Well, kid.
Today you got back into the routine for the year.
I walked you to the bus this morning. After urging you to finish your cereal, and somehow we got into a game of writing a nonsense grocery shopping list. Including "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious". and a bunch of your words.
It's been cold for the past week (20 degrees and lots of snow before you returned from Mexico). Today it was 55 degrees. A thaw, rainy and wet soaked through. Tomorrow everything will freeze; they are warning people about it on the radio.
5pm Your father came home, exhausted. I had texted him, asking him to get milk (although I feel so guilty everytime I ask him for anything). He told me about how the antibiotics aren't working for his father. He keeps sighing. I didn't know what to do, so I offered him a hug. He accepted it and graciously accepted a long hug, until I thought he was going to cry. Don't worry, there's never been anything between us, except shimmering moments of friendship. He told me--when I first moved in and was complaining about Amber having moved in without me being consulted, etc--he told me that I reminded him of your Mother. I've tried not to ask for anything since.
6:30 You and I had searched my room for colored pencils.
I had to dig into my Art pile, which I honestly haven't touched in too long, months. Since before I changed my room and pushed the bed against the closed window and put the green couch across from the door. Before that, my bed was facing the door and we had to draw in the space between it and the window and the couch. Yesterday, your father offered me two oriental style bowls and asked if I had any clutter to use them for. Everywhere he pointed was clutter.
Of course, you found a package to play with, Glow in the Dark Markers.
Of course, my colored pencils were with YOUR colored pencils, on your desk, in the hallway.
7pm We dived into a coloring game, which we haven't done in forever (You have a tight schedule, kid, Little Red Rockets Afterschool program until 6, then homework, then dinner, then bed at 8). The markers were slightly dried out (because I'm always SAVING things to be used one day, so even though the package was pristine, which you kindly pointed out, I was happy to use it.
I might have bought it for Scrumpy's Mom, Dawn, when she was coming out of the hospital. But today, I've decided not to be friends with her anymore. She gets VERY insecure when anyone gets mad at her, or is upset for any reason. How can I be friends with someone who won't let me feel my feelings? And if I can't tell her what's wrong, how can we ever fix it? That's what she should feel insecure about, losing friendships because the minute someone says that things aren't perfect, she begins to cry. I don't want her to cry, so I don't tell her. And pretty soon, like now, I stop talking to her entirely.
You did a GREAT Vampire Face (just the face part) and I was happy with the outline of a cat I did in a room, but which looked spooky as a single line and a mouse when it glowed in the dark. You might remember that you did a paper airplane, which you could watch fly in the dark. We kept running into the bathroom to check on our masterpieces. They will only glow for 4 hours (or less, in the case of the back of my hand, I drew a face and it was gone in 15 minutes, by the time we showed "my Dad and Amber".
He got mad (at me) because you were having such a good time (and so was I) but he then had to be the "bad guy" and pull you away to have dinner and do homework and read before bed. (These are the years which will slip away so fast.) He just finished all his classes a month ago, so maybe he can get some more rest. (And when his father gets out of the hospital . . . ) You and I haven't had a day like this, coloring and playing and we were both so excited. Your dad sees your energy level and knows it will be a struggle to get you into bed. Sigh. No wonder he gets mad at me.
8pm I hide in my room while you eat your salad. I write this and play an episode from CUNY's English Dept about Billy Collins and Paul Muldoon, the Poets. I'm generally lonely and happy and unemployed and writing and having fun playing by myself. (But I sense I need to move on when they get married)
8:30pm Your father just read a terrific story to you; I can hear his voice fluctuating wildly, exaggerated and fun.
Now you both are laughing, his laugh is low, but yours is a high giggle. Juggling your laughter, like you'd buoy up a balloon in the living room. It's lasting awhile. I'm glad. He's not feeling like the bad guy anymore. I think he won you over.
Today you got back into the routine for the year.
I walked you to the bus this morning. After urging you to finish your cereal, and somehow we got into a game of writing a nonsense grocery shopping list. Including "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious". and a bunch of your words.
It's been cold for the past week (20 degrees and lots of snow before you returned from Mexico). Today it was 55 degrees. A thaw, rainy and wet soaked through. Tomorrow everything will freeze; they are warning people about it on the radio.
5pm Your father came home, exhausted. I had texted him, asking him to get milk (although I feel so guilty everytime I ask him for anything). He told me about how the antibiotics aren't working for his father. He keeps sighing. I didn't know what to do, so I offered him a hug. He accepted it and graciously accepted a long hug, until I thought he was going to cry. Don't worry, there's never been anything between us, except shimmering moments of friendship. He told me--when I first moved in and was complaining about Amber having moved in without me being consulted, etc--he told me that I reminded him of your Mother. I've tried not to ask for anything since.
6:30 You and I had searched my room for colored pencils.
I had to dig into my Art pile, which I honestly haven't touched in too long, months. Since before I changed my room and pushed the bed against the closed window and put the green couch across from the door. Before that, my bed was facing the door and we had to draw in the space between it and the window and the couch. Yesterday, your father offered me two oriental style bowls and asked if I had any clutter to use them for. Everywhere he pointed was clutter.
Of course, you found a package to play with, Glow in the Dark Markers.
Of course, my colored pencils were with YOUR colored pencils, on your desk, in the hallway.
7pm We dived into a coloring game, which we haven't done in forever (You have a tight schedule, kid, Little Red Rockets Afterschool program until 6, then homework, then dinner, then bed at 8). The markers were slightly dried out (because I'm always SAVING things to be used one day, so even though the package was pristine, which you kindly pointed out, I was happy to use it.
I might have bought it for Scrumpy's Mom, Dawn, when she was coming out of the hospital. But today, I've decided not to be friends with her anymore. She gets VERY insecure when anyone gets mad at her, or is upset for any reason. How can I be friends with someone who won't let me feel my feelings? And if I can't tell her what's wrong, how can we ever fix it? That's what she should feel insecure about, losing friendships because the minute someone says that things aren't perfect, she begins to cry. I don't want her to cry, so I don't tell her. And pretty soon, like now, I stop talking to her entirely.
You did a GREAT Vampire Face (just the face part) and I was happy with the outline of a cat I did in a room, but which looked spooky as a single line and a mouse when it glowed in the dark. You might remember that you did a paper airplane, which you could watch fly in the dark. We kept running into the bathroom to check on our masterpieces. They will only glow for 4 hours (or less, in the case of the back of my hand, I drew a face and it was gone in 15 minutes, by the time we showed "my Dad and Amber".
He got mad (at me) because you were having such a good time (and so was I) but he then had to be the "bad guy" and pull you away to have dinner and do homework and read before bed. (These are the years which will slip away so fast.) He just finished all his classes a month ago, so maybe he can get some more rest. (And when his father gets out of the hospital . . . ) You and I haven't had a day like this, coloring and playing and we were both so excited. Your dad sees your energy level and knows it will be a struggle to get you into bed. Sigh. No wonder he gets mad at me.
8pm I hide in my room while you eat your salad. I write this and play an episode from CUNY's English Dept about Billy Collins and Paul Muldoon, the Poets. I'm generally lonely and happy and unemployed and writing and having fun playing by myself. (But I sense I need to move on when they get married)
8:30pm Your father just read a terrific story to you; I can hear his voice fluctuating wildly, exaggerated and fun.
Now you both are laughing, his laugh is low, but yours is a high giggle. Juggling your laughter, like you'd buoy up a balloon in the living room. It's lasting awhile. I'm glad. He's not feeling like the bad guy anymore. I think he won you over.
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