The Boy and I spend much of our weekends talking, me drawing out of him what his week is, how he’s feeling, conversations about why you need a collage degree.
“What are you going to do for work. Way things are going in the economy it’s gonna last till 2016 and say you drop out.”
“I can make webpages.”
“Oh yeah? What do you know about that?”
“I know CSS,” (the very minor beginning of it I taught him.)
“Do you know how to put a webpage onto the internet?”
“Magic?”
“Do you know CSS, HTML, and PHP?”
“I can always flip burgers.”
“Really? Can you? cause I’ve never seen you, never seen you flip anything, fry anything. And do you know with those jobs you have to do other things? Clean the grease trap, do the dishes, do what your boss tells you or they will fire you cause you are in a city and economy where you are competing with adults for those jobs?”
Amusingly enough he did work at getting some homework done after that. This dialogue was in a break when he just couldn’t go on.
I guess what I do is called Choice parenting. You have a choice kid, but here are the consequences. ( I actually tend to watch Intervention and do the opposite of the stories of the parents in the episodes.)
We also go into a conversation about language and what it is to him. He experiences words and communication very different than other people I finally understand.
It started, the talking, with another in depth examination of what has been concentrated on in his life, the socializing aspect, teaching eye contact, putting words to feelings. He actually has told me I gave him his feelings, in that he didn’t have them before we did the work but I don’t believe that, the reactions were too huge on the depressed side. Somehow we were able to get him to connect the pieces so that he can identify what he’s feeling and, as of now, he can express it to me and his dad at least.
Ok, so in the argument, which started as a get out of homework delay tactic, The Boy is telling me he can either concentrate on learning to socialize or learning to do work.
I said it’s time to learn to do work, you have enough socialization to get by in the world and now you have to get stuff done.
He said no, he wants friends and it’s harder at high school. I’m like, OF COURSE it’s harder at highschool in fact it’s weird and sucky for everyone and you should give it a complete wash and concentrate on getting the work done so you can go to college and do something in your life for a living you love to do. Besides, don’t you have friends? What about So-n-So?
This leads to telling me he has a group of friends that don’t talk.
I’m like, “How do you know what each other is thinking?”
“Sign language, gestures, you know”
“I don’t know, I need language to understand things. Don’t you like talking?”
He looks at me with the most astonished wrinkly forehead, and big, brown, slighty squinty eyed look and said “NooOooo”
But when he does talk there are good words and bad words, words that sound better to his ear and more relaxing. When I ask if we can make a list he said, “No it depends on room sounds, outside sounds, time of day, who I’m talking too.”
“So how does this relate to all the problems at school?”
He had to think and felt that he puts out sentences that don’t make sense to everyone. That the way he likes to have his words arranged makes it confusing. And I agree. I’ve lived with him for 14 years and still feel like I’m translating to English half the time, or pulling details out of him so I can understand what he’s talking about.
“So can you do it different?”
“Oh I can but it feels wrong.”
“If it causes a problem with a teacher can you do it different?”
Another expression of amazement that Mom can even ask such a question, “No way!”
“So the feeling of wrong is stronger and you want to avoid it more than the displeasure from your teacher when they don’t understand you?”
Smile, nod and relief at being understood, “Yeah.”
Written on March 8, 2010 | Posted in
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The boy came home last night. He had been gone for the weekend for a boy scout weekend, hadn’t seen him since the sunday before and the phone call at noon saying he was back in town and heading home was lovely.
Having him here is good for me as well as highlights some of the anxiety/pain/grief?
He’s a good kid too. While on the phone I explained if he came home it would mean he had to help me clean up the pig sty that I was calling the apartment. That I had been out of the house and sick all week and it was atrocious. He asked if he stayed at his dad’s would i wait to clean until tomorrow? I said no, it’s making me crazy.
“Oh, I’ll come help you then.”
Awwwwwwwwww and he did.
Let himself into the apartment, woke me from my nap, found the cold pills, brought me water and a pill to wake me up (sudafed,) talked, then went to store for the dinner items of chicken soup and garlic bread.
