyday followed the same routine without inspiring any moments of joy or wonder. Even in “art,” pressure was applied to make you stay inside the lines.

Lunch was gruesome in its blandness. The dietitian splatted scoops of nutrition on top of each other upon the plates. Hard under-cooked green peas rolled over mounds of over-cooked macaroni and cheese. Chunks of raw pineapple peeked out like the tips of yellow icebergs in seas of green Jell-O. It was simply disgusting.

I always had indigestion after lunch; it was a combination of my seething resentment and nausea over being forced to eat this mess. Yes, forced! At this point in the day, the Director appeared. Scowling and glaring, she patrolled the tables like a storm trooper.

The Director of the school was not a kind, loving woman devoted to small children. Maybe she had been when she started out but some bitterness or disappointment in her life had transformed her into a cold, autocratic despot. She held a wooden ruler in her hand at all times and would slap it against her palm. Slap! Slap! Slap! Like the beating wings of an angry hornet.

Slap! She’d pop her palm right next to my ear and make me nearly jump out of my skin in fright. And if you really resisted eating your canned, sliced, slightly heated carrots, she’d pop you! On the thigh, or the calf, or your shoulder, whatever was handy.

I hated her, purely and with such passion and purpose, and to such an end, as you will soon see, that I have never been capable of hating anyone so much again in my whole life.

After lunch, we heard a story delivered by the Director. She transformed storytime into a boredom to be endured when it should have been a life-enhancing experience. Papa was far more entertaining. The stories were chosen not for any value other than sleep inducement. Because right afterwards came nap time, the break the Director and her assistants waited for all day — and the ordeal I most dreaded commenced.

I was a delicate, little bird-child, vibrating with nervous energy. I only missed being labeled hyperactive and addicted to Ritalin because my parents weren’t rich enough to take me to a fancy doctor. I stopped taking naps when I was 18 months old and still had trouble getting to sleep at night. My imagination was developed during the long hours between the time I got put to bed and the time I finally managed to fall asleep. Maybe I wasn’t exercised enough or maybe I was hyper-adrenal, I don’t know. Sleeping was not something that came easily to me then nor does it now.

Now this Director had a fixation on children actually sleeping during nap time. It wasn’t good enough to lie quietly staring at the ceiling until this period of forced inactivity had passed. Oh no, every little eye had to be closed and if you couldn’t sleep you’d better learn how to fake it!

“Close your eyes, Jackie,” the Director would stand, menacingly, over some small child, “I said, close your eyes!” Pop! She’d swat the kid with that ruler. “Don’t you dare cry! I said, be still and go to sleep!”

Somehow I evaded her notice but right after my third birthday, I got caught. I remember actually trying to reason with this crazy woman, “I’ll be quiet. I won’t talk to anyone, I promise. I just can’t sleep. Just let me look out the window and I won’t bother anybody else.” How pathetic I was. This was a real issue for me. I couldn’t figure out how to explain everything else I hated about the school but I could make my mother understand this part of it.

“I just can’t sleep, Mama, you know I can’t. Tell her not to make me try to sleep.”

“Couldn’t you just try, darling.”

“I do, Mama, I try but I can’t and she makes me pretend and it’s boring!”

My mother complained on my behalf and that made the situation worse. I imagine the Director explaining that it was important to establish discipline in young children, that we needed to learn to eat, draw, and sleep when we’re told and not to question the authority of our elders.

“Well, well, well,” the Director said to me after lunch the next day, “You’re having trouble sleeping, are you? Well, we’ll have none of that, do you understand? When it’s nap time, you go to sleep. Understand?”

“But, I can’t.” I protested.

“Oh yes you can and you will.” Her eyes glittered with malice.

Defiance swelled in my chest and I retorted petulantly, “You can’t make me sleep if I’m not sleepy.”

“Don’t talk back to me, young lady. If you can’t follow the rules then you can’t be with the other children. We’ve got a special place for problem children like you.”

That was ominous; I swallowed hard. “Come with me,” she snapped while grabbing my arm and jerking me along beside her. I didn’t cry or whimper. I matched her willful glare for glare. I was cold with anger. She yanked me down the hall and shoved me into the bathroom. After saying, “This will take care of you,” she shut and locked the door.

I couldn’t believe it. She had locked me in the employee bathroom! It didn’t seem real. I put down the seat on the toilet and climbed up to sit. My skinny legs dangled over the sides of my high perch. The bathroom was a windowless, white tile cubicle. There was a grubby bar of soap, a dirty hand towel and a partial roll of toilet paper.

At first, my punishment didn’t seem too bad. I hummed a little tune and listened to it echo around the room. I began to tell myself a story like I always did when I was alone and bored. I was starting to build up a plot line about being a princess that gets stolen by Gypsies when discomfort began to interfere with my concentration.

My perch on the toilet was cutting off the flow of blood to my feet. I tried crossing my legs and leaning back against the cold ceramic tank but it was hard not to slip off and the chill edged into my back muscles. I got up and paced around my little cell. There aren’t any comfortable places in a bathroom, really. I tried lying down in the tub but it was hard and cold. Ditto the floor. Even sitting on the floor became intolerable after a few minutes because of the cold tiles.

“Solitary confinement.” I’d heard the term in a prison movie I’d seen on our neighbor’s TV set. It drove the guy in the movie crazy. I wondered if I was going to start raving and screaming like he had done. I wondered if other “problems” like me had pounded on the door and begged to be let out.

