It was about eight am when I pulled into the apartment complex my brother has been calling home for the last few years. I found what looked like it could be a guest parking area and walked to the door with numbers next to it that matched the directions he had given me.
*knock knock*
*nothing*
*knock knock* a little louder.
*nothing*
A car was pulling in… real slow, maybe it was low enough to want to meander over the speed bumps. Or he was checking me out. *skeevs*.
*honk* - oh sweet jeezus I'm in the ghetto of Boise Idaho and I'm being honked at!
*is absolutely not turning around*
"Just go on in! I don't think he's awake yet." a man shouted from the car. Oh yeah. It's Boise Idaho. Chances are if you don't know someone yet ; someone you know, knows them. So I went on in. (hated that- it's just wrong.) Did the guy in the car really think I was going to wander around in this apartment opening doors and looking for my sleeping brother? And what the fuck was he doing sleeping? I decided to try knocking on the inside of the front door … thought maybe he would hear it and wake-up from THIS side of the door.
*knock knock* The door suddenly opened inward, into me.
"Oh!" The man from the car said. "Sorry!" He looked at me the way any normal person would when they realize they're answering the door from the outside of the apartment.
"Hey. Which room is my brothers?"
"Ummm… I think probably if you go upstairs he'll be in the one with the door shut." OH. So he didn't live here. Duh. Flop house. People coming and going anytime they want. Madness!
"Great. Thanks." I ventured up there and knocked rather loudly on my brother's door just as the man downstairs did me the favor of shouting "GUY! WAKE-UP!" in the scariest shouting voice ever heard. Guy's door flew open and he stood before me rubbing his eyes.
"Lance kept me up all night!" he explained hastily.
"REOW!" Lance confirmed that this was possible.
"I stink." Guy told me.
"Oh?"
"So I'm not going to hug you."
"Thank you?"
"The washer here is broken. This shirt's okay 'cause it's brand new but the pants almost ran away when I tried to put them on." Oh for gawds sake, this was going to be a long ride.
"Okay, don't worry about it. I'm going to go fold the seats down in the back of the car." I wandered back into the sunshine of a beautiful morning, breathing the fresh air gratefully. We made trips in and out, up and down the stairs loading things in the car. Then he handed me a box. A small box.
"Will you carry Lance? I'm going to get the tv"
"The cat is in this box?" It had a handle on top and was shaped in a way that made you think you might be about to eat chicken.
"RWEEEOOOOOWR!" Lance protested.
"Fuck! He's moving in there! I can't believe he can breathe let alone move! This is the carrier you were talking about?"
"Yeah. He's fine, you're just carrying him wrong."
"Well I've never tried to carry a cat in a box designed to hold KFC."
"What?" he laughed "It's an actual temporary carrier from the humane society, it says so right on the side."
"yeah, yeah. I can read."
Once we had everything loaded I was climbing in on the driver's side when Guy says. "Wait, your car is smoke-free, isn't it?"
"… yeah." The cigarettes I smoked on the trip there don't count because no one saw me do it and I aired the car with all windows down for nearly fifty miles every time.
"We should smoke before we go." I climbed back out. "Can I bum one off you?" he added.
"Oh for craps sake Guy! You're totally rock bottomed out, aren't ya?
"I told ya it was bad."
"We shouldn't have put the cat in until the last minute." I mused. "And I still can't believe you fit that cat in that box. How did you make it go in?"
"He's a push-over!"
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
A Series of Unfortunate Smells Part Two
Approximately ninety miles later and after a mind numbing hour or so of political arguing. Wait. Not arguing so much as me saying "That's not even true" over and over. With a few "What are you a communist now?"s thrown in as he described his plan to save the world.
Then the cat's stead mewing became something else. It was more urgent.
"I think my cat needs to stop." Guy informed me.
"yeah. You're probably right" I grudgingly admitted and took the exit ramp leading to a rest area. It was an incredibly short off ramp. WAY too short to decelerate from the speed I had been driving and just before the stop sign was a cattle grate. Can't be stopping short on that so I had even LESS time to stop.
Oh hell I'm just making excuses. I stopped short like nobodies business. Everything in the car shifted forward.
"RAWR!"
"Dew(ed)!" Guy had actual fear in his eyes. "What are you doing???"
I laughed at him "I had to stop!" As soon as I stopped the car Guy was out and around to rescue the kitty cat. I came around to help him and found him half holding the cat to his chest and he says,
"Dewww! You made him piss all over himself!" he was outraged! and to the cat "It's alright. You're okay."
"There goes the box"
"The box is fine, I had newspaper in there." he assured me. I watched him take his shirt off and use it to wipe the urine off the lower end of the cat. Anytime Guy was actually holding the cat, the cat was perfectly content, staring around with big stupid blue eyes at us.
"Alright." I stretched out and then grabbed my cigarettes out of the car, walking to a picnic table and sitting face out. "We'll hang out here awhile and see if he chills out."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
"How many times did you stop on the way here?" he asked.
"once." I tossed him the pack of smokes. "Because I had to fill the tank."
"You're a road nazi!" he said. "NO STOPPING! No eating! No peeing! No smoking!" we were giggling.
"Are we there yet?" I joked and in another voice, "Did I stop?" *laughing* "NO!"
"Yeah," he continued, nodding "You're one of those weird robot people. You don't seem to need anything like a regular person."
"I'm not a robot!"
"I don't think the cat is getting better." We watched Lance on the other end of the leash Guy was holding, hunkering down seemingly trying to become one with the pavement.
"Yeah. I don't think so either. Let's head out, the sooner we get there the better."
to be continued... very shortly. fast as I can type it. Really! I'm not even editing! (like you didn't notice *wry grin*)
Then the cat's stead mewing became something else. It was more urgent.
"I think my cat needs to stop." Guy informed me.
"yeah. You're probably right" I grudgingly admitted and took the exit ramp leading to a rest area. It was an incredibly short off ramp. WAY too short to decelerate from the speed I had been driving and just before the stop sign was a cattle grate. Can't be stopping short on that so I had even LESS time to stop.
Oh hell I'm just making excuses. I stopped short like nobodies business. Everything in the car shifted forward.
"RAWR!"
"Dew(ed)!" Guy had actual fear in his eyes. "What are you doing???"
I laughed at him "I had to stop!" As soon as I stopped the car Guy was out and around to rescue the kitty cat. I came around to help him and found him half holding the cat to his chest and he says,
"Dewww! You made him piss all over himself!" he was outraged! and to the cat "It's alright. You're okay."
"There goes the box"
"The box is fine, I had newspaper in there." he assured me. I watched him take his shirt off and use it to wipe the urine off the lower end of the cat. Anytime Guy was actually holding the cat, the cat was perfectly content, staring around with big stupid blue eyes at us.
"Alright." I stretched out and then grabbed my cigarettes out of the car, walking to a picnic table and sitting face out. "We'll hang out here awhile and see if he chills out."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
"How many times did you stop on the way here?" he asked.
"once." I tossed him the pack of smokes. "Because I had to fill the tank."
"You're a road nazi!" he said. "NO STOPPING! No eating! No peeing! No smoking!" we were giggling.
"Are we there yet?" I joked and in another voice, "Did I stop?" *laughing* "NO!"
"Yeah," he continued, nodding "You're one of those weird robot people. You don't seem to need anything like a regular person."
"I'm not a robot!"
"I don't think the cat is getting better." We watched Lance on the other end of the leash Guy was holding, hunkering down seemingly trying to become one with the pavement.
"Yeah. I don't think so either. Let's head out, the sooner we get there the better."
to be continued... very shortly. fast as I can type it. Really! I'm not even editing! (like you didn't notice *wry grin*)
A Series of Unfortunate Smells The End
We loaded up, hit the road and about five minutes later, the cat makes a sound unheard before from any animal EVER. Guy says "Oh shit. I think he shit."
"What are you talking about?" I asked him "I don't smell anything." I checked.
"DON'T BREATH THROUGH YOUR NOSE!"
"I don't smell anything! You're teasing me to see me freak out. Did you fart or something?" I checked again.
"DON'T BREATH THROUGH YOUR NOSE!"
"I DON'T SMELL ANY….." *gag* *double gag*
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO BREATH!"
"OH FUCK! THAT'S TERRIBLE!" I was crying. Not, you know CRYING, but tearing.
"STOP BREATHING THROUGH YOUR NOSE!"
"I'M NOT!" I smacked my hand at the window controls sliding them all down all the way. As air blasted around us it felt like I was flying a topless plane. The cat howled on."
"POOR LANCE!!" Guy said over me barely keeping myself from retching all over my steering wheel doing ninety down I84 west.
"POOR LANCE!?"
"Well he just shit himself, how do you think he feels!? Pull over!"
"THERE'S NOWHERE TO PULL OVER!" *gag* I pulled a wad of my own hair across the lower half of my face to breath through. Or hang myself if it came to it.
"STOP BREATHING THROUGH YOUR NOSE!"
"I'M NOT! I CAN SMELL IT ANYWAY! I WILL PROBABLY SMELL IT UNTIL THE DAY I DIE!" I was ranting and retching, pushing the accelerator as fast as it would go. "WHICH MIGHT BE SOON BECAUSE I CAN'T DRIVE AND HURL AT THE SAME TIME!"
"MY POOR CAT!"
OH GAWD SOMEBODY HELP US!"
"There! Stop in Durkee"
"Stop talking about it, you're making me lose my focus!"
"What are you talking about! I said stop in Durkee"
"ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY SAYING DOOKIE?"
"THERE, Take this exit! It's Durkee!"
"OKAY!!" We pulled off the freeway and I could see that Durkee, might as well BE Dookie. The "town" is a gas station and a roadside café. I pulled up next to a dumpster and ran from the car in the hopes that I might rid myself of the evilness anyway possible even if it meant puking but I was saved from that indignity by having an absolutely empty stomach. Deep breathing restored my ability to think. "We need a new box." I told Guy.
"There's no other box!" he said, "I can just take the shit out." he held the box upside down. *splat… splat …. Splat-splat*
*gag* I took ten steps back, as far as the leash would allow me. The cat was in the car, on the other end of the leash. "LISTEN TO ME! YOU HAVE TO UNDERSTAND THAT, THAT BOX IS OVER! LET THE BOX GO!"
I made him dump out a box of his belongings and put that cat in the box and hold the box on his lap, all the way to Baker. Where I found a Rite Aid and purchased and actual cat carrier. And two rolls of paper towels for the bottom. And water.
The rest of the trip…. The cat was fine. Not thrilled, to be sure but fine. I stopped one more time. For gas.