Right now he’s sitting at the computer earning some video game privileges by typing 300 words on why he needs to bring his text books to my house as well.
Cleaned things up without nagging.
Hugged a lot.
Teased him by calling him my valentine over and over in sappy mom voice. He ‘loves’ that.
The hard part is how much I love him. As I watch his half-manly build typing at the computer with bad music playing and his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth in concentration I feel it in my gut, the desire to have someone to punch in the arm, nod my head at my child to make them look and both of us proud and loving and smiling wide at the boy’s greatness. And later we take it out on each other. Love = lust and security.
I have these clients who are older single women. Women at 66 still looking for their true love, women who’ve mentioned being single for 20 years, women with cats and dogs and careers and not unhappy but single, single, single.
Single.
It’s not that I don’t like it, being single, I do actually. Get much more done when I haven’t got to worry about another’s emotional state or juggling schedules or aching for them to make an effort towards me. But there’s a lot of stuff I have to get over now. Like the idea that single will change. That I will meet someone who wants this weird conglomeration of a life I’ve created, will join it to do art, work, play, and strange hours along with parenthood.
Grieving the loss of a taken-for-granted future on top of everything else. I always figured at some point I would meet the person, that we would have a child, one I can raise daily and share with the love of my life. A baby that has our features and joy.
Not going to happen now. The most fulfilling role of my life is mom. It’s who I’ve been even before I was grown, the bossy girl left in charge of the room. And I’m so very glad I have my son. He’s the reason I wanted another, I love him so very much I can only see another as a blessing, joy, love, a lifetime of worth it. But I can’t ever bring another child into this world without stability. I was young and didn’t know what I was doing with the first one but I get how hard it is, the support that needs to be in place, the money, etc.
Even if I met the mythical mr. right tomorrow it will be months before I’m anywhere near trying something again (If I ever do) and years before I will trust someone to the point of building a life and by then, well, lets just say reproduction gets iffy early in my lineage.
All that to say I have to let these things go, a normal stage of human development I’m guessing, but I can’t live on the pipe dream of true forever love sold to me in childhood.
Every time I bring up my bah humbug survivalist strategy of “why should I want a guy?” I get the soothing answers, and sad sighs for my bitter “I DON’T NEED ONE!” A society reinforcing that somehow together is the thing to want.
I have been as alone in a relationship as I have been out of one. When things are bad IN one it’s worse than out because at least OUT of one it’s only me I have to deal with. I’m not trying to figure out how to get what I need from someone who can’t give it. Only me. When did this become the default negative?
Grieving for giving up the disney happily ever after dream. Can not see myself being the kind of person anymore that can make this crap work. I’m not the girl they all want with the soft ways, or understanding, or lack of rage, or make up, or heels, or boots, or pandering compliments, or tact, or whatever it is their egos need for bonding. The me I’ve always been is not one who has any idea how to fit with another and lord knows the men I’ve met and dated have never bothered to figure out how to fit into my life. Never was an option except for the 10 days of drunk fantasy talk with most recent ex. The reality of meeting the kid and seeing my real life ended that for him, though I still had/have to cope with the loss of what I wanted so badly for so long. Love, home, life with the guy who adores me back. It’s such a feeling of betrayal. That life itself has betrayed me.
Yep, all that is wrapped up in the love and pride I have watching my son struggle with making his run-on sentence of 300 words into paragraphs and adding periods for clarity.
With the boy here though I have something else to think about, a person who needs to eat so dishes need to be done, rent must be paid so work has to be booked, adulthood must not seem to awful so a smile is on my face. And frankly, with him here, it is a sincere one.
Written on February 15, 2010 | Posted in
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I’m in the kitchen dancing to old rock on the boombox I bought 15? years ago. Radios never break have you noticed?