I washed my hands for want of anything better to do. I managed quite a bit of play out of the soap bubbles and that got me humming again. I decided I wasn’t that unhappy with my punishment. It beat lying on my mat with my eyes squeezed shut.

Drying my hands, I got the idea of laying the towel out on the floor and lying down on that. The floor was still hard but the towel took the chill out of it. I lay down on my side and studied the caulking between the tiles in the floor. I rolled on my back and imagined clouds on the ceiling. Then I started up my story again.

The princess was about to be rescued by the mysterious prince when the Director jerked open the door suddenly as if to catch me in a criminal act. I jumped up startled.

“Come along,” she said cheerfully, “It’s time for Outdoor Play.”

As I followed her out to the play yard, she confidently asked in a sickly sweet sing-song voice, “Have you learned your lesson?”

Her attitude and her question so surprised me that I laughed incredulously. I couldn’t think of anything to reply. She stopped and turned on me, all sing-song gone, “I said — have—you—learned—your—lesson?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. I couldn’t figure out what she meant. I hadn’t learned how to sleep on command if that’s what she wanted to hear.

“You were asleep when I came in,” she declared smugly.

“I was not,” I shot back without thinking.

“You were!” She hulked over me, clutching the ruler up in the air like she was going to swing it and chop my head off.

I shrank from her anger but held to the truth with a feebly muttered, “Was not.”

She started hitting me with the ruler. After beating me until she was red in the face, she demanded, “Are you going to be a problem at nap time again?”

I had cried during my beating; it hurt and I was still sniffling and swallowing hard from the sting of it but I clenched my jaw and narrowed my eyes, “No. You can lock me in the bathroom again.”

“Ha!” I think I surprised her, “Okay, we’ll see who wins this little test of wills.” Then she turned on her heel and went off to pick on somebody else.

I whispered to her back, “I’ll win,” I smiled with my certainty, “Cause you’re gonna be dead.”

In my childish mind, the Director was crazy. The Director was mean. And the Director deserved to die! As soon as possible, some how, some way, I was going to kill her dead and that was that.

“I had to give Sally a spanking today for lying,” she told Mama later.

In case you were born decades after I was and don’t understand why Mama accepted this and didn’t sue the school or call CPS to report child abuse, the answer is: Almost everyone beat their children! This was The South where “Spare the rod; spoil the child” was the guiding rule.

Driving home Mama wanted to know what I had lied about and I told her, “I can’t sleep at nap time so she locked me in the bathroom. It was cold and hard but okay. I played by myself. She came in and said I was sleeping and I wasn’t. Then she hit me.”

Seeing that this little telling had disturbed my mother, I tried to reassure her, “It’s okay. She’ll be gone soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s gonna die,” I stated.

“Oh, Sally,” Mama moaned, glancing at me anxiously, “Don’t say things like that.”

That night I hardly gave a thought to the Director. It was a given, a done thing. First chance, I’d kill her. It never crossed my mind to figure out how a small child was going to overcome a grown woman. I thought nothing of guns or knives or poison. I was going to do it. Period.

The very next day we were downstairs in the Art Room. I was sitting at a table pasting magazine cut-outs onto a piece of construction paper when the door upstairs opened and I looked up to see the Director coming down the stairs ahead of her usual schedule. I had a clear shot at her and I fired. A raw, uncivilized bolt of primal hatred lanced out of my eyes and hit her squarely in the stomach. She doubled over, lost her footing, and fell with a scream down the length of the stairs to land with a terrible thud on the concrete floor.

I jumped up, knocking over my chair. Everyone did. The Director was a twisted heap on the floor, convulsing, twitching blindly, frothing at the mouth and spitting blood. The crumbled mess moaned horribly.

I threw up my breakfast. Children started screaming and running out the back door into the parking lot. Teachers and assistants ran frantically about, some after the children, others to stand a foot or so away from the Director, fearful of touching her. One of them had to jump over her to race up the stairs to the phone to call an ambulance.

The Director’s thrashing diminished to a rhythmic rocking from side to side and her moans rose into wails of agony. Tears blinded me. I stumbled a few steps toward the mess that I had made and it looked up at me, not really seeing. I wanted to say something to her. I wasn’t sorry; I didn’t feel at all sorry or guilty—not then. But I didn’t feel triumphant either. Everything I felt in that moment was summed up in three words I said to her, “I didn’t know.”

I didn’t know!

Jimmy Cagney said, “Aaaargh,” and fell over when the FBI riddled him with machine gun bullets. He didn’t turn into a spastic, blood-spitting, pain-wracked heap of broken bones. Movies and TV weren’t at all realistic in my youth; nothing had prepared me for the reality of life and death and mutilation. What I had done to the Director was a horrifying, nauseating, bad thing.

The power of the mind is an awesome force, dear reader. I tell you I knocked a woman down a flight of stairs without ever touching her. By the sheer force of my hatred, I brought terrible grief to another human being. I didn’t know such things were impossible. Before I knew I couldn’t or shouldn’t, I did.

As I stood there looking down on what I had done it was like I was an empty jug being filled with the cold waters of guilt. I began to sob uncontrollably and beg, beg, beg the Universe to undo what I had done.