"What are you talking about?" I asked him "I don't smell anything." I checked.
"DON'T BREATH THROUGH YOUR NOSE!"
"I don't smell anything! You're teasing me to see me freak out. Did you fart or something?" I checked again.
"DON'T BREATH THROUGH YOUR NOSE!"
"I DON'T SMELL ANY….." *gag* *double gag*
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO BREATH!"
"OH FUCK! THAT'S TERRIBLE!" I was crying. Not, you know CRYING, but tearing.
"STOP BREATHING THROUGH YOUR NOSE!"
"I'M NOT!" I smacked my hand at the window controls sliding them all down all the way. As air blasted around us it felt like I was flying a topless plane. The cat howled on."
"POOR LANCE!!" Guy said over me barely keeping myself from retching all over my steering wheel doing ninety down I84 west.
"POOR LANCE!?"
"Well he just shit himself, how do you think he feels!? Pull over!"
"THERE'S NOWHERE TO PULL OVER!" *gag* I pulled a wad of my own hair across the lower half of my face to breath through. Or hang myself if it came to it.
"STOP BREATHING THROUGH YOUR NOSE!"
"I'M NOT! I CAN SMELL IT ANYWAY! I WILL PROBABLY SMELL IT UNTIL THE DAY I DIE!" I was ranting and retching, pushing the accelerator as fast as it would go. "WHICH MIGHT BE SOON BECAUSE I CAN'T DRIVE AND HURL AT THE SAME TIME!"
"MY POOR CAT!"
OH GAWD SOMEBODY HELP US!"
"There! Stop in Durkee"
"Stop talking about it, you're making me lose my focus!"
"What are you talking about! I said stop in Durkee"
"ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY SAYING DOOKIE?"
"THERE, Take this exit! It's Durkee!"
"OKAY!!" We pulled off the freeway and I could see that Durkee, might as well BE Dookie. The "town" is a gas station and a roadside café. I pulled up next to a dumpster and ran from the car in the hopes that I might rid myself of the evilness anyway possible even if it meant puking but I was saved from that indignity by having an absolutely empty stomach. Deep breathing restored my ability to think. "We need a new box." I told Guy.
"There's no other box!" he said, "I can just take the shit out." he held the box upside down. *splat… splat …. Splat-splat*
*gag* I took ten steps back, as far as the leash would allow me. The cat was in the car, on the other end of the leash. "LISTEN TO ME! YOU HAVE TO UNDERSTAND THAT, THAT BOX IS OVER! LET THE BOX GO!"
I made him dump out a box of his belongings and put that cat in the box and hold the box on his lap, all the way to Baker. Where I found a Rite Aid and purchased and actual cat carrier. And two rolls of paper towels for the bottom. And water.
The rest of the trip…. The cat was fine. Not thrilled, to be sure but fine. I stopped one more time. For gas.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Lil Dew
“Mom. Why can’t we adopt kids? Why didn’t YOU adopt kids?” she was outraged.
“I have enough kids.” I told her.
“NO!” she said, exasperated. “I want one more!” she insisted.
“Just because you wished for a little brother and it happened doesn’t mean it works that way, lil Dew”
*ten minutes of her writing in her writing journal*
“Okay, it’s time to move on to math now. Finish up your entries.”
“I’m done! See?” she held up her spiral notebook where she had written half a page and filled the second half with a drawing. “That’s my family”
“Oh, that’s nice honey.” There seemed to be a LOT of stick figures there.
“I’m going to adopt.” she explained to Niece. “ It’s not fair! Those teenagers shouldn’t have to be stuck there without parents! Why would I make a new baby when there are already those ones out there?” she asked rhetorically. And then added “I’m going to have ten.”
“Whoah” Niece was impressed. I was too.
*****************************************************
EXCERPTS FROM LIL DEWS WRITING JOURNAL ENTRIES
(with authors permission of course)
September 21, 2008
The Slug
My cousin and I saw a slug it was probably three inches long! It was in are yard so Cousin and I where even more freaked out. Cousin said, “Get a shovel a pick it up! Quik I caint look any longer!” “No” I said, “It’s too long I caint pick it up like I did with the other one. Cousin said “Well I sure am not going to do it!” “Well then” I said “Why am I going to do it?” She said, “You’re going to do it because I told you to and you’re the boy.!” “AAaaahhh” she yelled. She said “it’s going to get me!” I said “it’s not going to get you It’s as slow as any other slug!” Cousin said “Not the slug! The man with the knife in the helicopter!” “Help!” we yelled. Mom said “Don’t yell help when you don’t need it!” Then the man got me! Just as dad saw the helicopter. So dad got his gun and shot the man and the slug. We said “Bravo! Bravo!” and clapped. We all said “did you just talk?” the slug said “I think so.”
The end.
September 15, 2008
Untitled
I get my nitendo back today. I was grounded last week. Me and Cousin played without asking. Sometimes I do not understand the big world. Like why do kids get grounded but parents don’t? Why do you have to wait until you’re sixteen to get a license? Why can baibys pull hair, bang on doors, do thing theyre not supposed to and still not get in trouble? They can also whine! Little Man was just crying! I heard him. He wants a cookie. Cousin’s wearing jean shorts with red thread. A green shirt. And a dark blue, light blue, dark and light green, white and purple sweater. It’s also yellow.
September 17, 2008
Untitled
One of Cousin’s journals is missing. It is purple and it is her spelling one. It’s like a mystery! I just want to know where it is. I hope we find it ‘cause I think spelling is next. Now where could it be? And how did it get there? And who started it all? And if it got stolen The Man’s probably going to punch them if he finds them. I sure wouldn’t! I’d grab it from them and run back home! Then I would laugh and giggle. When I stopped laughing and giggling I would take it to Cousin.
We had a bike ride last night! It was so much fun. At first we both were nervous but when we started we were giggling! Well no giggling but having fun. I want to go again today! The Man does too. I do hope we can. Cousin is being the most annoyingest person in the world.
************************************************************
I have to jet now. The kids are being the most annoyiest kids in the world!
“I have enough kids.” I told her.
“NO!” she said, exasperated. “I want one more!” she insisted.
“Just because you wished for a little brother and it happened doesn’t mean it works that way, lil Dew”
*ten minutes of her writing in her writing journal*
“Okay, it’s time to move on to math now. Finish up your entries.”
“I’m done! See?” she held up her spiral notebook where she had written half a page and filled the second half with a drawing. “That’s my family”
“Oh, that’s nice honey.” There seemed to be a LOT of stick figures there.
“I’m going to adopt.” she explained to Niece. “ It’s not fair! Those teenagers shouldn’t have to be stuck there without parents! Why would I make a new baby when there are already those ones out there?” she asked rhetorically. And then added “I’m going to have ten.”
“Whoah” Niece was impressed. I was too.
*****************************************************
EXCERPTS FROM LIL DEWS WRITING JOURNAL ENTRIES
(with authors permission of course)
September 21, 2008
The Slug
My cousin and I saw a slug it was probably three inches long! It was in are yard so Cousin and I where even more freaked out. Cousin said, “Get a shovel a pick it up! Quik I caint look any longer!” “No” I said, “It’s too long I caint pick it up like I did with the other one. Cousin said “Well I sure am not going to do it!” “Well then” I said “Why am I going to do it?” She said, “You’re going to do it because I told you to and you’re the boy.!” “AAaaahhh” she yelled. She said “it’s going to get me!” I said “it’s not going to get you It’s as slow as any other slug!” Cousin said “Not the slug! The man with the knife in the helicopter!” “Help!” we yelled. Mom said “Don’t yell help when you don’t need it!” Then the man got me! Just as dad saw the helicopter. So dad got his gun and shot the man and the slug. We said “Bravo! Bravo!” and clapped. We all said “did you just talk?” the slug said “I think so.”
The end.
September 15, 2008
Untitled
I get my nitendo back today. I was grounded last week. Me and Cousin played without asking. Sometimes I do not understand the big world. Like why do kids get grounded but parents don’t? Why do you have to wait until you’re sixteen to get a license? Why can baibys pull hair, bang on doors, do thing theyre not supposed to and still not get in trouble? They can also whine! Little Man was just crying! I heard him. He wants a cookie. Cousin’s wearing jean shorts with red thread. A green shirt. And a dark blue, light blue, dark and light green, white and purple sweater. It’s also yellow.
September 17, 2008
Untitled
One of Cousin’s journals is missing. It is purple and it is her spelling one. It’s like a mystery! I just want to know where it is. I hope we find it ‘cause I think spelling is next. Now where could it be? And how did it get there? And who started it all? And if it got stolen The Man’s probably going to punch them if he finds them. I sure wouldn’t! I’d grab it from them and run back home! Then I would laugh and giggle. When I stopped laughing and giggling I would take it to Cousin.
We had a bike ride last night! It was so much fun. At first we both were nervous but when we started we were giggling! Well no giggling but having fun. I want to go again today! The Man does too. I do hope we can. Cousin is being the most annoyingest person in the world.
************************************************************
I have to jet now. The kids are being the most annoyiest kids in the world!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
The Prodigal Son
“Hello?” It’s after eleven pm at my house. It can only mean someone is dead, my sister is having another heart attack or my brother is drunk. The area code was 208.
“Hello?”
“Hello?”
"Helloo!?”
“Quit that!” we laughed. “Heeey Guy. What are you doing? I was going to call you earlier! I charged my cell phone to retrieve your number and everything!”
“Did you talk to Mom?” he asked me hurriedly.
“Yeah! That’s why I was going to call you, she said you’re talking about moving back to Portland, that your g/f is driving you or something? I knew I had to call you to see if it’s true ‘cause Mom has been telling me you’re moving back since you left.”
“Yeah, I’m ready. I found my cat.”
“So.” I took a deep breath. “You need a ride?”
“Yeah. That’s why I was afraid to call you.” I let all the air out. Now that he’d said it there was only the planning on how to make it happen. Crisis control. I’m a whiz.
“Don’t ever be afraid to call me! I can’t believe that! Always call me. I pull through, don’t I? I mean worst case I would say I couldn’t do it.”
“THAT’S WHY I was afraid to call you!!!” he laughed and I laughed. I thought about the coming weekend. My staycation in Troutdale. The Blogger Break-out. The people flying in.
“So, Mom said you quit your job…”
“She wasn’t paying me anymore. I went in to get paid and she said ‘you’re just going to spend it at the bar’ and I almost lost it. But I didn’t! I kept my cool and I just said ‘It’s none of your business how I spend it’ and I walked away.”