I’m in mom mode, making my famous pasta and clam cream sauce, sorta different every time but always yummy. Tonight I have acheived a delicate perfection wtih the flavors. I’ve taken my time, sauteed and cooked and simmered for an hour. mmmmm…
My son is in the livingroom/mybedroom reading on our new-to-us couch, the love of my life. I’m talking about the couch, not the kid. LOVE THIS COUCH! I’ve sprayed it, cleaned it, fluffed it and slept on it twice already. My son is lounging on the lounge side of it, one of my lurid sciencefiction novels in his hands and I can see the future, him in a bigger body, beardier face. 14 is getting there but the baby I held still shows.
I walked in, stood in front, and asked, “Is there something I need to yell at you for? I feel like I should be yelling!” He smiles his coy smile, “you should yell at me to play more video games.”
I reply, “I’ve had a beer, I’m not stupid.”
So not stupid I’m setting him up for the photo I want to take. He hates having his picture taken. We go through a lot to get him. So I’ve already established my need to stand and stare at him in a joking fashion…wait…wait for the book to take over again…
Stir the sauce, stir the pasta, I can do this…
camera sound off, camera phone engaged, tippy tippy tippy toe…
FAIL!!!!!!!!!!
rotten kid
Written on November 7, 2009 | Posted in
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i meant to stop drinking for a while
but it was just sitting there and I was reading the book of hunter s thompson interveiws
adn he had a bottle of wild turkey behind him in the jacket photo
and I’m like, i’m gonzo! i’m gonna drink while I do the dishes
- from a chat about a minute ago, to explain my super irish coffee that I made to go with my aunt jemima pancakes.
yep, i’m a wee bit soused right now.
Unintentional. It didn’t look like that much whiskey in the bottle. I was going for an alert shoulder relaxer.
I am, however, ok with it.
My son has grown. At 11am I look in his door and softly say, “hey if you want to get up now it’s a good time, I’m making pancakes.” He rolls over, his back to me. Obviously the prize of teenagerdom is the sleep all day saturdays. I like to let him sleep, relax, recharge, grow and hopefully it makes the rest of his week easier.
His back, once so fragile and small has the V of an adult now, wide shoulders, strength to come. But there is still this sweet, dimply, adorable boy about him. I am so proud I could almost bust a gut in real life. Just have my chest and stomach explode as I draw it in with unreleased and overwhelming emotion. I would like to pound on someone, jump, pounce and hollar “I have the cutest, bestest kid in the world!”
So I had an irish coffee.
A SUPER irish coffee.
Written on October 24, 2009 | Posted in
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You would think a person would get sick of talking about herself all the time. Move into a more general type of conversation, start looking at the world around her and make with the commentary already.
Nope!
I am a new york narcissist now. Everyone is inherently narcissistic, it is spose to be dealt with in our raising, as we are taught to share and think of others, but now I cultivate it and call it art. It is a satisfying way to live. I get to choose my own shell around me. I get to make people talk to me about my art, and what I did on stage, and not apologize for anything. (Although I do keep saying I’m sorry too much.)
Statistically I’m screwed. The majority of people who try to do anything with their life end up miserable and having mid-life crisis things. As well as no retirement.
This leads us directly to the take care of myself column. First thing I’m trying is giving up caffeine. My sleep is not deep and restful. It may never be but I am at the point where I would like to try things to make it better. Wear myself out a little more. Stop Coffee.
I’ve slowed down with coffee over the past few years already, though there are some days, but I do about 2 cups a day. Gonna try to ditch even that as well as back to vodka-soda for a drink and drop the Coke. Remove the artificial things that stimulate.
Right now I’m trying to teach my son some homework habits. We’re doing rather well. It’s difficult. Trying to get him to understand that it matters if you do the work, hoping he won’t be in 8th grade again. But once we’re on a roll he can cook. Right now I’m almost optimistic. Don’t tell the gods.
I managed to make it till the afternoon, when I bought a BIG cup of coffee, and drank it, and am now going to try and make it til tomorrow again without another hit. Make it THROUGH tomorrow, I mean.