The nursery school was closed while staff, parents and children waited for the Director to be taken out of intensive care. But I found no joy in staying home with Mama given the circumstances. I tearfully confessed but she didn’t believe me. I reminded her that I had told her the Director was going to die.

Her reassurances were rather odd. “You’ve done that before,” she used the kind of nervous but cheerful tone that always crept into her voice when she entered areas of thought that disturbed her, “Remember. You said my friend Norma was going to be sick and she got appendicitis, remember. Did you make that happen to Norma? No, of course not. And Jill, you said her baby was going to come when it wasn’t due and she went into labor that night. You said it’d be a boy, too. Now, did you do that? Of course, not. It’s just coincidence.”

I tried to repeat the word. “Co-in-C-denz,” and she explained, “A person says something and then it seems to come true but not because the person said it.”

“But this is different,” I insisted, “The other times I just knew something, this time…”

“Not really,” my mother interrupted, “You’re always talking, always saying funny things, sometimes, well, just a couple of times, well, anyway, like I said, it’s just coincidence.”

Mama was actively censoring her data to conform to her reality view, which did not include premonitions or psychic phenomena. I was left without guidance in a torture chamber of guilt. A couple of days later, I overheard my mother telling a friend, “The Director’s going to survive. Her leg was broken in multiple places, her hip fractured, her arm broken, her shoulder dislocated, but the worst damage -- this is interesting -- was caused by a wooden ruler; it broke two ribs and punctured her lung. She carried it around with her all the time.”

This last bit of ironic justice eased my guilt. Yes, I had done a bad thing and vowed to never hurt someone like that again. But, the Director was a bad person, a mean woman who tormented small children and someone needed to do something about that. It had fallen on me to save myself and the other children.

The Director needed over a year to mend so I never saw her again. By the time she returned, I had moved on to a public kindergarten program. But, the school re-opened without her and was improved by her absence. The same schedule was upheld; the food was still bland. The overly cheerful teachers and their assistants were still overt in their mock enthusiasm. When I told one of the assistants that I couldn’t sleep during nap time, she asked me not to disturb the other children and gave me a book. After that I spent all my nap times flipping through illustrated books and other children did, too. Without the menace and the malice of the Director, their system was tolerable.

[hi-i-am-a-sock]

Hi there!

Today I'm gonna share some tips for language learning!

So, we all know that understanding spoken language is a very important skill. Hovewer, developing this skill may be quite difficult. Here are some tips that helped me and might help you:

• watching subtitled videos/videos with script. This is a really good method to memorize pronunciation rules and to get used to them. On the other hand, you shouldn't abuse it, otherwise you'll end up not being able to understand the audio without them. A nice tip for beginners.

• for trying to develop actual speech understanding skill you should constantly exercise, starting with the most easy-to-understand audios and gradually going to real-life conversations/TV-shows/others. I reccomend to change the learning material (moving to a more difficult type of audio) when you can easily understand 90-100% of the grammar and 80-90% of the vocabulary, especially if you understand how to write the word and can search its meaning without problem.

• I'd really reccomend starting with Peppa Pig. It has easy but varied real-life conversations, different voices to get used to, not so difficult grammar and is translated in lots of languages. Of course, if you learn an endangered/not popular/dead language, there can be ploblems with finding something, but if there are Peppa Pig/other cartoons for little children episodes available, go for it.

• after Peppa Pig some toddlers/pre-teens cartoons are fine. Especially if there aren't many fantasy elements (these can create difficulty with vocabulary). I'll probably make a list with a couple of them later. Tell me if you're interested :)

• if there are easy-to-understand videos made by native speakers specially for foreigners, they're really cool too. People there usually talk slowly, put subtitles (just remember not to use them too often) and explain lots of things about culture/history/common mistakes. These may be really useful not only for improving your language skills, but also for learning new stuff!

• gamers are also great, especially if they play translated games. Not only can you learn vocabulary and some informal expressions, but you also have fun! Another advantage is that gamers usually have good microphones and the audio quality is really great. Sometimes they start to ramble a bit, so you probably will learn something not related to games, too. I'd reccomend watching Sims let's plays because there are lots of slice-of-life situations. Damn, you can even learn about architecture and furniture!

• if you're not really into video games, you can try storytime videos. Drawings really help to understand the context and people there usually have good microphones, too.

• if you already have an advanced level, trying niche videos is fun. Not only will you learn new things from different spheres, but also tones of vocabulary! Relationships, computers, art, mechanic, fantasy, science — you can learn whatever you want!

• songs are great for different reasons. First, you get used to unusual word order, learn new words and grammar. Second, songs usually get stuck in your head, so it's easy to remember things. Third, it's more difficult to catch the words if they're sung, so it's nice practice. Fourth, music makes you feel better. Don't forget about your mental (and not only) health when learning!

Well, that's all for today! If I remember something I forgot to mention, I'll add it or write another post. If you also have tips, feel free to write yours!

Have a nice day and good like with language learning!

[gnfkitten]

storytime with mari

Lately I've been beta-testing my Twitter oomftual's webapp and within the last week of testing it:

The number of daily active beta testers has dropped an order of magnitude, according to him.

I am pouring my heart, life, and intimate coming of age thoughts into this webapp that is public and probably unencrypted.

This has probably been the most intimate I have been in writing for over a year.