“good. I’m glad. Not worth it. I would have been pissed too.” I didn’t say I told you so. I didn’t say that’s what happens when you work under the table. I didn’t ask him how he was feeding himself. Or his stray cat.
“I WALKED AWAY.” he repeated loudly. And then “Sorry…. I’m out of control! …… I’ve maybe had a few.” I laughed at him.
“So. You’re ready like right now. You want me to come get you right now?!?” I can always see a ribbon of road in the corner of my right eye.
“Well. I found my cat… and it’s an outdoor cat so.. It’s pretty much shitting all over my room and I keep having to clean that shit up and so yeah I’m ready NOW.”
“Well here’s the thing. I have a thing this weekend… and it has to be a weekend ‘cause The Man’s not going to want to take any days off and on a quickie trip I don’t like to drag the kids along. And I misplaced a couple five or eight hundred dollars but I’ll find that… it’s just…. I don’t know when. Is it pretty bad?”
“I’m okay, it’s just I’m ready to go.” So it’s bad.
“Well. I have to talk to The Man and Bigd and see what I can arrange for them watching the kids…”
“Can’t Mom watch the girls?”
“There’s a boy now too, ya know. That baby I had a couple years ago? He’s sorta a handful.” I laughed at him again. “And you know Mom doesn’t watch the kids. I could count on one hand the times….”
“She could watch ‘em one day!”
“She took them overnight a couple weeks ago and called me in the morning begging me to come get them they were wearing her out!”
“Anyway… so your phone has no minutes, am I correct on that?”
“yeah… I’m on a I’ll call YOU basis, right now” he joked
“You little funny shit, I’m glad you’re coming home, nobody else does the funny with me like you do. So I’m thinking that maybe I can split my staycation up and leave Sunday and go get you but I have to try and work it out with The Man and BigD and try and get the girls ahead on school stuff so it doesn’t set us way back and I think my rear tire is low and just call me tomorrow, will you be able to do that?”
“Yeah. Thanks Dew.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m still juggling. I’ll get ya, though. You know that. That’s why you called. Scaredy cat. I’m not scary!!”
“I’m just trying to stay positive like my sisters!” He joked, mimicking our mother, I’m sure. “Sorry for calling you so late. I knew you would be up.”
“It’s no problem. I don’t mind.”
“I love you!”
“Love you too. G’night Guy.”
*sigh*
Glad he’s coming home.
“Hello?”
“Hello?”
"Helloo!?”
“Quit that!” we laughed. “Heeey Guy. What are you doing? I was going to call you earlier! I charged my cell phone to retrieve your number and everything!”
“Did you talk to Mom?” he asked me hurriedly.
“Yeah! That’s why I was going to call you, she said you’re talking about moving back to Portland, that your g/f is driving you or something? I knew I had to call you to see if it’s true ‘cause Mom has been telling me you’re moving back since you left.”
“Yeah, I’m ready. I found my cat.”
“So.” I took a deep breath. “You need a ride?”
“Yeah. That’s why I was afraid to call you.” I let all the air out. Now that he’d said it there was only the planning on how to make it happen. Crisis control. I’m a whiz.
“Don’t ever be afraid to call me! I can’t believe that! Always call me. I pull through, don’t I? I mean worst case I would say I couldn’t do it.”
“THAT’S WHY I was afraid to call you!!!” he laughed and I laughed. I thought about the coming weekend. My staycation in Troutdale. The Blogger Break-out. The people flying in.
“So, Mom said you quit your job…”
“She wasn’t paying me anymore. I went in to get paid and she said ‘you’re just going to spend it at the bar’ and I almost lost it. But I didn’t! I kept my cool and I just said ‘It’s none of your business how I spend it’ and I walked away.”
“good. I’m glad. Not worth it. I would have been pissed too.” I didn’t say I told you so. I didn’t say that’s what happens when you work under the table. I didn’t ask him how he was feeding himself. Or his stray cat.
“I WALKED AWAY.” he repeated loudly. And then “Sorry…. I’m out of control! …… I’ve maybe had a few.” I laughed at him.
“So. You’re ready like right now. You want me to come get you right now?!?” I can always see a ribbon of road in the corner of my right eye.
“Well. I found my cat… and it’s an outdoor cat so.. It’s pretty much shitting all over my room and I keep having to clean that shit up and so yeah I’m ready NOW.”
“Well here’s the thing. I have a thing this weekend… and it has to be a weekend ‘cause The Man’s not going to want to take any days off and on a quickie trip I don’t like to drag the kids along. And I misplaced a couple five or eight hundred dollars but I’ll find that… it’s just…. I don’t know when. Is it pretty bad?”
“I’m okay, it’s just I’m ready to go.” So it’s bad.
“Well. I have to talk to The Man and Bigd and see what I can arrange for them watching the kids…”
“Can’t Mom watch the girls?”
“There’s a boy now too, ya know. That baby I had a couple years ago? He’s sorta a handful.” I laughed at him again. “And you know Mom doesn’t watch the kids. I could count on one hand the times….”
“She could watch ‘em one day!”
“She took them overnight a couple weeks ago and called me in the morning begging me to come get them they were wearing her out!”
“Anyway… so your phone has no minutes, am I correct on that?”
“yeah… I’m on a I’ll call YOU basis, right now” he joked
“You little funny shit, I’m glad you’re coming home, nobody else does the funny with me like you do. So I’m thinking that maybe I can split my staycation up and leave Sunday and go get you but I have to try and work it out with The Man and BigD and try and get the girls ahead on school stuff so it doesn’t set us way back and I think my rear tire is low and just call me tomorrow, will you be able to do that?”
“Yeah. Thanks Dew.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m still juggling. I’ll get ya, though. You know that. That’s why you called. Scaredy cat. I’m not scary!!”
“I’m just trying to stay positive like my sisters!” He joked, mimicking our mother, I’m sure. “Sorry for calling you so late. I knew you would be up.”
“It’s no problem. I don’t mind.”
“I love you!”
“Love you too. G’night Guy.”
*sigh*
Glad he’s coming home.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Life's Little Interruptions
We were in the throes of the usual dinner is about to be served insanity. The children were whining as is required in the hour before we eat. They were right on task, flopping their bodies from room to room saying "I'm huuuuungry!" and "Do I HAVE to wash my hands?" and the little one "I EAAAT!"
*riiiiing*
The Man answered the phone with his I'm not taking any shit from phone solicitors voice. "Hello?" and then "yeees this is." and then a giant grin broke out across his face. "Heeeeey, buddy! What's up!?" He quickly moved to the backdoor, sliding it open and disappearing into the back yard where he could carry on a normal conversation. I watched him sit on the bench swing while I set the table, wondering who the hell could have called to illicit such a strange reaction from The Man. He smiled and scratched his balls, looking up in time to catch me watching him, he waved.
BigD is always in charge of beverages and as she passed the kids their glasses of milk I described what had taken place, gesturing to The Man outside on the phone. "Who do you think it could be?" I asked her.
"What, you think it's an old girlfriend?" she asked, laughing.
"No! He doesn't like his old girlfriend. Besides, he said "buddy" he would have said "sweetie" if it were a female. Has to be a guy." BigD shrugged. "BigD! This is HUGE! Unprecedented Man behavior! I think it must be his old friend, from back in the day" Back in the days before Dew(ed). The Man came into the house casually, as though nothing unusual had occurred. Highly suspicious, yes? (*laughing*)
"Did anyone take the meatballs out of the oven?" he asked accusingly. BigD and I looked at one another and the plates of spaghetti being inhaled sans meatballs, shaking our heads. "Damn!" The smell of well on their way to over done meatballs greeted our noses when he opened the oven. He served himself a giant pile of spaghetti and rolled the meaty balls onto a plate, joining us at the dinner table.
"Soooo…." I prompted, "Who was it?"
"Me too! Meatball, me!" Little Man reached for the plate.
"It was W and K." he said "Not yet, Little Man. It's hot."
"Pleeeeease!" Little Man begged.
"Wow! How did they find you?" I asked him "No, Little Man. It's ouchy hot! Just wait a minute and you can have one."
"Yellow pages."
"We're listed?"
"Yeah."
"Do you know how many The Man McPetermans there are?" I asked him "How many did they call before they got to you?"
"How your day daddy?" asked Little Man "How your day daddy?" he fired again.
"They talked to one other guy before they found me." The Man laughed. "It was good." he said to Little Man who barely listened to his answer before turning to the next person at the table.
"How your day sisser?"
"So what's up?"
"How your DAY, sisser?"
"Nothing. They were just sitting there talking about me and decided to find me."
"That's cool." I said, waiting expectantly for more.
"How your DAAAAy, SISSER!?"
"It's Saturday. They're probably partying." The Man explained.
"Heh." I said. "Lil Dew, please answer him."
"Fine." she told him "How was…" he was already to the next person.
"How your day BigD?"
I peppered The Man with fifty or sixty more questions. Inane questions about the conversation meant to pry open his true thoughts and feelings, but no matter the phrasing he still answered like a man. Finally he snapped at me and I dropped it.
Then, Sunday came. He looked them up on myspace. I watched silently as he scrolled by their pages, the pictures of parties and quad gatherings and girls upside down on bongs and buckets of beer on boats. I wandered off to smoke outside and after awhile he followed me, standing at the backdoor staring out at me in the rain. I hugged him awhile. "Are you sad?" I asked him.
"No." he kissed me on the head. "We just have a different life. A family life."
"You can be mad about it."
"I'm not." he insisted forcefully.
"Well, that's weird." I said.
"What is.? That I'm not sad or mad or whatever?"
"yeah, that would be weird. But I meant it's weird that you still think you can lie to me."
"It's weird that you still won't let me."
"yeah. I win the weird awards every time. It's weird we still have the contest." We stood there just inside the back door, staring at the messy kitchen. "So they have lotsa toys and fun all the time?" I shook my head sadly. "You know people post the best of the best on their myspace. I mean maybe they were just on a boat that one time and there's a pic of it, ya know? And maybe they were at some shitty beach and some people just happened to have parked quads behind them. Ya know?" He laughed.
"No." he said simply so I hugged him again.
"So you told 'em what you're up to?" I asked his chest.
"Yeah." he grabbed my ass with both hands.
"I mean, you have stuff! Did you mention the brand new washer and dryer?!?" I asked him, grinning up at his chin. He laughed.
"No. I didn't think to mention that."
"You could have bragged about them being," I humped his leg "FRONT LOADERS!" I teased him. "So shiny! Such fine examples of modern machinery!" he laughed some more, disentangling himself from me and wandering back toward the computer. We both know it won't come up again, unless I push it. We will continue our life, the interruption hardly noticed, unless I keep pointing at it.