I have managed to clean my kitchen a bit this weekend. Spent most of it combing through hair, looking for cooties. Nitpicking with a fine tooth comb we done did.
Have been piling contaminated laundry on the floor, away from hair, taking comfort in the fact that all the critters should die 2 days away from your head.
Hanging with the boy has been a good spring break, considering. We went to see the guys in brooklyn and he got appropriately picked on.
I have this gang of men I’ve hung out with for 10 to 15 years now (depending on the member we’re talking about.) It’s my own little seinfeld show. I helped one move in with the other back in 99? And there’s been a rotating door of roommate rearrangement ever since.
So I go and hang. And have surreal conversations. Like the one who is obsessed with small breasts. He really doesn’t care who a woman is as long as the breasts are what he wants. For the rights size tits he would make a commitment.
He gives me his endorsement, “You are amazing, I hate women and I love you to pieces.”
“Maybe if you stopped worrying so much about boobsize you would meet some more women you like.” “It’s an obsession.”
“It’s a problem.”
“It’s normal.”
“I’ve known hundreds of men, it’s not.”
He will never listen to me, I’m just the one female he likes. And he wonders why they don’t call back after a date or two. Who wants to deal with that? Who wants to be wanted simply for one bodily characteristic?
I want to be wanted for all of them. For my boobs and belly and ass. For my mind and my emotions. For my grouchy and my spoil you rotten. For my bad choices and my brilliant rightness. I want someone who wants all of me. I bet most people do. Why does it seem so hard to find?
Why do I see so many couples struggling with anger at how the other isn’t all they wanted them to be?
We simply can’t see the reality as we fall in love with the best image we are given? Or the one we project, thinking it will save us, though the person behind it can’t quite make it up on that pedestal?
I’ve had the rare moment in life where my largest pain is made visible again and I get to cope with that. And it obviously has everything to do with all my relationships. And the skill set needed to stick in something, or to find the right thing to stick in, or to know what to do with it once your stuck there.
But I think it’s come too late. I find myself rubbing up against these men in my life and loving them as friends and wondering how they ever came to survive this long they seem so oblivious to actual reality around them.
I said to that guy, (you know, the one I’m not dating,) the other day, that he had changed me. He wanted to know what I mean by that but I couldn’t explain. I left it dangling in a simply assumed explanation, finding that being too open about the truth of my definitions was a suddenly very scary thing with him. I grow close and warm, ready to give it all, as I open up and while we are close already, well we aren’t, and there has not been enough time to know what to trust between us now.
Spending today with my child, tottering about and randomly taking care of the daily life necessities I know that this I am ok with. The Boy and me, our routine, our understandings, our jokes, our work and our partnership. He believes me when I say, “you are ready to do this.” And I am grateful when he puts the clothes away and sits with much patience while I separate, investigate and comb through every follicle of hair.
Something has changed. I’m not sure it’s for the better but it feels for the solid. Knowing I have no energy to try and fit someone else into this life. No longer have the resources for the risk. Probably never did, which would be why I took so many shitty ones in my life.
Talking to friends about internet dating and being exhausted simply reading profiles, annoyed at every attempt made by humanity to connect. It’s all so retarded, go, talk, drink, kiss, like, don’t like, hurt, rejoice, infatuate, crush.
Do that?
Pickups and take homes, friendly flirting, and empty mornings.
Do That?
Search for “true love” and that “one person for everyone out there” because it’s been crammed down my throat by every religion, book, movie, tv show, culture bearing item.
DO THAT?
Wait for another NYC jewel to turn up in my circle of attraction and pretend it will be different this time?
OH GOD NO I CAN’T DO THAT AGAIN!
So that means I’m done I guess. Single forever! I should make a superhero costume. Dash about the city trying to save other amazing women who seem to be woefully unappreciated due to an inability to fit into whatever physical fetish the current crop of single guys won’t let go.