The energy for this kind of dedication most likely derives from my residual crush on the dev.

When people say love makes you crazy, what they really mean is that love makes you beta-test a webapp for free.

I am recalling an old post I made on Mastodon about a similar time this happened: "maybe i dont want to betatest your webapp maybe i want to kiss you on the lips"

Clearly, I was more punctual, and more aware of what I wanted.

Of course, I would be an idiot to admit any of this in the webapp.

Luckily, I am enough of an idiot to admit this on a public Tumblr with leaky opsec.

Oh wait. I was enough of an idiot to have said I was gay on the webapp.

Though, the exact word I used was "homosexuality".

Perhaps the recent vividness of my attraction to men has affected the intentionality of my behavior.

In any event, I like to think that whenever he messaged me about my writing he was just asynchronously refreshing the webpage and reading the updated appends.

Like the rest of the beta-testers, when they want to get caught up on each other's activity.

Assuming, of course, that these beta-testers are particularly active.

(They are not active, as I have implied.)

Frankly, I think he gets a notification whenever someone sends a message to the webapp.

If that is true, then he's gotten plenty of notifications from my part of the webapp.

It is most likely true, because it seems like he's running the webapp on a personal server.

Oh. He's running it on Replit.

Oh. He has his code and account on Replit.

Which makes sense, because you need to pay Replit to have private conversations.

Did I say conversations? I meant repositories.

I wonder where that word came from.

To be honest, I am resisting the urge to stalk him.

Which is also funny, because some of my internet experiences and knowledge have -- how should I say this -- refined my awareness of the latent contextuality of public social activity on the internet.

I have it in good faith such problems will sort themselves out with time.

Emphasis on time, because I should finally mention that he lives in my opposite timezone.

We actually have a very narrow slice of synchronous time.

I do not foresee him moving to my timezone nor I to him.

I'm not sure why he would, or I would.

He has friends in other places.

Do I count as a friend to him?

He seems receptive to making friends.

I suppose "making friends" will be enough bounds to have an overdue conversation with him, very soon.

[stuckybingo]

Stucky Bingo Round-Up #37 (May 31st Part 2)

The current round has ended! Stay tuned for more news on the next round!

Can you tell me how you and pops met? by Laevateinn Square filled: Adopted square - AU: Werewolves/Vampires Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Slice of Life, werewolves au, Though whether it is canon adjacent or modern AU is up to you Summary: On that cold winter night, Bucky was sitting at the head of his daughter’s bed, the pup clad in her fluffiest nightclothes, halfway curled on his lap. It was storytime, and he had no idea what to read to her. Format: Short oneshot (300 - 1000 words)

Silver Screens, Silver Dreams by Metalbvcky Square filled: N4 - AU: Pornstar Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply, Light Dom/sub, Daddy Kink, Age Difference Major tags: Modern AU, Pornstar AU, Filming, Sex Worker Bucky, Pornstar Steve Summary: Bucky gets an opportunity to film a scene with his boyfriend, also famous pornstar, Steve when another star cancels at the last minute. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

The Monster Under The Bed by Sivan325 Square filled: B5 - AU: Soulmates Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - High School, 3+1 Things, silly fic, Fluff Summary: Soulmate au where anything you leave under your bed will appear under your soulmate's bed. Reaching your hands into the dark space beneath your bed will cause them to appear beneath your soulmate's bed. Format: Short oneshot (300 - 1000 words)

Looting the Baron's Treasures by Dogsled Square filled: B1 - Concubine Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Concubine Bucky Barnes, Past Bucky Barnes/Helmut Zemo (implied), Protective Bucky Barnes, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Protective Steve Rogers Summary: As the siege breaks and the battle wanes, Steve finds himself in Baron Zemo's quarters, where two people are hiding from the bloodlust beyond their curtains. Steve has a choice to make. Format: Short oneshot (300 - 1000 words)

Behind The Lens by smutconnoisseur Square filled: B3 - Kink: Lingerie Ao3 rating: Mature Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Lingerie, Photography, Seduction, Shrinkyclinks Summary: Bucky has been in the modeling world a while, and when taking the opportunity for his first risqué shoot with an admired photographer, he can’t resist. Format: Short oneshot (300 - 1000 words)

Night Fury by Dogsled Square filled: N1 - "Your work has been a gift to mankind" Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply, PTSD, night terrors, sleep paralysis Major tags: existential crisis, nightmares, hurt/comfort, parenthood, guilt Summary: Bucky doesn't sleep well. Sometimes things from the past come back to haunt him. Format: Short oneshot (300 - 1000 words)

The Playbook by Dogsled Square filled: B2 - Enemies to Lovers Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: percieved homophobia, bullying, steve is a little punk, bisexual bucky barnes, college AU Summary: Steve Rogers is a little punk and Bucky has had enough of it. Format: Short oneshot (300 - 1000 words)

Water's Warm by Dogsled Square filled: G2 - Kink: Hot Tub Sex Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: hot tub sex, pwp without porn, thor is not stupid, avengers family, never have I ever Summary: It takes a while to snag a little privacy after the party. Format: Short oneshot (300 - 1000 words)

Picnic on the Moon by Dosgled Square filled: I3 - Space Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: homesickness, picnics, fluff, established relationship, IN SPACE! Summary: MCU Bucky is the Man on the Wall, and he takes Steve on a little adventure in space. Sad vibes! Format: Short oneshot (300 - 1000 words)