(I'm a pointer.)
*riiiiing*
The Man answered the phone with his I'm not taking any shit from phone solicitors voice. "Hello?" and then "yeees this is." and then a giant grin broke out across his face. "Heeeeey, buddy! What's up!?" He quickly moved to the backdoor, sliding it open and disappearing into the back yard where he could carry on a normal conversation. I watched him sit on the bench swing while I set the table, wondering who the hell could have called to illicit such a strange reaction from The Man. He smiled and scratched his balls, looking up in time to catch me watching him, he waved.
BigD is always in charge of beverages and as she passed the kids their glasses of milk I described what had taken place, gesturing to The Man outside on the phone. "Who do you think it could be?" I asked her.
"What, you think it's an old girlfriend?" she asked, laughing.
"No! He doesn't like his old girlfriend. Besides, he said "buddy" he would have said "sweetie" if it were a female. Has to be a guy." BigD shrugged. "BigD! This is HUGE! Unprecedented Man behavior! I think it must be his old friend, from back in the day" Back in the days before Dew(ed). The Man came into the house casually, as though nothing unusual had occurred. Highly suspicious, yes? (*laughing*)
"Did anyone take the meatballs out of the oven?" he asked accusingly. BigD and I looked at one another and the plates of spaghetti being inhaled sans meatballs, shaking our heads. "Damn!" The smell of well on their way to over done meatballs greeted our noses when he opened the oven. He served himself a giant pile of spaghetti and rolled the meaty balls onto a plate, joining us at the dinner table.
"Soooo…." I prompted, "Who was it?"
"Me too! Meatball, me!" Little Man reached for the plate.
"It was W and K." he said "Not yet, Little Man. It's hot."
"Pleeeeease!" Little Man begged.
"Wow! How did they find you?" I asked him "No, Little Man. It's ouchy hot! Just wait a minute and you can have one."
"Yellow pages."
"We're listed?"
"Yeah."
"Do you know how many The Man McPetermans there are?" I asked him "How many did they call before they got to you?"
"How your day daddy?" asked Little Man "How your day daddy?" he fired again.
"They talked to one other guy before they found me." The Man laughed. "It was good." he said to Little Man who barely listened to his answer before turning to the next person at the table.
"How your day sisser?"
"So what's up?"
"How your DAY, sisser?"
"Nothing. They were just sitting there talking about me and decided to find me."
"That's cool." I said, waiting expectantly for more.
"How your DAAAAy, SISSER!?"
"It's Saturday. They're probably partying." The Man explained.
"Heh." I said. "Lil Dew, please answer him."
"Fine." she told him "How was…" he was already to the next person.
"How your day BigD?"
I peppered The Man with fifty or sixty more questions. Inane questions about the conversation meant to pry open his true thoughts and feelings, but no matter the phrasing he still answered like a man. Finally he snapped at me and I dropped it.
Then, Sunday came. He looked them up on myspace. I watched silently as he scrolled by their pages, the pictures of parties and quad gatherings and girls upside down on bongs and buckets of beer on boats. I wandered off to smoke outside and after awhile he followed me, standing at the backdoor staring out at me in the rain. I hugged him awhile. "Are you sad?" I asked him.
"No." he kissed me on the head. "We just have a different life. A family life."
"You can be mad about it."
"I'm not." he insisted forcefully.
"Well, that's weird." I said.
"What is.? That I'm not sad or mad or whatever?"
"yeah, that would be weird. But I meant it's weird that you still think you can lie to me."
"It's weird that you still won't let me."
"yeah. I win the weird awards every time. It's weird we still have the contest." We stood there just inside the back door, staring at the messy kitchen. "So they have lotsa toys and fun all the time?" I shook my head sadly. "You know people post the best of the best on their myspace. I mean maybe they were just on a boat that one time and there's a pic of it, ya know? And maybe they were at some shitty beach and some people just happened to have parked quads behind them. Ya know?" He laughed.
"No." he said simply so I hugged him again.
"So you told 'em what you're up to?" I asked his chest.
"Yeah." he grabbed my ass with both hands.
"I mean, you have stuff! Did you mention the brand new washer and dryer?!?" I asked him, grinning up at his chin. He laughed.
"No. I didn't think to mention that."
"You could have bragged about them being," I humped his leg "FRONT LOADERS!" I teased him. "So shiny! Such fine examples of modern machinery!" he laughed some more, disentangling himself from me and wandering back toward the computer. We both know it won't come up again, unless I push it. We will continue our life, the interruption hardly noticed, unless I keep pointing at it.
(I'm a pointer.)
Friday, September 19, 2008
Half n' Half
"Heeeey wait a minute." She said, hand on hip, head tilted. Her image calls to mind a cartoon character, the tiny pixie body with more hair than any one child should have swishing around just below the waistband of her cropped pants. "The language workbook says level 4, and that other book says level D which must just mean level 4, too."
"Yeah. So." I responded in mock patience, she was supposed to be studying her spelling list.
"But I should be a second grader, right?" There was a long pause as I tried to figure out what she might be getting at, tried to decide what to tell her. She pushed on, "Because I skipped first grade maybe I'm a third grader, but really I'm a second grader. These are fourth grader books! Did you know you're giving me fourth grader work?" She began giggling wildly and added "I'm seven!!"
If my daughter had a blog the theme would be: I'm smarter than my Mama. Each post would be another adventure in the life of a brilliant little girl who would rather be a boy and the traumas of growing up with a silly, crazy, and hopelessly foolish mama.
"Do you feel the work is too challenging?" I asked her.
"No!"
"Well, then let's not worry what number is on the text book, let's just make sure you're learning, okay?" She nodded but she wasn't satisfied yet.
"But, what grade am I in?"
"It's really not important what grade a person is in. Schools have so many students they have to find a way to divide them up, that's the only reason they even have grades." I looked her in the eye "It's not some kind of competition or prize, you know. It's just a way to find challenging material to learn about at a level you can understand." I paused again, finally realizing there would be no way around this, and there was no guarantee she was going to get the message I wanted, anyway. She loves points as much as I do. "You have some course work that was designed for third graders and some that would normally be for fourth graders."
"Can I tell The Man?" she asked excitedly.
"Yeah." I said. She dashed into the house, shouting loudly.
"Daddy! I'm half third grader and half fourth grader!"
"Whoaaa!" The man exclaimed. "Which half is the fourth grader?" He flipped her upside down, shaking her a little. "Don't worry! I'll get that fourth grader out of you!"
"DADDY!!" she squealed and sputtered with laughter. "NOOOooooOO! Not like thaaat!"
It was good to hear that there's still plenty of second grader in there.
"Yeah. So." I responded in mock patience, she was supposed to be studying her spelling list.
"But I should be a second grader, right?" There was a long pause as I tried to figure out what she might be getting at, tried to decide what to tell her. She pushed on, "Because I skipped first grade maybe I'm a third grader, but really I'm a second grader. These are fourth grader books! Did you know you're giving me fourth grader work?" She began giggling wildly and added "I'm seven!!"
If my daughter had a blog the theme would be: I'm smarter than my Mama. Each post would be another adventure in the life of a brilliant little girl who would rather be a boy and the traumas of growing up with a silly, crazy, and hopelessly foolish mama.
"Do you feel the work is too challenging?" I asked her.
"No!"
"Well, then let's not worry what number is on the text book, let's just make sure you're learning, okay?" She nodded but she wasn't satisfied yet.
"But, what grade am I in?"
"It's really not important what grade a person is in. Schools have so many students they have to find a way to divide them up, that's the only reason they even have grades." I looked her in the eye "It's not some kind of competition or prize, you know. It's just a way to find challenging material to learn about at a level you can understand." I paused again, finally realizing there would be no way around this, and there was no guarantee she was going to get the message I wanted, anyway. She loves points as much as I do. "You have some course work that was designed for third graders and some that would normally be for fourth graders."
"Can I tell The Man?" she asked excitedly.
"Yeah." I said. She dashed into the house, shouting loudly.
"Daddy! I'm half third grader and half fourth grader!"
"Whoaaa!" The man exclaimed. "Which half is the fourth grader?" He flipped her upside down, shaking her a little. "Don't worry! I'll get that fourth grader out of you!"
"DADDY!!" she squealed and sputtered with laughter. "NOOOooooOO! Not like thaaat!"
It was good to hear that there's still plenty of second grader in there.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Queen of Homeschool
Listen! Do you hear that?
The wild applause, the crowd on it's feet, that's what!
There's a stadium of fans in my satisfaction bowl.
Just had our first phone conference with the online teacher. She asked me "So, how are you doing?"
How am I doing? "You tell me!" I wanted to say.
Oh please, like this blog doesn't already prove I'm approval hungry.
"I can't believe how much you guys have already accomplished, you're doing fantastic, and your ATTENDANCE! You guys are my new favorite family!" she exclaimed.
That's right. I'm the queen of home school. "One day I forgot to give them a recess." I confessed, laughing. "Don't worry- that turned out counterproductive, we won't let that happen again." *grin*
So go ahead and join me in this moment. Smell dinner in the oven. Hear the laundry spinning, the children playing in the backyard without arguing because they're mentally satisfied. See me sitting here in my SAHM uniform, wearing beat-up jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, wondering when my next shower might be, grateful I stole five minutes to brush my teeth this morning.
See me smile.
The wild applause, the crowd on it's feet, that's what!
There's a stadium of fans in my satisfaction bowl.
Just had our first phone conference with the online teacher. She asked me "So, how are you doing?"
How am I doing? "You tell me!" I wanted to say.
Oh please, like this blog doesn't already prove I'm approval hungry.
"I can't believe how much you guys have already accomplished, you're doing fantastic, and your ATTENDANCE! You guys are my new favorite family!" she exclaimed.
That's right. I'm the queen of home school. "One day I forgot to give them a recess." I confessed, laughing. "Don't worry- that turned out counterproductive, we won't let that happen again." *grin*
So go ahead and join me in this moment. Smell dinner in the oven. Hear the laundry spinning, the children playing in the backyard without arguing because they're mentally satisfied. See me sitting here in my SAHM uniform, wearing beat-up jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, wondering when my next shower might be, grateful I stole five minutes to brush my teeth this morning.
See me smile.
Monday, September 15, 2008
The Dew Point in Homeschooling
"What do we do now?" The girls asked me when we finished reviewing cloud names.
"We're going to create dew." I said matter-of-factly.
"Whoaaaoaoaoa!" Niece said, impressed. Daughter turns to her and says,
"Not the Mountain Dew!" in an explanatory tone.