Let them know that however much you would like to be able to come home to someone who will rub your feet and back, tell you you’re amazing with your patience with your son, your willingness to make hour and a half treks to take him home, the way you also make a business float, and work on your art, and blog on a semi-regular basis, the way you seem to be able to do anything you want to try, the way you glow on stage, the way you help others, well, let them know that the guy who can handle all that, appreciate, and give the same back probably doesn’t exist. And if he does is probably trying to date a supermodel. Not an aging single mom with BabyDaddy issues, among others.
Is that a superhero we need? Only if she can explain how to live otherwise. Only if her magical lasso of power instantly makes you lose all interest in coupling up and allows a sense of self that knows how to prioritize to kick butt and take names in whatever the lady adores to do.
Written on April 20, 2009 | Posted in
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ok, so that bug from a week ago? That wasn’t a bedbug? Well, it might be more of a problem. Head Lice. Possibly over the counter insecticidal shampoo resistant.
I know, I seem like a really gross filthy person, and I sorta am. but I’m blaming my lice on the emergency room. I’ve never had them before, neither has The Boy. He may have had them for months even. He has eczema and doesn’t notice the itching. I know that was the day I had my head rubbing up against his for hours as I hugged and comforted him.
Yep, I’m blaming The Boy.
Written on April 19, 2009 | Posted in
News
Oh man, it can’t last, I know that. On all levels something is gonna come and sweep it all away but right now I want to document the fact that I’m having a happy moments.
Stage the other night, tues, was a new level of the character, SexyBack, that I have been working on. Acting and performing is a weird thing for me. I can toss off an act in an instant if I have too but on the big ones I pretty much hypnotize myself into a character. Sometimes better than others.
And I got into it last night. I have a conscious part of my mind thinking, what should I do next? as I make up my act on the spot, on the stage, in the light. The rest is unknowable. I’m not sure what it is I do but, as I contrive actions that might entertain, my monkeys in the basement brain stir up phrases and things that come next. It’s sorta volleyball set up. I look off and wonder, humm, what next, must say something and bubbublblbubublPOP! “I drink because I care.” and I do something for the next 30 seconds.
I always come out of these performances and sets dazed, sorta high from the endorphins and adrenaline and the trance of art. I never feel like I’ve done anything at all. It seems to me that I just thrown bits out, hit my marks, delivered the correct line but I have no idea what it looked like on the outside. I figure it sucks.
Of course this is usually when people come to me and tell me it was a great performance.
That it went somewhere.
I don’t think that Tues night was oscar caliber or anything, but I did hit a new level in it, in the character, brought out a more of the reality of another person and less of the “act.”
That makes me Happy.
Plus there was a whole lot of fun, laughing, eating, enjoying before and after and all I could do was look at this amazing group of people I hang out with and grin. So freakin happy to be in this collective now, one that we’re trying to base on real honesty. The stuff from the middle once the ego is gone. It takes a lot of practice, but what we’ve managed so far feels like it’s working to me.
Love, so much love surrounding us at that show.
Then I come home to a teenage boy, so happy to see me, so happy to have had a-do-what-he-wants night in the apartment, so cuddly, and we lay down on the couch, him spooned by me, my arms wrapped around him, him telling me he’ll go to the bed once I’m asleep and we both snooze off. He’s alive and a little smelly, and wiggly, and putting a kink in my arm. I’m not moving. We slept the morning away.
A day of tired tired tired, but satisfied, relaxed, settled for a moment in what has gone on. It’s all ok, no expectations of the future, too tired to even think about it, no pain rearing it’s head, all is too alright.
I’m not an optimist so I do know that this can’t last, no matter what. It’s a rule of life. It changes, it goes up and down and, of course, I am doomed! I “KNOW” that.
I’ll take it though, this moment of soapy, rainbow glory. I’m in a place of happy.
Thank you Internet. I love you much. More than I can ever tell you. Even if you think you get it, more than that.
And as the next request, because somehow I feel like if I stop asking for stuff you will forget I am here and it will all go away, I think I want the thing I need. Whatever it is. The next step on the path of personal growth. But maybe not in a dramatic and devastating manner? Maybe? lol, crap, what did I just ask for? I’m rollin my eyes at myself.
