I am writing this down because right now, it is not funny.
(But it will be in about 10 years, or less)
You, Little Boy, do not like to eat food. You'll nibble at a few bites of bagel or hot pretzel or cereal or pizza or chicken nuggets. Maybe apple and celery.
And the idea of new food (broccoli, pasta!, or soup, goes against your very being. Your Mom's family had very sensitive noses and she hates Cilantro, so you've probably got some sensitivity gene.)
And your Poop is large and scary. (And kinda funny, how can something that hard and large come out of such a tiny, skinny body?) And it clogs the toilet regularly. (Ironically enough, because you are not so regular)
Like a scene in a movie, think "A Christmas Story" (not "Godzilla"), your father is driven crazy by this. He gets very angry and frustrated. He keeps a knife in the shower. Y'know, to cut it up. Unless, of course, your crazy roommate decides to flush it. And cause a clog.
The bottom of the toilet bowl is utterly scratched up and you can hear him swearing for miles.
We need to put Metamucil (that old people's stuff) in your drinks.
==
Your Father and I tried to talk to you about your Mom today. And you got goofy. (Which is some coping mechanism, like reverting or just being silly when we are trying to find emotional resolution. But I get it.)
You knew about last summer, before "all that stuff" happened. How sad she was (and I asked you if she was happier since then, because I hope it's true. I want it to be true.) I asked you to give her a hug for me. After Xmas, she texted me that she SHOWED you all the texts she sent me. About me jumping the gun. I think if I had gone over there to talk to her, I would never have been sure about leaving her alone. She wanted me to babysit you to give her time off (I didn't want to leave her alone). And I called. And I don't regret that.
I'm sorry that you guys had to see all that, all the police and the ambulance. But I'm glad she got help. I don't know how it could have happened any other way.
I love you guys. Give her a hug because I never will be able to. I don't think she'll ever forgive me. (And I don't know how to be friends with her any more)
==
It's the coldest night of the year. 25 degrees. It's nice to be in this apartment. (I have all my art and Mousetraps up on the walls.) I wonder what this room was like back when they were still in love. I think they fought a lot back then too. Sometimes, that's how people love. They allow themselves to FEEL strongly when it comes to someone else. (Which is awful! And wonderful. Maybe Love can make you act like a Bipolar person a little. Some happy some sad). And you want them near you all the time when they are gone and you can't stand them when they are near. It's painful and mysterious.
Good luck to you, kid. When you find your loves in life. Enjoy them and treat them well. And let them treasure you.
(But it will be in about 10 years, or less)
You, Little Boy, do not like to eat food. You'll nibble at a few bites of bagel or hot pretzel or cereal or pizza or chicken nuggets. Maybe apple and celery.
And the idea of new food (broccoli, pasta!, or soup, goes against your very being. Your Mom's family had very sensitive noses and she hates Cilantro, so you've probably got some sensitivity gene.)
And your Poop is large and scary. (And kinda funny, how can something that hard and large come out of such a tiny, skinny body?) And it clogs the toilet regularly. (Ironically enough, because you are not so regular)
Like a scene in a movie, think "A Christmas Story" (not "Godzilla"), your father is driven crazy by this. He gets very angry and frustrated. He keeps a knife in the shower. Y'know, to cut it up. Unless, of course, your crazy roommate decides to flush it. And cause a clog.
The bottom of the toilet bowl is utterly scratched up and you can hear him swearing for miles.
We need to put Metamucil (that old people's stuff) in your drinks.
==
Your Father and I tried to talk to you about your Mom today. And you got goofy. (Which is some coping mechanism, like reverting or just being silly when we are trying to find emotional resolution. But I get it.)
You knew about last summer, before "all that stuff" happened. How sad she was (and I asked you if she was happier since then, because I hope it's true. I want it to be true.) I asked you to give her a hug for me. After Xmas, she texted me that she SHOWED you all the texts she sent me. About me jumping the gun. I think if I had gone over there to talk to her, I would never have been sure about leaving her alone. She wanted me to babysit you to give her time off (I didn't want to leave her alone). And I called. And I don't regret that.
I'm sorry that you guys had to see all that, all the police and the ambulance. But I'm glad she got help. I don't know how it could have happened any other way.
I love you guys. Give her a hug because I never will be able to. I don't think she'll ever forgive me. (And I don't know how to be friends with her any more)
==
It's the coldest night of the year. 25 degrees. It's nice to be in this apartment. (I have all my art and Mousetraps up on the walls.) I wonder what this room was like back when they were still in love. I think they fought a lot back then too. Sometimes, that's how people love. They allow themselves to FEEL strongly when it comes to someone else. (Which is awful! And wonderful. Maybe Love can make you act like a Bipolar person a little. Some happy some sad). And you want them near you all the time when they are gone and you can't stand them when they are near. It's painful and mysterious.
Good luck to you, kid. When you find your loves in life. Enjoy them and treat them well. And let them treasure you.
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