Leap of Faith by Dogsled Square filled: N3 - Free Space (but also my adoptable: Drunken Hookup) Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Semi-Public Sex, First time blow job, Alley blow job, Goodbyes, drunkenness Summary: Bucky is leaving in the morning, and Steve can't let him go without making one last desperate leap of faith. Format: Short oneshot (300 - 1000 words)

Parsnips by Dogsled Square filled: G3 - Steve coming out of the ice wrong Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply, Briefly mentions HTP (but Steve is mistaken) Major tags: Sexual Dysfunction, PWP without Porn, First Time, Rimming, Wakanda Summary: Steve has a terrible secret, and he's not sure how well Bucky's going to take it. (Please note: Brief HTP mentions but Steve is mistaken, mostly.) Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

Carry Me Home by Dogsled Square filled: O3 - Secret Injury Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply, Mistaken MCD (by himself) Major tags: Sleepy Kisses, Near Death Experiences, Gunshot Wound, Canon Compliant, Post-Battle of Azzano Summary: Bucky is shot during the prison escape (in The First Avenger). When he realizes on the march home, he has to decide whether or not to tell Steve. (Canon compliant! Not MCD!) Format: Short oneshot (300 - 1000 words)

Giggles by Dogsled Square filled: B4 - Tickling Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply, light breathplay Major tags: tickling, consensual kink, oral sex, light bondage, established relationship Summary: Bucky teaches Steve about one of his kinks, and while at first Steve's not sure if he likes it... Format: Short oneshot (300 - 1000 words)

[whatsupbeanie]

That time my sister had to leave home for a few days and recorded herself reading me a bedtime story so that I could fall asleep.

[legolasghosty]

Autumn prompts! Our friend is too good at telling ghost stories at this sleepover, can I please sleep in your bed with you? + your most indulgent rare pair?

“Hurry up!” Reggie called as Julie hoisted herself up the last few rungs of the ladder. “I wanna eat!”

“No eating in the treehouse until everyone is here,” Bobby reminded him, reaching over and giving Julie a hand up.

“Pfft, you’re just saying that cause the only one that wasn’t in yet was your girlfriend,” Luke teased.

Julie blushed, still not used to the label. “No, it’s just a rule,” she defended him, scooting over to sit between Bobby and Alex on the treehouse floor.

“Sureeeee,” Alex smirked, poking her in the side.

She squealed and ducked away, ending up tucked right against her boyfriend’s side. She went to move away, not wanting to make the most touch averse member of her band uncomfortable, but he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. When she glanced up, his face was bright red, but he didn’t make any effort to change their positions.

“Okay, post gig pizza, now!” Reggie demanded, reaching for the box. He flipped it open and grabbed a slice without waiting for a plate from Alex. 

Julie chuckled at his enthusiasm and took the paper plate Alex offered before accepting some pizza from Luke. “Here’s to another successful gig!” she cheered, reaching for the cans of root beer.

The boys echoed her cheer as they all dug into the food and drinks supplied by Julie’s dad. Julie rested her head on Bobby’s shoulder as she ate, glad that they had planned to all spend the night in his treehouse. She was way too tired to bike all the way home. 

Luke started raving about their Eats and Beats gig in between bites, rambling about Reggie’s bass solo and Julie’s vocals and Alex’s fire and Bobby’s energy. Julie relaxed against her boyfriend as Luke tired himself out. Bobby’s arm shifted a bit, pulling her closer. Reggie lay on his stomach, kicking his legs back and forth as he ate. Alex leaned back against the wall of the treehouse, interjecting snarky commentary about Luke’s guitar playing whenever the boy took in a breath. Julie felt herself settling into the easy rhythm of the band dynamic.

It had taken ages to get here, what with Luke and Bobby’s blowout back in sophomore year, the brief stint where Alex had been living in this very treehouse after his parents kicked him out, Reggie joining the Molina family, first as a foster kid and then as an adopted family member, and the short period of time where Julie and Luke listened to the kids at school more than themselves and dated.

There had been mess after mess after mess, but they made it through. They were all out of high school, Julie just barely, and they were a band. A family. And they’d figure this whole life thing out together. 

Luke finally ran out of words and flopped backwards onto a beanbag. “Good gig everyone,” he stated.

“Well, now that our fearless leader has finally shut up,” Alex snarked, “I think it’s storytime.”

“We’re not in first grade, Lex,” Bobby griped, but his smile was obvious. 

Alex always told the best stories. He always had, since back in middle school when Julie met him. They got paired up for a creative writing project and she’d discovered the power of Alex’s words. And they all had some issues winding down, especially after gigs, so… Storytimes with Alex had been born. A way for everyone to listen to something entirely separate from their own lives and work off the adrenaline. 

Julie stood up, passed everyone paper towels to wipe off the pizza grease, then grabbed the bag of chocolates her dad had sent with her. “Okay, no more than three, anyone,” she warned, setting them down in the middle of their little circle. Then, daring to be brave, she sat back down in Bobby’s lap. He started a bit, but wrapped his arms around her waist before she could move.

“Alright, what kind of story do you hooligans want?” Alex asked, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders.

“Scary story!” Reggie declares, tucking his pillow under his head and giving them all a wicked grin.

