hit it

the skids have started music lessons.

before the lessons there was some question by the teachers about their age readiness for their chosen instruments. bub nailed it. his teacher said he's good to go. and he knows his right from his left - but only if there're stix in 'em. now i have to find a kiddie drum kit and a house to put it in. kid can't practice without a rig.

because foo is 5, she's a little small and young to start on guitar. i've been trying for months to find a teacher willing to even let her try. she pish'd the idea that's she's too little and impressed the shit out of her teacher (foo's her youngest student ever!), and learned the E chord within minutes of trying. she's been practicing at home, and was kind enough to share her knowledge.



i woke up to find this note the other morning.

(translation: To Mom: I love you because you are great. Love, Foo)

And not to worry friends. I am fine, but if I don't find a place to live and money to live on, I'm honestly more fucked than I've ever been in my life. Writing needs to go on hold 'til I can sort it all. Emergency $upport hearing coming up soon, I hope. The mofo is in contempt of more court orders than an LA Law attorney, and I am ready to throttle his completely unethical ass. I had to quit writing for a bit because my hands are covered with boxing gloves.

I'm pissed and I want some semblance of a life back. I sure as shit don't need the husband, but everything else is mine to keep. And I'm sick of waiting to get it back. It's not my way.

OK. Hush, now.

Behold the music. The skids and I are finally starting up that Foo Fighters cover band, Food Fighters -- just as soon as they can play anything. No sense in letting all those lyrics go to waste. I think by mid-first grade we'll be all dialed.

xodana