"I know!" niece responds hotly.
"We HAVE plenty of the Mountain Dew" Daughter laughs and nods.
"Alright, settle down so I can read the instructions for the activity to you." I try to calm their afternoon jumpiness so we can get some science hours logged for the day. I begin to read "Have you ever walked outside barefooted in the grass in the morning?"
"YES!" the girls chime in enthusiastically.
"Did your feet get wet?"
"YES!" They start to shout.
"Sssshhh If it didn't rain the night before, that dampness could be morning dew." As I was reading I was thinking this little intro to the activity read like a feminine hygiene product advertisement. My daughter had her own theories.
"OR DOGGY DOO" Daughter breaks in, already in hysterics. In seconds they're both bent over at the middle guffawing madly. "It could be diarrhea doo!" she continues through sputters and gut wrenches.
"Alright, that's enough." I'm having significant trouble keeping a straight face. Okay, so I was laughing, so what. It's not like I have a degree for this or anything. "How did the dew get there? Not another word, Daughter! Look in your own backyard for the answer!"
"So what do we do?" They asked again.
"Go dig a hole that's one foot deep and five inches wide, take your rulers with you." I said and they burst toward the door like I was on fire. "Dig the hole in the sand box!" I called after them. "I'll be out in a minute, I need some of the Mountain Dew."
I'm sure I heard Daughter say something related to diarrhea on her way out. I hope they're learning science somewhere in all this.
"We're going to create dew." I said matter-of-factly.
"Whoaaaoaoaoa!" Niece said, impressed. Daughter turns to her and says,
"Not the Mountain Dew!" in an explanatory tone.
"I know!" niece responds hotly.
"We HAVE plenty of the Mountain Dew" Daughter laughs and nods.
"Alright, settle down so I can read the instructions for the activity to you." I try to calm their afternoon jumpiness so we can get some science hours logged for the day. I begin to read "Have you ever walked outside barefooted in the grass in the morning?"
"YES!" the girls chime in enthusiastically.
"Did your feet get wet?"
"YES!" They start to shout.
"Sssshhh If it didn't rain the night before, that dampness could be morning dew." As I was reading I was thinking this little intro to the activity read like a feminine hygiene product advertisement. My daughter had her own theories.
"OR DOGGY DOO" Daughter breaks in, already in hysterics. In seconds they're both bent over at the middle guffawing madly. "It could be diarrhea doo!" she continues through sputters and gut wrenches.
"Alright, that's enough." I'm having significant trouble keeping a straight face. Okay, so I was laughing, so what. It's not like I have a degree for this or anything. "How did the dew get there? Not another word, Daughter! Look in your own backyard for the answer!"
"So what do we do?" They asked again.
"Go dig a hole that's one foot deep and five inches wide, take your rulers with you." I said and they burst toward the door like I was on fire. "Dig the hole in the sand box!" I called after them. "I'll be out in a minute, I need some of the Mountain Dew."
I'm sure I heard Daughter say something related to diarrhea on her way out. I hope they're learning science somewhere in all this.
Friday, September 12, 2008
The Pawn
"You're going to construct a giant chess piece out of paper mache!" The teacher explained over-enthusiastically to the room full of bored teenagers. "Don't you see?" she continued, desperate for the class to share her vision, to affirm her ability to teach an art class using the degree she had thought she'd teach biology with. "We'll be able to take them out in the atrium on the checkered floor and play a giant game of chess!"
Nobody cared. We were all there for the easy A credit, for craps sake it was crafts 101 and scheduled right after lunch, most of us didn't even plan on showing up very often, certainly no one expected it to be a great learning experience.
"Okay, well I've assigned what piece you're supposed to construct, take a look on the sheet I've passed out to find out what you're supposed to make. We want to be sure we have enough of the correct pieces to play that game of chess!" she finished and got busy tearing more newspaper into strips.
Of course I was assigned a pawn. I stared at the page I was supposed to sketch an idea of the shape I'd be making with no idea how to proceed until the chatter from the girl next to me started to make it's way in. "I'm new, too. From Seattle." she said.
"You can tell I'm new?" I asked her. It was strange in this smaller school. Back home at the beginning of the year there were too many people from too many place to use geography to cast outsiders.
"Oh yeah." she said. Her hair was a shiny black a-line curtain that swung open and shut with the motions of her head. "where are you from?" she asked.
"Portland."
"Oh I love Portland. Have you been up to Seattle much? Don't you just hate it here? It sucks."
"Yeah. I guess so." I started doodling on the instructions sheets, band names and swirly gigs rather than chess pieces. "What's your name, anyway?"
" Chelsea. Don't look, but that guy at the table behind us is sorta cute. Okay look but real casual like."
I didn't turn around. "You don't look like a Chelsea. The one with the glasses?"
"Yeah, he's been staring over here."
"I know." I tried to re-tie a worn out hemp bracelet on my arm with one hand.
"Do you know him or something?" she asked
"No. I just know he's been staring."
"Oh." she was disappointed. "I haven't really met anyone yet." she admitted, we were a few weeks into the school year so I could see why she'd be worried. "Except you! Do you know any cool people yet?"
"I've met some people, ya wanna meet them I'll introduce you."
"He is totally staring over here!" she said laughing excitedly. "He's sorta cute, isn't he? I think he's an asshole, I heard someone say he's an asshole."
"What's with the tapered pants?" I said rhetorically, raising an eyebrow. "and why is he wearing a leather jacket in here? It's not even cold."
"ahahahaahah! You're mean!" she said, delighted.
"No I'm not!" I turned completely on my stool and met his gaze. He pulled his wavy hair behind his ears self-consciously and leaned back, holding the large, low table for balance and then sat back up, flexing his hands and breaking eye contact first. I turned back around to face my tablemates. "Do you think he smokes?"
"Maybe." Chelsea said. "Why, do you smoke?" Instead of answering her I got up from the table and walked over to his, sitting down on the empty stool across from him.
"Do you have a cigarette I could bum off you?" I asked him
"Sure. I have a whole pack you can have." He said.
"I don't want your entire pack. I just want one."
"Well. I don't really smoke them so I'd just as soon give you the whole pack."
"Why do you have cigarettes if you don't smoke them?" I asked. The entire exchange was being held in the low stage whisper teenagers use so that adults can pretend not to hear them. He shrugged off my question.
"Do you want them or not?"
"I guess if you don't want them."
"I don't have them here."
"What? Where are they?"
"They're at my house."
"That doesn't do me much good, here now does it?" I laughed at him. "You made it sound like you had them right now."
"Nope. They're at my house. I'll bring them tomorrow."
"I won't need them tomorrow."
"You could come to my house after school."
"Ha! I don't even know you! I'm not going to your house for a cigarette! Besides, I would miss my ride home."
"It's up to you." he said
"Thanks anyway." I went back to my original table.
"What happened, what did you say!!" Chelsea asked, laughing. "You were over there for forever!"
"He's weird. It was weird. I don't know."
"I told ya he's an asshole!"
"He wasn't an asshole… exactly." I laughed. "Just weird."
"You didn't even draw a pawn piece!" Chelsea pointed out as the teacher dismissed us.
"Oh. Yeah. Well, I can't draw. I don't see what drawing it has to do with making it. I'll just wing it."
"It's going to be one fucked up pawn." she laughed.
"Maybe." I admitted. "That's half the fun, isn't it? I can't wait to see Ms.P's face when all the lousy fucked up paper mache chess pieces are out in the atrium, lumpy and wet."
Chelsea laughed and gestured toward the stares. "I have to go this way to my next class." she said regretfully.
"Look for me at lunch tomorrow." I told her and she nodded before being sucked in amongst the throng of bustling students.
Nobody cared. We were all there for the easy A credit, for craps sake it was crafts 101 and scheduled right after lunch, most of us didn't even plan on showing up very often, certainly no one expected it to be a great learning experience.
"Okay, well I've assigned what piece you're supposed to construct, take a look on the sheet I've passed out to find out what you're supposed to make. We want to be sure we have enough of the correct pieces to play that game of chess!" she finished and got busy tearing more newspaper into strips.
Of course I was assigned a pawn. I stared at the page I was supposed to sketch an idea of the shape I'd be making with no idea how to proceed until the chatter from the girl next to me started to make it's way in. "I'm new, too. From Seattle." she said.
"You can tell I'm new?" I asked her. It was strange in this smaller school. Back home at the beginning of the year there were too many people from too many place to use geography to cast outsiders.
"Oh yeah." she said. Her hair was a shiny black a-line curtain that swung open and shut with the motions of her head. "where are you from?" she asked.
"Portland."
"Oh I love Portland. Have you been up to Seattle much? Don't you just hate it here? It sucks."
"Yeah. I guess so." I started doodling on the instructions sheets, band names and swirly gigs rather than chess pieces. "What's your name, anyway?"
" Chelsea. Don't look, but that guy at the table behind us is sorta cute. Okay look but real casual like."
I didn't turn around. "You don't look like a Chelsea. The one with the glasses?"
"Yeah, he's been staring over here."
"I know." I tried to re-tie a worn out hemp bracelet on my arm with one hand.
"Do you know him or something?" she asked
"No. I just know he's been staring."
"Oh." she was disappointed. "I haven't really met anyone yet." she admitted, we were a few weeks into the school year so I could see why she'd be worried. "Except you! Do you know any cool people yet?"
"I've met some people, ya wanna meet them I'll introduce you."
"He is totally staring over here!" she said laughing excitedly. "He's sorta cute, isn't he? I think he's an asshole, I heard someone say he's an asshole."
"What's with the tapered pants?" I said rhetorically, raising an eyebrow. "and why is he wearing a leather jacket in here? It's not even cold."
"ahahahaahah! You're mean!" she said, delighted.
"No I'm not!" I turned completely on my stool and met his gaze. He pulled his wavy hair behind his ears self-consciously and leaned back, holding the large, low table for balance and then sat back up, flexing his hands and breaking eye contact first. I turned back around to face my tablemates. "Do you think he smokes?"
"Maybe." Chelsea said. "Why, do you smoke?" Instead of answering her I got up from the table and walked over to his, sitting down on the empty stool across from him.
"Do you have a cigarette I could bum off you?" I asked him
"Sure. I have a whole pack you can have." He said.
"I don't want your entire pack. I just want one."
"Well. I don't really smoke them so I'd just as soon give you the whole pack."
"Why do you have cigarettes if you don't smoke them?" I asked. The entire exchange was being held in the low stage whisper teenagers use so that adults can pretend not to hear them. He shrugged off my question.
