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August 11, 2007

Tiny intermittent noises puncture my sleep so cleanly that the holes self-seal and the slumber continues. Steadily the noise grows more and more profound and leaves gapping wounds oozing my dreams and it is no longer possible to continue. Through squinty eyes I see a fuzzy blondish short person standing in front of me and feel their pointy cool finger poking me in the shoulder. I hear , “Mamaaaaaah, time do dit up now. Daddy says it time do dit up. Its morningtime. LOOK the sun! is up.” and in a singsongy voice, “I have wafflezzzzzzz.”

I roll over and my legs hit the floor and my foot hurts from where my callous busted just a bit at the pool yesterday. Summer battle wounds and the mark of a season spent scraping my dogs along a gravely bottomed pool while avoiding getting splashed in the face and trying to respond to, “Watch this. HEY, watch this. HEY you are not watching me!” as I try to carry on a conversation with an adult type person in the shallow end.

The coffee smells good and I want some. Ankle biters dance around me cackling like seagulls and chirping like crickets in a unified voice that makes it difficult to discern one voice from another. I ignore them and try to talk to my spouse but the noise becomes impossible to talk over.  I turn to the loudest one who is desperate to talk to me and permit him to speak and he says,  ” Um, Mama, um, you know what? Um, mama, um. So, you know um, well, um. Mama?” I say, “WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? It is too early for this. Speak my son. Directly to me.” So he says, “Um, Mama, I love you.” sigh. “I love you too buddy. Good morning. Can I talk to Daddy?” He says, “Sure. Go ahead.”

He is a liar because he continues to talk to me while I talk to D but now I feel fine ignoring him as he gave me permission to do so. My Chica-Poo is dancing around the kitchen standing on her toes just like I use to when I was a little girl. When she does that it makes me miss my mom so much. When my mom talked about that it was as though it was the first time she was really amazed by what I could do and what an individual I was. Special. It made me feel special when she talked about me as a baby. How I spoke very early and spoke only in sentences. So shocked she was at 5am that she woke up my Dad, called the whole family on the phone. I did the same thing with Spawn but D’s parents were never really impressed and kind of acted like I was nuts. Disappointing to see how unique my family was. It reminds me of what I am missing as my children grow up. My father has never really shown any kind of interest in my kids and my mom is dead. I tell them stories about myself as my parents would were they here or so inclined. I hope they feel connected to something larger than just our family but only time will tell.

I shuffle into the playroom and sit down at the computer to pine over our upcoming camping trip  to the beach and volley questions to D as the children grow more and more excited about our adventure. The sewing machine begins to whirl as D hems some thrift store pants and the ankle biters become fixed on making something. I drink my coffee and feel grateful for the cool morning, blue skies and lovely green giants shading our house outside my window. The Jays and Cardinals fight for position on the power line and NPR is distracting me in the background.

The cacophony becomes too loud to ignore and I acquiesce to the demands of my children and put a period on my last sentence and walk away into their arms, questions, requests, demands, declarations and wishes.

5 Comments leave one →
  1. August 11, 2007 3:08 pm

    Both in this and your previous post, you have a gift for capturing those specific phrasings of children’s speech that is so funny and sweet and hard to remember once they grow up. You’ll be glad you documented it for your children to laugh about when they are older.

  2. joefelso permalink
    August 11, 2007 4:19 pm

    You had me from the first line here—I love the way this piece moves from dream to reality and from reality into meditation…and then back into reality. It’s so adept, you writer.

  3. gina permalink
    August 11, 2007 4:47 pm

    I love a man who buys thrift store pants and hems them himself after making coffee for his wife. You caught a mighty good fish there!!

  4. August 13, 2007 1:59 pm

    Will your husband mend MY thrift store clothes? Will he?

    And your kids, like mine, are surrounded by many people–not all of whom are related by blood–who love them. Still, it’s hard to watch your kids grow up without their grandparents. I’m very grateful for my dad, of course, but it saddens me that three-quarters of my kids’ grandparents are no longer living. The Girl asked me a lot of questions about death last week, stuff like, “Well, did Grandmom just disappear? Is she in the ground?” And it was tough to come up with good answers.

  5. August 15, 2007 12:59 am

    I’ve been searching everyone’s blogrolls and found your Action for Autism link fascinating, as it opens up a whole world of links to people on the Aspergers/Autistic spectrum, or with children. I am interested in this disorder both personally and professionally, as I often work with adults who have never been diagnosed, though their children have been, so I hope it’s OK if I plagiarize this link for my blogroll for futher forays. I also like your On Philosophy link, but I won’t be greedy.

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