Luke gave him a horrified look but Alex’s face split into a slow, twisted smile. “Okay. I can do that.”

Julie felt herself holding Bobby tighter and tighter as Alex spun a tale of an evil ghost magician who stole souls and made them dance for eternity. The ghost, a jazzy madman, sneakily collected the souls of some recently deceased young musicians, musicians just like them. They signed their souls away without knowing just what they were in for. And they didn’t find out, not until they were forced onstage night after night, forced to play something they hated, and kept apart whenever they tried to resist. In the end, the musicians were destroyed, all of the music drained from their souls, and the magician was eyeballing some new talent, young lifers teetering on the edge of disaster.

When Alex stopped talking, Luke had a death grip on Reggie’s hand, both of them looking terrified, and Bobby had long since hidden his face in Julie’s hair. She could feel the tension in his shoulders where they covered hers, could feel his heart racing in time with hers against her back.

She took a shaky breath. “Geez, Alex, why?!”

“Reggie said scary,” Alex defended. He didn’t look sorry in the slightest. “Okay, I’m exhausted, time for bed,” he said, yawning.

Julie slowly nodded and clambered up, stumbling over to the nest of blankets that was her spot for the night. Luke didn’t seem to be letting go of Reggie’s hand any time soon, but their sleeping bags were right next to each other anyways. Alex dropped onto his giant beanbag with a satisfied smirk, pointedly ignoring the middle finger Bobby gave him on his way to his own blankets.

Bobby flipped off the lantern that provided the only light in the treehouse now that it was pitch black outside, then Julie heard the rustle of him climbing into bed. 

“Goodnight guys,” she called softly, receiving a chorus of shaky responses. 

She rolled onto her side and closer her eyes, trying not to think about evil gay jazz hands and being tethered to a passionless piano for eternity. A plane flew overhead, filling the quiet night air with sound for a few moments before leaving it even emptier than before. In the near silence, broken only by the chirping of some cicadas or something, she swore she could hear catchy jazz music. Goosebumps rose all up and down her arms.

“Jules?” 

At the sudden voice, Julie bolted upright, almost slamming right into Bobby, who was crouched above her. “Oh, Bobby, hey, you scared me,” she gasped, trying to be quiet. “What’s up?”

Bobby’s face was hard to see in the darkness, but his body language seemed kind of… embarrassed. “I just… the story was really scary… and I was wondering if I could come sleep with you? So we can protect each other from jazz ghosts?”

Julie chuckled under her breath and lifted the blankets. “Yeah, that’d be great actually.”

Bobby sat down on the pile of pillows and blankets that made up her bed and slipped under the big fluffy one she was sleeping under. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, so Julie moved closer to her boyfriend.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” she checked.

Bobby rolled onto his side, his face visible in the moonlight. “Yeah, I’m very okay with this,” he whispered, leaning forward to kiss her gently on the cheek.

Julie felt her face warming and when he lifted an arm for her to cuddle against his chest, she didn’t hesitate. The sound of his heartbeat drowned out the haunting jazz music playing in her head. His arms were strong and steady around her, one finger gently playing with the curls at the end of her braids. She wrapped her own arms around his waist and settled in.

“Goodnight, Bobby.”

“Goodnight, Jules.” And if it was the best she’d slept in years, well… no one needed to know that. She was pretty sure Alex figured it out though, if the teasing grin and the little, “You’re welcome,” he whispered in her ear during breakfast the next morning were any indication.

[cowsuponcows]

Storytime!

So I was going to get a snack from the kitchen (6 or so slices of cheese) and my dad stopped me, confused. 

“What are you doing?” he asked me. “Getting a snack,” I replied.

He then told me to make a grilled cheese sandwich.

When life gives you cheese, make a sandwich.

[proxylynn]

[Who wants to hear a fairy tale?

It's called "The Golden Goose".

(I already know this one.)

Ann: Me too.

[...Shut up, I'm telling it anyway.]

[Once upon a time, in a land faraway,

Lived a farmer, who worked hard everyday.]

(Oh, God, there's rhyming too?!)

[Shhh!! (Also side note: I'm not typing from a book, I made the rhymes on my own like a badass 😉) *Ahem* Anyway:]

[ Everyday, at sunrise, and not a second past,

He would tend to his crops first, his animals last.

The cows for their milk, the sheep their fleece,

The pigs in the mud, filthy and at peace.

The eggs from the fowl and then he could rest,

The chickens laid plenty, but one other bird, laid the best.

A single goose, feathers pure and white,

Gave the farmer a miracle it made overnight.

The farmer of course, no one had he told,

The plain looking bird laid a egg made of gold!

Dawn after dawn, for 12 days straight,

The farmer was able fill a dozen crate.

To market he'd travel, not waiting a minute above, And back to his home, with the finest of anything one could think of.

Day after day, repeated the cycle...

But night a thought kept the farmer up a trifle.

The bird, every dawn, laid just one egg of gold, there must be dozens inside overnight are on hold!

The farmer thinking rashly, before even going to bed, Grabbed his axe, straight from his shed.]

Ann: If I've learned anything from Alan, weapons that look like that mean trouble...No offense.

(Hatchet.)

Ann: I said "IF IT LOOKS LIKE"!!!

[Quiet you two, I'm almost done...where was I? Oh, right, right:

Into the barn behind the henhouse,

Slept the Golden Goose, quiet as a mouse.