"Do you want them or not?"
"I guess if you don't want them."
"I don't have them here."
"What? Where are they?"
"They're at my house."
"That doesn't do me much good, here now does it?" I laughed at him. "You made it sound like you had them right now."
"Nope. They're at my house. I'll bring them tomorrow."
"I won't need them tomorrow."
"You could come to my house after school."
"Ha! I don't even know you! I'm not going to your house for a cigarette! Besides, I would miss my ride home."
"It's up to you." he said
"Thanks anyway." I went back to my original table.
"What happened, what did you say!!" Chelsea asked, laughing. "You were over there for forever!"
"He's weird. It was weird. I don't know."
"I told ya he's an asshole!"
"He wasn't an asshole… exactly." I laughed. "Just weird."
"You didn't even draw a pawn piece!" Chelsea pointed out as the teacher dismissed us.
"Oh. Yeah. Well, I can't draw. I don't see what drawing it has to do with making it. I'll just wing it."
"It's going to be one fucked up pawn." she laughed.
"Maybe." I admitted. "That's half the fun, isn't it? I can't wait to see Ms.P's face when all the lousy fucked up paper mache chess pieces are out in the atrium, lumpy and wet."
Chelsea laughed and gestured toward the stares. "I have to go this way to my next class." she said regretfully.
"Look for me at lunch tomorrow." I told her and she nodded before being sucked in amongst the throng of bustling students.
Damn It!
"Look! Look! There's one of the bastards now!" I said to BigD, jumping up to look for a ball.
"Eww.. I think it's humping the top of your fence."
"He's mocking me!" I grabbed our giant beach ball and ran full force toward the fence, screaming and then hurling the ball at the fence with one final war cry. "go away!!"
"Oh my gawd." BigD said. "You're really losing it, aren't you?" she laughed at my freakish behavior as I sank back down onto the deck next to her to finish my cigarette, moaning and groaning all the way. "Is it the home-schooling? The Man? What's the problem, really?"
"They're chewing off the heads of my sunflowers!!!! Before they even bloom!" I gestured wildly, sputtering my outrage between drags on my cigarette. "You know how I feel about the sunflowers!"
"yeah yeah.."
"They have to be the biggest, tallest, brightest sunflowers! I planted them, and weeded them, and watered them, and fed them and just when they're FINALLY going to bloom the goddamn squirrel comes along and CHEWS THE HEAD OFF."
"What are you going to do?" she was laughing and shrugging the problem off.
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do. It's fuckin' war! I'm thinking I'll somehow attach skewers to the top of the fence. And since The Man is never going to get around to it, I'm going to put cage stuff over the top of the compost so they can't steal shit out of it anymore…" Just then Little Man came barreling out the back door toward us.
"Ball, Mama? You run with ball?" he asked making both of us laugh that he had spotted me outside playing ball without him.
"Yeah. Mama was running with the ball" I admitted.
"Hey! Look, it's back!" BigD pointed at the fence and sure enough, there was the squirrel, staring at us malevolently. I was off the deck running in a flash, yelling and hollering loudly.
Little Man was right on my heals yelling "Shoo!" followed by a string of unexpected "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" s. The commotion died down and BigD and I sat back down on the porch, panting a little. Okay, that might have just been me.
"Did I say damn it?" I asked her wonderingly
"No. Not right now anyway."
"Wow. Context and everything. I love that boy."
"Yeah. He's adorable." she said sardonically.
"I was thinking we might need a dog to chase the squirrels off but that's stupid, there are three trainable children already shitting and eating us out of house and home and they don't have fleas!"
"You're not going to teach the kids to chase and be mean to squirrels!" BigD said
"They're driving me to extremes, BigD! Something has to be done! Look! It's already coming back!" I rolled a ball toward Little Man, saying "Get it! Get it, damn it!"
"Eww.. I think it's humping the top of your fence."
"He's mocking me!" I grabbed our giant beach ball and ran full force toward the fence, screaming and then hurling the ball at the fence with one final war cry. "go away!!"
"Oh my gawd." BigD said. "You're really losing it, aren't you?" she laughed at my freakish behavior as I sank back down onto the deck next to her to finish my cigarette, moaning and groaning all the way. "Is it the home-schooling? The Man? What's the problem, really?"
"They're chewing off the heads of my sunflowers!!!! Before they even bloom!" I gestured wildly, sputtering my outrage between drags on my cigarette. "You know how I feel about the sunflowers!"
"yeah yeah.."
"They have to be the biggest, tallest, brightest sunflowers! I planted them, and weeded them, and watered them, and fed them and just when they're FINALLY going to bloom the goddamn squirrel comes along and CHEWS THE HEAD OFF."
"What are you going to do?" she was laughing and shrugging the problem off.
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do. It's fuckin' war! I'm thinking I'll somehow attach skewers to the top of the fence. And since The Man is never going to get around to it, I'm going to put cage stuff over the top of the compost so they can't steal shit out of it anymore…" Just then Little Man came barreling out the back door toward us.
"Ball, Mama? You run with ball?" he asked making both of us laugh that he had spotted me outside playing ball without him.
"Yeah. Mama was running with the ball" I admitted.
"Hey! Look, it's back!" BigD pointed at the fence and sure enough, there was the squirrel, staring at us malevolently. I was off the deck running in a flash, yelling and hollering loudly.
Little Man was right on my heals yelling "Shoo!" followed by a string of unexpected "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" s. The commotion died down and BigD and I sat back down on the porch, panting a little. Okay, that might have just been me.
"Did I say damn it?" I asked her wonderingly
"No. Not right now anyway."
"Wow. Context and everything. I love that boy."
"Yeah. He's adorable." she said sardonically.
"I was thinking we might need a dog to chase the squirrels off but that's stupid, there are three trainable children already shitting and eating us out of house and home and they don't have fleas!"
"You're not going to teach the kids to chase and be mean to squirrels!" BigD said
"They're driving me to extremes, BigD! Something has to be done! Look! It's already coming back!" I rolled a ball toward Little Man, saying "Get it! Get it, damn it!"
Thursday, September 11, 2008
A Fist Shaker of a Girl
"Sooooo…. I went to redtube the other night." I mentioned casually. His head whipped around quickly. No matter how often or how easy it is to make him do that, I enjoy it at least a little every single goddamn time. I remember the first time it happened, too. It was after I slept with him and decided he was a fuck buddy, he drove me up to rocky butte..(nooo it was Mt. Scott …maybe… or that one with the Street of Dreams this year, fuck if I remember) to walk around and laugh at the dog people. For some reason my vagina came up in conversation and I called it "my box" and he about died laughing, blushing and looking at me as though I had horns. I guess up until then he had thought I was a nice girl, even after the fucking. *shrug* He enjoys thinking he's the dirty one so I only dole out the disillusionment in small doses to keep from shattering his sex ego.
"What were you doing on redtube?" he asked, staring closely at me and then turning to pretend he was very busy keeping track of what the wall might be up to. It was a fair question, I'm not a big porn fan. Not that I have anything against it other than it exploits people, just that it doesn't do much for me. "I was just perusing your search history."
"What!?"
"Well. I type in letters to see what comes up." I love watching things dawn on him, it's as if I have my own personal light switch for the sunrise. "It's like cliff notes for your fantasies." he was distracted now, probably rolling through all the possibilities of what I might have run into over in his mind. "I have a concern."
"Oh you do?"
"Yeah. I noticed a lot of giant shit going in pussys." I paused for effect. "Never. Going. To. Happen.." I shook my head dramatically and we laughed loudly, releasing the tension that had built up. "Seriously dude, what's the deal?"
"I don't know. Some chicks like that."
"What chicks? Porn chicks? You do know that's not real, right?"
"It's real!"
"I mean, they're acting." I clarified over his launching of all the reasons porn is real speech. "Don't change the subject anyway. Name one chick that likes it that you actually have known."
"X"
"Are you fuckin' with me?"
"Nope. She LOVED it!"
"LOVED it? Are you sure she wasn't pretending to love it 'cause it turned YOU on?"
"It was HER idea! She pretty much made me do it!"
"She said OOOOOH MAN … oooooh , put your entire fist up my twat?" I asked him incredulously.
"Well. Not like that. But yeah."
"wow." I stood shocked, leaning on the countertop for several beats. Still unable to absorb this shocking information I stepped out on the back porch to light a cigarette. "Your whole fist?!?" I asked him for clarification. He balled his fingers up and bent his elbow, raising his fist in the air and shaking it a bit as he wriggled his eyebrows at me. "Sweet Jesus!" I exclaimed appreciatively, practically breathless with amazement. The Man has giant hands. "Well. Those days are over for your hand, mister. Getting your dick in is enough trouble."
"Don't I know it!" he teased.
"Shut up you shit. That's not even true."
"What were you doing on redtube?" he asked, staring closely at me and then turning to pretend he was very busy keeping track of what the wall might be up to. It was a fair question, I'm not a big porn fan. Not that I have anything against it other than it exploits people, just that it doesn't do much for me. "I was just perusing your search history."
"What!?"
"Well. I type in letters to see what comes up." I love watching things dawn on him, it's as if I have my own personal light switch for the sunrise. "It's like cliff notes for your fantasies." he was distracted now, probably rolling through all the possibilities of what I might have run into over in his mind. "I have a concern."
"Oh you do?"
"Yeah. I noticed a lot of giant shit going in pussys." I paused for effect. "Never. Going. To. Happen.." I shook my head dramatically and we laughed loudly, releasing the tension that had built up. "Seriously dude, what's the deal?"
"I don't know. Some chicks like that."
"What chicks? Porn chicks? You do know that's not real, right?"
"It's real!"
"I mean, they're acting." I clarified over his launching of all the reasons porn is real speech. "Don't change the subject anyway. Name one chick that likes it that you actually have known."
"X"
"Are you fuckin' with me?"
"Nope. She LOVED it!"
"LOVED it? Are you sure she wasn't pretending to love it 'cause it turned YOU on?"
"It was HER idea! She pretty much made me do it!"
"She said OOOOOH MAN … oooooh , put your entire fist up my twat?" I asked him incredulously.
"Well. Not like that. But yeah."
"wow." I stood shocked, leaning on the countertop for several beats. Still unable to absorb this shocking information I stepped out on the back porch to light a cigarette. "Your whole fist?!?" I asked him for clarification. He balled his fingers up and bent his elbow, raising his fist in the air and shaking it a bit as he wriggled his eyebrows at me. "Sweet Jesus!" I exclaimed appreciatively, practically breathless with amazement. The Man has giant hands. "Well. Those days are over for your hand, mister. Getting your dick in is enough trouble."