Written on April 16, 2009 | Posted in
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I simply adore you. For a very cynical and untrusting gal you have seriously proven to be full of more magic than any other prayer wheel I’ve had the pleasure to try.
You do love me and you do hear me.
I’m sorry I haven’t come back to tell you all about it but you know how I am. But I’m here now, things are settled a little, after shows and things and first I just wanted to say thank you. I asked you to just send me the thing that would make me happy and you did it.
See I’ve been looking for a group to do art with for a while. Mostly because I do more work when supported, and when in a peer group to bounce ideas of, as well as having people I feel responsible for helping to get shit done.
I’ve been through a lot of social conglomerations. Most have as much good as bad and while work got done there were certain tension levels and every group fell apart, usually amicably, sometimes not and other groups would form out of it. A fractal flower of human relationships.
And over the year, due to some major events, a group of us started getting close.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The writing of this blog was interrupted on Monday due to the fact I received a phone call saying my son had been hit by a car. HE IS OK! A broken foot he says is already feeling better, a lack of talking to me on the phone – since after the hugging he needs in the emergency room is over mom is an item to be grunted at and gotten off the phone.
Worst phone call ever!
So I was gonna tell you all about the new art group that’s forming with me and my friends and how we put on this kickass show in about a week and a half with me being asked to be on stage at 3 in the afternoon of the performance, and I bought a short red dress and ratted my hair and had the time of my life – as did the audience from the laughter.
How solid I feel working with this group of people. Our strengths and weaknesses seem to fit, we are pretty honest and open with each other, more than any other group I’ve ever been involved with, and it just WORKS!
ALL THE WORK TO DO NOW!!!!!
WAS trying to get everything done on Monday.
—–
Thanks internet, not only do I have a working art collective coming together but my son is ALIVE!
And now I get to go paint a theatre.
Written on April 9, 2009 | Posted in
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After I recovered from the flu last friday my son came home.
Our schedule has gone through some changes this year. He was with me for the school week for the first time since his dad and I split, and while he liked it the mornings were early, and the change in routine was more disruptive than having my presence was helpful.
His father also didn’t like it and if we had wanted to keep the change of days then there would need to be a custody case. The Boy and I had many conversations about it. What a court case would be like. Why his father was mean. How I agreed with the rules but not how his Father acted to “enforce” them.
And I was/am worried about their physical fighting.
My son did not want us fighting in court again and frankly neither did I. I was beginning to think I had no choice though as I kept hearing of escalation of the fighting.
Then there was a tussle that changed things according to my son. I don’t have details because from the kid’s point of view he has no idea why things are different, and doesn’t care. He just feels happier. I can see it as we take our rambling walks. He tells me dad is listening better, giving him time to do things, and mostly being less mean, and no fights. The Boy claims he’s also less afraid to speak to his dad now, and is explaining his side better. He claims he is getting homework done, has a way to do his weekend homework when he’s not with me, because he wants to maximize all his minutes with me.
I don’t believe him, but at this point he knows he has to pass 8th grade or not go to the SUPER COOL TEST INTO NYC HIGH SCHOOL that he easily gained admittance to. I know that if/when good dad does what I always recall him doing, and reverts to rotten dad, I’ll be more ready to do what needs to be done, and in the mean time I’ll keep trying to find ways to help him succeed, give him more and more socialization with my adult friends so with exposure by the time he gets to it the adult world will be familiar, and he can relax and know the rules of how to act, as well as have them so practiced they don’t look as though they are being chosen moment by moment. Teaching socialization is a constant thing with us all based around giving him the rules people usually follow for him to hang his understanding off of. The rules I have haphazardly spent my life trying to figure out cause it always seemed such a mystery to me, why people said what they said, did what they did.
(Have I mentioned my son has a mild run of the Asbergers Syndrom? His father too but more severe.)
But with school and boy scouts, and one weekend a month with his dad, I don’t get a lot of time. It’s concentrated from 10:30pm on friday to 7:00pm on sunday.