In walked the farmer, selfish greed in his mind,

That once kind, loving man, he'd long left behind.

In one quick slash of steel and blood...

The goose was sliced open, no longer it stood.

He grabbed the poor, cruelly slain animal,

To search inside...Alas there was no gold after all.

He cried out in the night, realizing his mistake: Becoming a greedy fool, a life he was willing to take.

And for the rest of his life, he now truly despises,

The golden shine the sun gets when it rises.

The End.

Soooo, Yans? Lynn? Marlo? Anons? Everyone?

What did we learn from the story of "The Golden Goose"?]

[Storytime with Ann.]

{Always appreciate what you have, as wanting more might cost you everything.}

[farzanatradingcompany]

Veggie Picasso: Artistic Activities to Introduce Children to Vegetables  

Introducing healthy eating habits to children can be a colorful and creative journey. By turning vegetables into art, you not only make healthy eating enjoyable, but also encourage positive associations with nutritious options. In this blog, we explore Farzana Food Items Wholesale Distributor UAE , the Veggie Picasso, a series of art activities aimed at introducing children to the world of vegetables in a playful and imaginative way.  

1. Vegetable stamp:  

Cut vegetables into different shapes and make them into stamps. Potatoes, peppers, and carrots make excellent stamping tools. Turn ordinary vegetables into artistic masterpieces by dipping them in non-toxic paints and letting kids create vibrant prints on paper.  

2. Lettuce carving:  

Encourage children to create edible sculptures using a variety of colorful vegetables. From cherry tomatoes and cucumber slices to carrot sticks, this activity not only inspires creativity, but also makes snack time a delicious hands-on experience. 

3. Vegetable rainbow:  

Instruct the children to arrange vegetables of different colors in the shape of a rainbow. Discuss the importance of eating different colors to get a variety of nutrients. This activity not only teaches about nutrition, but also creates a visually appealing masterpiece.  

4. Vegetable collage:  

Have the children prepare vegetables, glue, and paper and create a vegetable collage. This not only develops fine motor skills, but also allows them to explore the textures and shapes of different vegetables.  

5. Portraits of painted vegetables:  

Attach vegetables to the end of the stick and use it as a brush. Children can dip vegetable brushes in different colored paints to create unique vegetable portraits and appreciate the diverse shapes of vegetables.  

6. Vegetable doll:  

Turn vegetables into dolls by adding googly eyes, hair string, and craft sticks as handles. Children can use these vegetable puppets to tell stories and create a playful environment that encourages interaction with vegetables.  

7. Vegetable garden mosaic:  

Have the children draw a mosaic pattern on a large piece of cardboard or paper using colorful vegetables. This collaboration not only promotes teamwork, but also allows children to appreciate the beauty of vegetables in groups.  

8.Veg print wrapping paper:  

Extend the Veggie Picasso theme to gift wrapping by using cut vegetables as stamps on plain paper. Let kids create their own unique wrapping paper designs that celebrate the beauty of vegetables and add personality to gifts.  

9. Vegetable rainbow smoothie:  

Blend different colored fruits and vegetables to create bright and nutritious smoothies. Discuss the health benefits of each ingredient and make making and drinking smoothies an educational and delicious experience.  

10. Vegetable Storytime:  

Combine vegetables and storytelling by creating stories where vegetables come to life as characters. Turn reading time into a vegetable Picasso adventure by encouraging children to use their own vegetable characters to illustrate the story.  

Introducing vegetables to children through artistic activities not only makes healthy eating fun, but also creates a positive perception of nutritious foods. Veggie Picasso opens a world of creativity, imagination, and discovery, providing kids with a fun and visually stimulating path to vegetable-rich meals. 

[ao3feed-stevebucky]

Can you tell me how you and pops met?

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/5Hw7pZq

by Laevateinn

On that cold winter night, Bucky was sitting at the head of his daughter’s bed, the pup clad in her fluffiest nightclothes, halfway curled on his lap. It was storytime, and he had no idea what to read to her.

Words: 450, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of Stucky Bingo 2022

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

Additional Tags: Ficlet, Slice of Life, werewolves au, Though whether it is canon adjacent or modern AU is up to you

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/5Hw7pZq

[littleunicornblog]

5 New Holiday Traditions to Start with Your Little Ones

Many of us grew up with traditions that have become so ingrained in us that the holiday season would feel unnatural without them. But now that you have your own little ones running or crawling around, you might wonder how you can create holiday traditions they will cherish forever. Start by making these new traditions a part of every holiday season. The more consistent you are with your unique rituals, the more they will stick with your children. Here are five great ideas to inspire your own family holiday traditions.