"Don't I know it!" he teased.
"Shut up you shit. That's not even true."
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Accidental Dating
It started when I would call Crispy to check on him. He was going through a painful divorce with his wife. Once or twice a week I would call in the afternoon or evening to see how he was doing, make sure he wasn't drowning in alcohol too much or needing to get out of the house. Then, his brother moved in with him and that was helping with the bills, and gave him some company. It also gave him someone to answer his phone.
"Hi. Is Crispy around?"
"Yeah he's around here somewhere. What are you doing?" his brother would ask.
"Oh. Me? You know, the usual. Watching babies all day. That's about it."
And then he would talk my ear off for an hour or so. He talked about scaffolding, his hopes and dreams, the things he wanted in life. I would uh-huh and Hmmmm and generally felt the way you do when you're calling a friend and their significant other intercedes the call.
"Big D! Every time I call over there his brother answers the phone and talks my ear off for an hour!" I complained.
"Ahahahah! He liiiiikes you!" she teased.
"No he doesn't. He's just bored and lonely." I told her. And it was true.
One day I called because Crispy and I had tentative plans to hang around watching movies at his place. Of course he answered.
"Guess what?"
"What?"
"It's my birthday."
"It's your birthday!? Well Happy Birthday!"
"Yeah."
"So, what are your big plans?" I asked him.
"Well. I guess we're all going to watch a movie." he said. "I'm coming to get you."
"Okaaaaay."
Big D, the babies, and I were out on the front lawn when he pulled up in the maroon Cherokee. The girls were splashing and playing in their kiddie pool.
"Oh my gawd, Dew(ed)!" Big D gasped and laughed "He's wearing a collared shirt! Look, lookit him!"
"Nooo! Stop it I'm not looking at him!" He was in the suicide lane in the middle of the busy road we lived on, waiting to make the turn.
"You're totally on a date. This is a date, Dew. And I bet he has slacks on. Look! His hair is gelled!"
"Shit." He got out of the car, talked to the babies and BigD and then held the passenger door open for me.
"So," he said. "You ready to go downtown and have a drink with me?"
"What?"
"It's my birthday!" he reminded me.
"I guess that's true. What about Crispy?"
"He's fine. Probably already in bed."
"Oh." There appeared no polite way to get out of this. "Well, then I guess so."
And we did. He talked a lot. He opened doors, bought me drinks I didn't drink and kept shoving me over to the inside of the sidewalk. Or maybe it's the outside? Something about ladies and piss pts being dumped from over-head. I don't know, but it pissed me off.
When he dropped me off I figured he was hoping for the good night kiss. I was out of the car in a flash.
"Hey, thanks for taking me out."
"My pleasure" he said, getting out of the car to walk me to the door. We stood there awkwardly for a moment, not making any moves. Finally I hugged him.
"Happy Birthday"
"Best one ever." he smiled and kept turning around to look at me all the way back to his car.
I suppose that was my first date with The Man, seven years ago, but we don't count it as our anniversary because it was another six or seven months until the big one night stand that we count as our anniversary date.
H A P P Y 30th B I R T H D A Y B A B Y
here's to avoiding you for the rest of my life ;)
"Hi. Is Crispy around?"
"Yeah he's around here somewhere. What are you doing?" his brother would ask.
"Oh. Me? You know, the usual. Watching babies all day. That's about it."
And then he would talk my ear off for an hour or so. He talked about scaffolding, his hopes and dreams, the things he wanted in life. I would uh-huh and Hmmmm and generally felt the way you do when you're calling a friend and their significant other intercedes the call.
"Big D! Every time I call over there his brother answers the phone and talks my ear off for an hour!" I complained.
"Ahahahah! He liiiiikes you!" she teased.
"No he doesn't. He's just bored and lonely." I told her. And it was true.
One day I called because Crispy and I had tentative plans to hang around watching movies at his place. Of course he answered.
"Guess what?"
"What?"
"It's my birthday."
"It's your birthday!? Well Happy Birthday!"
"Yeah."
"So, what are your big plans?" I asked him.
"Well. I guess we're all going to watch a movie." he said. "I'm coming to get you."
"Okaaaaay."
Big D, the babies, and I were out on the front lawn when he pulled up in the maroon Cherokee. The girls were splashing and playing in their kiddie pool.
"Oh my gawd, Dew(ed)!" Big D gasped and laughed "He's wearing a collared shirt! Look, lookit him!"
"Nooo! Stop it I'm not looking at him!" He was in the suicide lane in the middle of the busy road we lived on, waiting to make the turn.
"You're totally on a date. This is a date, Dew. And I bet he has slacks on. Look! His hair is gelled!"
"Shit." He got out of the car, talked to the babies and BigD and then held the passenger door open for me.
"So," he said. "You ready to go downtown and have a drink with me?"
"What?"
"It's my birthday!" he reminded me.
"I guess that's true. What about Crispy?"
"He's fine. Probably already in bed."
"Oh." There appeared no polite way to get out of this. "Well, then I guess so."
And we did. He talked a lot. He opened doors, bought me drinks I didn't drink and kept shoving me over to the inside of the sidewalk. Or maybe it's the outside? Something about ladies and piss pts being dumped from over-head. I don't know, but it pissed me off.
When he dropped me off I figured he was hoping for the good night kiss. I was out of the car in a flash.
"Hey, thanks for taking me out."
"My pleasure" he said, getting out of the car to walk me to the door. We stood there awkwardly for a moment, not making any moves. Finally I hugged him.
"Happy Birthday"
"Best one ever." he smiled and kept turning around to look at me all the way back to his car.
I suppose that was my first date with The Man, seven years ago, but we don't count it as our anniversary because it was another six or seven months until the big one night stand that we count as our anniversary date.
H A P P Y 30th B I R T H D A Y B A B Y
here's to avoiding you for the rest of my life ;)
Monday, September 8, 2008
Untitled
I don't spot him on the outside as much anymore. He's not in the figure one block up that almost has his stride or in the beat-up car on the other side of an intersection. I don't have to resist my desire to speak to strangers who might have that same dark wave in their hair or the identical beat up levis. And he doesn't seem to tap me on the shoulder or whisper in my ear, doesn't push me up from underneath or crush me with a wickedly brilliant thought. It would be difficult for me to tell you exactly what he smells like, or where my head would fit on his shoulder on the rare occasion we hugged. Those sharp edges have blurred the way everything does as it ages.
When they tell you that the hurt will ease with time - that's what they mean. If of course, they're lucky enough to still believe that shit, lucky enough not to know better.
But those are not the missing pieces that will hurt the most, anyway. You think so at first, oh fuck do you ever. At first, it's all you can manage, to cower from the heart splitting beams of light that blast you with every detail that points to their absence. At the same time you're peaking through the gaps between your fingers because you have to know, and because like any two year old can tell you, when you close your eyes you're not there anymore. Peering out that way, you let them keep talking as they describe how meticulous he was, to protect the note with a zip lock bag, how thoughtful he was to apologize for the mess right in the note, for the sight he must have been to whoever found him, because you can't possibly believe it otherwise.
I suppose I didn't believe it and that's why I still looked for him for so long. Still thought maybe it was a joke. A very bad joke, of course but a hoax nevertheless. Thought maybe if he couldn't take it anymore, if everything he said in one of the drafts of another longer typed letter we found in his house was true that maybe he might have just gone away somewhere else. That maybe he could be the man in the faded jeans walking up ahead or driving the twenty year old car across from me in the intersection. Still there, still a possibility of something, just making a different left hand turn.
He's not of course. There is no maybe in suicide, no take backs and no way to correct the mistake. No way to even know that it was a mistake. Not if you do it right, and If anyone could tell you the right way to do something it was my dad.
Nope. He's not on the outside very often anymore, but I find him. He's in the late-night laugh fests I have with my sister, in the bullshitting we share. He's the flirty glint in my brother's eyes and the beer he throws down his throat without swallowing. He's the anti-authority stubborn streak in my daughter and the angry brow on my son.
And I find him in me. In my words. In my silence. In the ache.
When I was a kid I felt the pressure of his hope crushing me, his expectations, his anger and loathing when I didn't measure up, every time I threw it all away. I know now that hate was for himself. You don't get to take that when you go. It doesn't shatter and fly out to the outside. It stays in. On the inside of the pieces of yourself you leave behind.
When they tell you that the hurt will ease with time - that's what they mean. If of course, they're lucky enough to still believe that shit, lucky enough not to know better.
But those are not the missing pieces that will hurt the most, anyway. You think so at first, oh fuck do you ever. At first, it's all you can manage, to cower from the heart splitting beams of light that blast you with every detail that points to their absence. At the same time you're peaking through the gaps between your fingers because you have to know, and because like any two year old can tell you, when you close your eyes you're not there anymore. Peering out that way, you let them keep talking as they describe how meticulous he was, to protect the note with a zip lock bag, how thoughtful he was to apologize for the mess right in the note, for the sight he must have been to whoever found him, because you can't possibly believe it otherwise.
I suppose I didn't believe it and that's why I still looked for him for so long. Still thought maybe it was a joke. A very bad joke, of course but a hoax nevertheless. Thought maybe if he couldn't take it anymore, if everything he said in one of the drafts of another longer typed letter we found in his house was true that maybe he might have just gone away somewhere else. That maybe he could be the man in the faded jeans walking up ahead or driving the twenty year old car across from me in the intersection. Still there, still a possibility of something, just making a different left hand turn.
He's not of course. There is no maybe in suicide, no take backs and no way to correct the mistake. No way to even know that it was a mistake. Not if you do it right, and If anyone could tell you the right way to do something it was my dad.
Nope. He's not on the outside very often anymore, but I find him. He's in the late-night laugh fests I have with my sister, in the bullshitting we share. He's the flirty glint in my brother's eyes and the beer he throws down his throat without swallowing. He's the anti-authority stubborn streak in my daughter and the angry brow on my son.
And I find him in me. In my words. In my silence. In the ache.
When I was a kid I felt the pressure of his hope crushing me, his expectations, his anger and loathing when I didn't measure up, every time I threw it all away. I know now that hate was for himself. You don't get to take that when you go. It doesn't shatter and fly out to the outside. It stays in. On the inside of the pieces of yourself you leave behind.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Oral Fixations
I'm just going to tell you people straight up. My son is a thumb sucker. His daddy was a thumb sucker. All his daddy's siblings were thumb suckers. Apparently they've been thumb sucker children since the beginning of time, it was written in the bible they beget more thumb suckers and so on and so forth.