Saturday, after hanging out with a bunch of my friends at a black box theatre we walked around new york city, him leading, until mom had to pee. The conversation consisted on what types of mohawks he would like to have, the colors and me talking to him about my first fiance, who had a mohawk and would put it up but you really don’t want to make it a permanent job. He thought I should wear the mohawk cause I had long enough hair now to make it work, his hair was still too short. But he does have this long flop of a bang down to his chin and we have a “maybe plan” to put that up as two devil horns, black tipped with red, for Halloween.
We walked to Barnes and Nobel at 14th street, cause mom has to use the bathroom. We wandered around, ended up planted on our butts in the bargain books, me reading a book titled “Wisdom of the Ancients,” him looking at every page in a book showing pictures of all the crazy airplanes ever thought up. We spent some time making each other look at each other’s amazing bargain find, that we weren’t about to buy.
Hours later I’ve decided we’ve had a great day and it’s time to go home. He doesn’t listen, and after some cajoling, a little tickle under the armpits he resists in a big way and I lose my temper. “Fine” I hiss in the “mother’s totally pissed off in public” whisper, “stay then.” And I march to the escalator, not looking back, and down and out to the front where I stand on the sidewalk looking through the big plate glass window at the aisle and wait to see if he follows, furiously trying figure out how rescue my mom power if he stays.
He didn’t, he was 30 seconds behind, peering ahead, not afraid but wondering where I had stopped to spy on him. I caught him as he came out the door. He tried to cajole me by being cute. I explain I’m angry and I want an apology, not teased into a smile. He says sorry, I say accepted and we discuss what next.
We realized that it was too cold to walk all the way down to where our friend would give us free food and so hit the train back to queens.
On the way home, off the train where he had been singing songs to me he was making up as we rode and as I hushed him often to sing quietly, and also “don’t do that annoying honking noise there are other people on the train,” he piped up with, “I think I’m schizophrenic.”
“Excuse me?”
“Those are the people who have split personalities right?”
“Yes but that happens from serious abuse in childhood, you do not have a split personality.”
“Well they know about each other and share memories and every thing but there are different mes”
“Sounds human to me. There’s a few of me running around in my head too.”
“I have three. The philosopher, the depressed person and the happy person.”
“Oh well, so how does that work?”
“Well I like the philosopher best.”
“How’s the depressed guy.”
“I ignore him. I just pay attention to the happy person now.”
Hmmm… out of the mouth of babes.
We ended up at home, ate some more hot pockets due to a sale of 3 boxes for $6, (2 pockets a box!) and an instant lunch of macaroni and cheesey sauce. In deference to my worrying about being a bad mom he consented to eat the chicken and broccoli pocket, instead of the pizza pocket, as well as letting me add frozen baby peas to the starchy $1 snack food.
We finished our day together with the YouTube video currently displayed, “we are the strange” which he had wanted to show me for FOREVER!
But the pay off is in the morning. He gets out of bed, goes to the bathroom and then does that thing kids do when they own you. He lifts my arm, shoves me over into the last remaining inch of space on the couch and lay’s down snuggling in. We sleep for a while and as my alarm goes off we stir and wake and he muttters, “I love you.”
I kiss his head and sigh.
“You’re the best mom ever.”
I love you too sweetpea, more than you’ll ever know.
Written on March 26, 2009 | Posted in
Featured
YouTube – We Are The Strange.
This is a weird hour and a half movie, yes a real movie, sorta, that The Boy finally got me to watch with him. I am not sure how I feel about the whole thing. I like the idea of it, and some of the chaotic visual techniques of modern animation, but being old I also found it hard to understand what I’m looking at and the pay off at the end is a little “eh.” LOVED THE FEMINIST MESSAGE! Who knew? If you don’t understand that message (and you should, it’s simple and spelled out) just comment and let me know. I’ll explain. But you have to sit through the whole thing. I understand if you don’t make it.
Written on March 22, 2009 | Posted in
Videos