Enjoy Christmas Eve Storytime Christmas storytime is an excellent tradition for young families because children and babies of all ages can get something out of it. Reading something like “The Night Before Christmas” on Christmas Eve while curled up with a Christmas-themed muslin blanket is an excellent way to get into the holiday spirit and give your children a fun activity to look forward to every Christmas Eve. Have a Tourist Day in Your Town This is definitely a family tradition that just gets better and better every year. Take your little ones out for a tourist day in your town. That means bundling up with a cozy carseat footmuff and some soft and warm swaddle blankets and going out to explore. You might stop for hot cocoa or a slice of pie at one of your local shops. Or maybe you’ll pick up a trinket or a new ornament for this year. Have fun with it! Take a Silly Family Photo This creative tradition helps you catalog and hold onto your holiday memories over the years. Starting when your little ones are just babies, you can see their growth over the years and have fun coming up with silly photograph ideas. This is also an excellent opportunity to use your adorable photo blankets as a backdrop for your family photo. Surprise Your Little Ones This tradition is so fun because it changes yearly, yet stays the same. Your little ones always have a surprise to look forward to, but the surprise aspect keeps the excitement alive. It can be a small surprise like a sweet treat or something a little bigger like matching pajamas to wear on Christmas Eve together. Make a Signature Holiday Dish or Treat Food has a special sentimental place in everyone’s heart. Making a signature dish or treat is an ideal way to celebrate the holiday season and create a tradition for the whole family to look forward to every year. Incorporate the entire family into the cooking or baking process to make it even more special. With these five traditions, the holidays will always be your baby’s favorite time of year. About Little Unicorn Both new and experienced parents just want what’s best for their little ones, from the things they eat to the baby products they grow up with. That is why Little Unicorn only makes the highest quality baby products for you and your family to enjoy. Their products go through rigorous safety testing to ensure that international safety standards are met so you can get back to all of the precious moments of parenthood without concern. You can find everything from swaddling muslins to diaper bags, carseat canopy options, large burp cloths, and more, all featuring beautiful, hand-painted designs. Whether you’re looking for a showstopping baby shower gift for expecting parents or just want some new items for your nursery, Little Unicorn is your one-stop shop. Little Unicorn is always there for all the beautiful, messy, and unforgettable moments in your family’s life. Make your holiday traditions come to life with the help of baby supplies from https://littleunicorn.com/ Original Source: https://bit.ly/3FpQwsW

[mothman-ate-my-socks]

Oopsie 😬

Okay so storytime- I'm here trying to fill up some empty houses, right. And I'm deleting ugly sims with extreme prejudice (I'm looking at you, Moyer) and coupling random sims on the street. Well. I happened to couple up the pizza delivery sims (completely on accident, mind you) their everyday clothes fooled me into thinking they were acceptable members of society... now, I'm not talking about their work uniforms. They Showed Up at the house in their work uniforms which was how I found out they were the pizza sims. And I was like Okay Alright this if fine its actually kinda cute because. Pizza sims. And so after The Fastest Romance Speedrun In My Entire Life I made them try for baby so they could have their little baby pizza slice. Maybe I'd name them Pepper because. Pepperoni. Or maybe Mozzy/Ozzy or Ella for Mozzarella (Twins? 👀) or Tommy because- you get the idea. I thought they were supremely cute. Pun intended. but now. Now I'm so sad. BECAUSE THE MOM. HATES CHILREN DODJFJJDJF *FLIPS A TABLE* 😭😭😭

[meteor-writes]

Good morning @flashfictionfridayofficial ! Not sure if this is too late but I've been reading some YA lately and this sort of just fell out of my brain! Cute little kids make me broody 🥺🥺

The Doctor Will See You Now - 480 words

"Does it hurt?"

Peter's brown eyes are large and shiny and his tiny little hand reaches out to touch my knee.

"No sweetie," I say, cupping his sweet little chin in my free hand and using my other as gag quell the screaming of my other elbow.

Does it hurt? Mate, it feels like a fucking lion ripped my bone right of my skin and is now using it to rub the wound raw. I want to say, "yes baby, it hurts like a bitch" but Peter's too young to understand the nuances of swearing and would probably say it to Aunt Trish, which whilst true, still isn't okay for a six year old boy to say to his mother. Or any age year old boy. I'm a big believer in the b-word but I'm a woman and I know I dont hate women. Right now I hate poorly designed roundabouts.

Peter moves up around my body, his little face suddenly set with determination as if he's just graduated nursing school and knows exactly what to do. I'm still on the ground after my fall, nursing my fucking-hilarious funny bone injury.

I didn't think looking after my cousin would be this dangerous. He's a very soft little boy. Never gets into fights, scared of butterflies. He usually wants to sit in my lap and read one of the library books with the painted pictures but Dad told us to get out of the house. Uncle Billy is collecting the last of his stuff and Aunt Trish has a few divorce papers to sign. Dad is there to make sure the pen stays firmly out of anyone's eyes, so it's ironic I'm the one getting hurt.

"Mia?"

Peter is up by my shoulder, crouching down so his face is close enough to mine I can feel the dried sugar stuck to his cheek. I have to make a conscious effort not to startle and elbow him accidentally - hurting the both of us.

"Yes Peter?"

"Hold still."

It's hard not to do as I'm told when a chubby-cheeked six year old is giving me the Aunt Trish pointed 'I know better' look. So I sit still, watching Peter fold his legs under his body. Gently, he pushes my hand until I release my elbow. It's grazed. Bright red rivulets forming on the pale skin. Peter gasps.

"It's okay-" I start but Peter lifts his hand. The doctor is speaking now.

"I know what this needs."

And, without any further explanation, the boy bends his head down. With an exagerrated pop of his lips he plants a wet kiss on my agitated skin.

"There." He says triumphantly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "All better."

If anything the stingings worse.

"Thank you, Peter." I say, grabbing his cheek in my hand and pressing a kiss into his forehead. "I feel much better now."