One of the philosophies I picked up with FlyLady was that it doesn't matter if you "mess" up with your diet (or routines, or cleaning schedule) because you can always start over. Every day is new, every hour is new, and you shouldn't write off the whole day or week or task just because you've had a bad day.

Glucose monitoring is a lot like that for me. Never a good number to be seen for a while now. Downright bad numbers, all of them. Some marginally less bad but... still.

This will be fine. I'll get through. We'll get these numbers knocked into shape soon. And then... control will be mine again!

So on Thursday, just after Marc left for Alaska, the darling girl decided to get out of her seat on the school bus and go exploring. With fun and predictable consequences. She tripped, fell, and cracked her head open when she hit the floor. 911 was called. Paramedics were summoned. Stitches were placed in her adorable forehead.

Did she learn anything from this? Not really. She's almost four. This is the age of discovery. Or, at least it was when I was that young. I was her age when I jumped on my bed and fell, splitting my lip open on the headboard and earning my first set of stitches.

Two days later and she's still running around, climbing the furniture like a little monkey, and getting into everything in sight. It is inevitable. These will not be her last stitches, I'm sure. Just the first set. I did, however, pause at Kmart that night, just outside the sporting goods department. They had little pink crash helmets for sale.

Tempting.

Parents want to protect their kids. The temptation to put them in a bubble is there. We know how many things can go so horribly wrong. The kids don't notice, don't comprehend the dangers, don't really care. They are exploring their new world in all it's wonderful glory.

This is a short character piece following Alexa and Samuel. Plot bunnies are hopping around, and they're finally forming a coherent sense of where it wants to go. Maybe there will be a plot, maybe I'll work it up someday into an actual book, but for the moment they're still just two fun people in my brain that pop up in wierd ways.

Feel free to review and comment.
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She doesn't remember how she got here, to the middle of the gardens in the darkest hours of the night. Her dreams were full of the torches again, ears ringing with the beat of her heart fluttering like a trapped cat. We've been here before, she thought. The trees were bare against the sky. Leaves crunched under her feet. The dirt was wet with frost and it seeped through her stockings.

The moon is wrong, she said. The stars are wrong.

It should have been the Silver crescent, not the new moon. It should have been the southern cross above her, not the northern hammer. How did I get here?

Not even a blanket around her shoulders. Her shift was too thin for the cold. She didn't notice it. The shivers had nothing to do with it. There's blood on her right shoulder and she doesn't know how that got there either but it fits. Somehow it's right that she should bleed.

There's someone coming towards her now. Slow, deliberate. Darkness following. She looks around, finding neither statue nor bush to hide behind. The trees are all too thin to mask her. Heart beating faster. A rabbit now, caught in a snare. He's here, oh gods, he's here, and she's being caught up in a solid grasp.

Wrapped in a blanket. Scratchy wool, warmed by his heat, and it holds her arms. She hides her face in his shoulder. No blood. No smoke. It's a scent she used to know. One that is recognized, deep down, that slows her heart and makes her breath catch in a sob.

"Alexa," he says. "Come back inside. you need to rest."

"Did you see them?" she asks him. "They came for me. I had to hide."

"You don't need to hide anymore," he tells her. "It's going to be alright. Come back inside and let me warm you back up."

"They'll find me if I go back inside."

"They will not take you, Alexa. Word on it. Come back."

She let him lead her, then. Back to the Keep. Back to a room where there was warmth and light and the dreams didn't chase her.

I had, as you all know, breast reduction last fall. The whole process went very well; the only thing I might have changed would have been to use a female doctor. Whether you are looking for a Female Plastic Surgeon in Los Angeles, or one in your own area, it's important to make sure that they're board certified. Look at the before and after pictures- they might be graphic to some, but it's important to know what you're getting and as every woman knows the reality of the physical form can be altered by what undergarments you choose.

My own before and after pictures were interesting. I felt so self-conscious in the before shots. Boobs down to my waist without anything to hold them up. Yet if I did hold them up they looked like saggy half-deflated long balloons, two days after the carnival. After? I have yet to fully get used to the new nipples. And the breasts? Perky! Smaller! The skin irritation from chafing that was almost perpetual is gone. Finally. I have a real cleavage, and my clothes look better, and I feel less self-conscious about myself in a way that hasn't been since... ever. I had a wonderful experience, and because of my earlier abdominal radiation it was a challenge to get a good result. We managed it, however, and all thanks to my own board-qualified surgeon. If this is something you've been pondering, don't be afraid to go ask more questions about it.

I finally finished the crocheted coverlet. Three cones of green and white yarn, cotton, which will wear well and be cuddled by my children during the chilly afternoons/evenings over the next several years. I love cotton- have I mentioned that yet? Cotton is one of my favorite fibers to work with. Readily available, pretty inexpensive, feels yummy when it's washed and dried. Easy care. Beautiful finish.

Next up- the two dozen pair of wool socks. Have I lost my mind? Not so much as some other people, I think. It's certainly going to be a challenge to get them done by September. Here's to fast knitting!