My family? We wait until we're nearly adults and we smoke cigarettes. *shrug* To each his own comfort, right? My daughter didn't suck anything. I don't do pacifiers and she never got attached to sucking her hand beyond the tiny infant stage. So, I have no prior experience with this.
When we went in for Lil' Man's ultrasound we saw a smooshy deformed looking baby …. Sucking his thumb. I know the smooshy part isn't nice to say but I was seriously concerned about the kids face, you can ask BigD. Of course now that he's out and quite obviously the most handsome boy to grace the planet I can reminisce on his ugly stage freely. I have a theory that it was just window face, 'cause when he's on the other side of our slider and smashes his face against the glass it looks just like the ultrasound shots. But my point today is that the thumb was being sucked.
Always the left thumb. Always the finger curled up over the nose. Always adorable.
I adapted. I read stuff. I accepted that this was his way of comforting himself. I enjoyed the fact that he could put himself to sleep. I realized he would stop doing it as soon as he didn't need to anymore. I'm over it. I have zero plans to "break him of it". ZERO. He really only does it when he's tired or upset.
Cut to yesterday when I noticed he has Flintstone thumb. The thumb he sucks is dark purplish red, the skin sorta of rippling and dry and sore looking. Not really swollen exactly but yeah sorta slightly swollen and definitely horrifying looking. Alright I'll just say it Sissy Hankshaw would be proud of this budding super-star of a thumb.
So I held him down to look for a break in the skin. He has, in the past, become over-zealous in his sucking and broken the skin on the top of the thumb with his lower teeth. He now has a callous ridge there that looks just like the spot my thumb ring rubs my thumb. I couldn't find any wound where his teeth rub, no damaged cuticle or sign of sliver or anything that might cause infection.
I said "Hey, Lil Man, does your thumb hurt? Is it ouchy?"
"Banyaid?" he asked me hopefully.
"Maybe, I'm asking you about your thumb," I gently prodded at his red appendage. "Is it hurting you?"
"Yes… I ouchy. I need a banyaid." he nodded solemnly. I went to get the first aid kit with him on my hip, placing him on the kitchen countertop in front of me while I tried to find some Neosporin. He pointed to one of his normal fingers and said "Ouchy, mama"
"You don't have an ouchy there!" I laughed. In the end I couldn't find the Neosporin and frankly I was worried he would just eat it off, sucking and really had no wound to put it on.
"Lil Man, I think your left thumb needs a break. What about this other thumb? Can you suck your other thumb for a while?"
"Nooooo!" He looked at me like that was a repulsive, ridiculous concept.
"I'm going to put a band aid on your ouchy thumb to remind you to give it a break, okay?" He eyed the band aid, wanting it badly and allowed me to wrap it around his purple thumb. Then he realized what that meant and hollered at me until I took it off again. I really didn't want him to suck the band aid off and choke himself in the night anyway. Of course I had to put another band aid on his hand to get him in bed.
This morning I called his pediatrician's office to speak to the advice nurse since I had researched possible causes to the problem online and had visions of amputation floating around in my head.
"Hi there. My son's a thumb sucker. He's two years old and his thumb of choice is slightly swollen, reddish purple and kinda ripply looking."
Blah blah blah the advice nurse admitted her job is to read from FAQs the doctors at the office have put together and all the information on thumb sucking was written for parents of much older children who are trying to break their habit. She's going to call my children's pediatrician and get back to me later today. But I think she thinks I'm calling because I want to make him quit when I just want to know if his thumb's going to fall off.
I mean if I have to stop him we'll duct tape a tube sock over his left arm to save the thumb but I really just want them to tell me it's fine and will clear up on it's own. I love the "leave it alone it will take care of itself" diagnosis, don't you!?
And where does our kids' Dr. get off, going on maternity leave? WTF? Who said she could have kids when we need her there at the damn office for when my son has sucked his thumb to the point of the skin breaking down?
*sigh* I'm tired. And vaguely upset. *goes outside to smoke*
My family? We wait until we're nearly adults and we smoke cigarettes. *shrug* To each his own comfort, right? My daughter didn't suck anything. I don't do pacifiers and she never got attached to sucking her hand beyond the tiny infant stage. So, I have no prior experience with this.
When we went in for Lil' Man's ultrasound we saw a smooshy deformed looking baby …. Sucking his thumb. I know the smooshy part isn't nice to say but I was seriously concerned about the kids face, you can ask BigD. Of course now that he's out and quite obviously the most handsome boy to grace the planet I can reminisce on his ugly stage freely. I have a theory that it was just window face, 'cause when he's on the other side of our slider and smashes his face against the glass it looks just like the ultrasound shots. But my point today is that the thumb was being sucked.
Always the left thumb. Always the finger curled up over the nose. Always adorable.
I adapted. I read stuff. I accepted that this was his way of comforting himself. I enjoyed the fact that he could put himself to sleep. I realized he would stop doing it as soon as he didn't need to anymore. I'm over it. I have zero plans to "break him of it". ZERO. He really only does it when he's tired or upset.
Cut to yesterday when I noticed he has Flintstone thumb. The thumb he sucks is dark purplish red, the skin sorta of rippling and dry and sore looking. Not really swollen exactly but yeah sorta slightly swollen and definitely horrifying looking. Alright I'll just say it Sissy Hankshaw would be proud of this budding super-star of a thumb.
So I held him down to look for a break in the skin. He has, in the past, become over-zealous in his sucking and broken the skin on the top of the thumb with his lower teeth. He now has a callous ridge there that looks just like the spot my thumb ring rubs my thumb. I couldn't find any wound where his teeth rub, no damaged cuticle or sign of sliver or anything that might cause infection.
I said "Hey, Lil Man, does your thumb hurt? Is it ouchy?"
"Banyaid?" he asked me hopefully.
"Maybe, I'm asking you about your thumb," I gently prodded at his red appendage. "Is it hurting you?"
"Yes… I ouchy. I need a banyaid." he nodded solemnly. I went to get the first aid kit with him on my hip, placing him on the kitchen countertop in front of me while I tried to find some Neosporin. He pointed to one of his normal fingers and said "Ouchy, mama"
"You don't have an ouchy there!" I laughed. In the end I couldn't find the Neosporin and frankly I was worried he would just eat it off, sucking and really had no wound to put it on.
"Lil Man, I think your left thumb needs a break. What about this other thumb? Can you suck your other thumb for a while?"
"Nooooo!" He looked at me like that was a repulsive, ridiculous concept.
"I'm going to put a band aid on your ouchy thumb to remind you to give it a break, okay?" He eyed the band aid, wanting it badly and allowed me to wrap it around his purple thumb. Then he realized what that meant and hollered at me until I took it off again. I really didn't want him to suck the band aid off and choke himself in the night anyway. Of course I had to put another band aid on his hand to get him in bed.
This morning I called his pediatrician's office to speak to the advice nurse since I had researched possible causes to the problem online and had visions of amputation floating around in my head.
"Hi there. My son's a thumb sucker. He's two years old and his thumb of choice is slightly swollen, reddish purple and kinda ripply looking."
Blah blah blah the advice nurse admitted her job is to read from FAQs the doctors at the office have put together and all the information on thumb sucking was written for parents of much older children who are trying to break their habit. She's going to call my children's pediatrician and get back to me later today. But I think she thinks I'm calling because I want to make him quit when I just want to know if his thumb's going to fall off.
I mean if I have to stop him we'll duct tape a tube sock over his left arm to save the thumb but I really just want them to tell me it's fine and will clear up on it's own. I love the "leave it alone it will take care of itself" diagnosis, don't you!?
And where does our kids' Dr. get off, going on maternity leave? WTF? Who said she could have kids when we need her there at the damn office for when my son has sucked his thumb to the point of the skin breaking down?
*sigh* I'm tired. And vaguely upset. *goes outside to smoke*
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Out of Sight Out of Mind
"Where's my stuff?" he asked me, angrily.
"What stuff?" I asked with an air of innocence.
"The stuff I had on the counter."
"Ooooh. That stuff. I put it in the paper drawer."
"What!? I told you I have to finish those, to leave them on the counter!"
"That was a week and a half ago. I had to clean up." I shrugged "They're right there in the drawer when you're ready to finish them."
"I can't finish them in the drawer! I have to see them to remind me to finish them."
"That's ridiculous!"
"You don't understand!"
"Understand what?" He was huffing and puffing. "What would you say to the kids if you asked them to clean something up and they said they weren't done using it yet?" He glared at me, knowing I had him.
"I am not one of the kids." he pointed out.
"Could have fooled me." I knew before I said it that I shouldn't say it, that I didn't even need to because my point had already been made but I couldn't help myself. Sometimes I could strangle him.
When we first moved in together he would use push pins to hang bills by the front door… by the calendar… by the computer… in the dining room. Just to remind himself to pay them. Drove me batty. You know when I pay a bill? When it arrives. But I'm not allowed to do the bills. Not because he doesn't trust me or because he does a better job at it or any reason like that. Just because he has to do them. It gives him piece of mind wrapped up in anxiety with a high blood pressure bow. He enjoys it. *shrug* I don't care that much. It isn't my money to budget, save or spend anyway.
I have no idea if he ever finished the paperwork. I would bet he didn't. If I were the gambler.
"What stuff?" I asked with an air of innocence.
"The stuff I had on the counter."
"Ooooh. That stuff. I put it in the paper drawer."
"What!? I told you I have to finish those, to leave them on the counter!"
"That was a week and a half ago. I had to clean up." I shrugged "They're right there in the drawer when you're ready to finish them."
"I can't finish them in the drawer! I have to see them to remind me to finish them."
"That's ridiculous!"
"You don't understand!"
"Understand what?" He was huffing and puffing. "What would you say to the kids if you asked them to clean something up and they said they weren't done using it yet?" He glared at me, knowing I had him.
"I am not one of the kids." he pointed out.
"Could have fooled me." I knew before I said it that I shouldn't say it, that I didn't even need to because my point had already been made but I couldn't help myself. Sometimes I could strangle him.
When we first moved in together he would use push pins to hang bills by the front door… by the calendar… by the computer… in the dining room. Just to remind himself to pay them. Drove me batty. You know when I pay a bill? When it arrives. But I'm not allowed to do the bills. Not because he doesn't trust me or because he does a better job at it or any reason like that. Just because he has to do them. It gives him piece of mind wrapped up in anxiety with a high blood pressure bow. He enjoys it. *shrug* I don't care that much. It isn't my money to budget, save or spend anyway.
I have no idea if he ever finished the paperwork. I would bet he didn't. If I were the gambler.
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