All Adither

Ad nauseum

Maladies
mostly the same
back
to haunt, test 
teach
ebbing, for awhile
freedom it seems
but not for long
not forever
sliding again

***** 

When we last left off with Fruit Bat's school social woes, he'd just begun hanging around a girl in his class. She ate lunch with him, she was his faithful recess playmate, they occasionally visited each other's houses. I really liked her. She was soft spoken, kind, and, best of all, she dug my boy.

But now? I kind of want to flick her. Hard. I'm sure she's still a good kid. She's ditched Fruit Bat, though, and she's not looking back. He's sad about it, plaintively asking why she won't play with him. And I, of course, don't know how to respond. 

Except to explain that children (people, especially of the female persuasion) can be fickle. That she may come back around. Or she may not. But that he should focus on finding other kids to hang out with.

He has no idea how to go about this. He's not the type to jump into ball games. Or approach a gaggle of girls and ask if he can join in. And from here...from my perch as the mom, there's not much I can do. Except squirm and watch and listen to him and have faith that everything will work out okay.

There is one silver lining. And it is that I'll have good reason to avoid making conversation with the girl's mom.

*****

Here we are, too, back at possible celiac for Kitty Cat. Back with her pediatrician who wants more blood work (because three positive draws plus one negative scope isn't enough for him). I thought that, last fall, we'd put all this talk of gluten intolerance to rest. At least for a few years.

But, no. Kitty Cat has been complaining of stomach aches often (though never very severely or for any length of time) and he wants more data. I suspect this has a lot to do with his wife having celiac and his feeling left out of the initial diagnosis made by the gastroenterologist. Maybe not as much to do with an immediate need to get Kitty Cat re-tested.

How to handle it? Capitulate to another trip to Children's? Go gluten free for a few months to see what happens, which, considering Kitty Cat's vague symptoms, will probably not be much? Do nothing, as is my inclination?

*****

There's more too. Round and round. The same issues cropping up year after year, like fuzzy, yellow dandelions in spring.

Cringe

 

Life is over! All of my dreams have been thrown on the floor. Shattered. Mutilated. Broken into millions of pieces! Bill likes Kara Jones, of all people!

Andy asked me if I would wear his I.D. bracelet and I've only known him for, like, two days!!!

Janet Jackson was on the American Music Awards last night. She sang and danced to "Control". It was really cool!!!

Last week a guy from my high school died of cancer. Even though I graduated with a small class (80 kids), I couldn't remember who he was, exactly. So I dug out some old year books. And with them, in a box labeled Angie's Childhood, I found several spiral-bound notebooks--journals I had to keep for for my seventh and twelfth grade English classes.

I've never been much of a journaler on my own. So I was happy to come across these. Until. I actually started reading them. The thirteen-year-old me was sweet and sheltered and concerned with grades and friends and family. Lots of things happened that year that I only vaguely remember: my uncle getting a cornea transplant, my mom spending eight days in a hospital, my sister deciding she hated me (with good reason, I was a tool to her). But most of my entries are spent agonizing over basketball games I (barely) played, scores, being, really, really excited for Halloween and Christmas, etc.

And then comes my Senior Year journal. In which? I was a moronic, dramatic, boy-crazy spaz. Did I mention boy crazy? Every entry, and I'm not exaggerating even a little, detailed the daily encounters with, or snubs by my crush. My spirits soared or my heart shattered across the pages in overly-swoopy, bubbly letters.

Reading them, I winced. A lot. I might have even buried myself under the couch cushions and whimpered a little.

I act depressed, but sometimes I don't and I think people worry that I'm going crazy.

Bill was hanging all over Kara. It was awful! They danced slow even to fast songs. Greg kept asking me, begging me, to slow dance. It's like, be real, I'm about a foot taller than him.

I got new shoes last night. Royal blue penny loafers and they kill my feet, but I don't care!!!

Bill asked me to dance!!! :) It was so great! It was to "Walk like an Egyptian" by the Bangles.

I think I bombed a Physics test because I didn't study. My dad will be mad!

Bill never called. But I didn't really think he would. I feel like such a reject!!!

The restless and the contented

I'm completely enamored, taken with the American Legion, Sons & Auxiliary Post 281's Facebook page. And no, I'm not joking in the least. 

The Legion Hall itself lives in Harbor Springs, Michigan, the rural burg that is my hometown. As I was growing up, the Hall was just part of the scenery, a place I'd never stepped inside, a place I wasn't at all curious about.

Every summer of my childhood, during Memorial and Independence Day parades, I watched veterans march down Main Street blowing into bugles and pounding on drums. When they passed by, the adults would stand and clap. Really, though, that was all I knew of the American Legion.

Now I live in Seattle. Far, far away from Post 281. But I cannot stop pouring over the photos I've found on Facebook. They belie rifles and flags hanging on white walls, formica tables and standard vinyl chairs. The people in the photos drink Bud LIghts and some smoke (indoors!). Women cook huge vats of chili and prepare tins of salad for whatever event the Legion is holding. There are Chicken Dinners, Five Dollar Brat Nights, Euchre Tournaments and Benefits for local folks who've been diagnosed with horrible cancers.

I keep going back to the page, ogling and shaking my head. I think I'm fascinated because I cannot remotely comprehend being happy living a life where I hang out at the Harbor Springs Legion Hall. Which is crappy and snobby and horrid of me, I know. With my need for cozy coffeehouses, aesthetically pleasing furnishings, richly-colored walls, and microbrews. I'm uppity. Or something.

Flipping through those photos is like an anthropological study. I see several people I recognize from school and wonder, what makes them stay? Or leave, only to return? Why is Harbor Springs enough for them? To me, the photos represent the vast difference between the restless (yours truly) and the contented (them).

And, if happiness were a measurable thing, I wonder which of us would come out ahead.

The favorite game

  
Kitty Cat came to me yesterday morning while I showered. She was wild-haired, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked. She'd just jumped from bed and checked a tiny pot that sits on her windowsill. "Sprouts!" she crowed. "Little green sprouts coming up!"

She's been diligently watering them for six days. Too much, probably. I worried she'd kill them with kindness. But so far, so good.

Soon, we'll transplant them and, eventually, zinnias will blossom.

*****

It's another day, very different from the one where Kitty Cat burst in on me and did her new sprout dance. 

I'm bitter. Unappreciative. J. and I go round and round an issue that centers on a guitar. The guitar represents nearly every dissatisfaction we have in our lives together. It's so fucking stupid and symbolic and crazy-making. Sometimes I look at that guitar and want to smash it to bits. Other times I feel sorry for it, sitting there all shiny and neglected.

J. is working a ton again and feeling guilty about his almost total immersion into lawyering. Yet, I don't know how to not take it personally--his schedule that is really too full for me. Sometimes I think back on the days when he was a clerk for an appellate judge and wonder what it would've been like if he'd stayed there. We'd be poorer. And I'd have had to work, too, all this time with small children. But he'd be home.

I don't know. Nothing is ideal. It's just the way it goes, I guess.

*****

Kitty Cat woke me this morning at four. She'd had another bad dream. I laid on the futon in her room and we played the favorite game, our voices whispery as the rest of the house slept. What's your favorite food? What's your favorite game?  What's your favorite flower? It helps her forget whatever vile thing haunted her subconscious.

I want someone to play the favorite game with me...Crab...strip poker...peonies...

Smitten

I was alone with the kids for a good part of the weekend. Something that often strikes panic in my heart. I've been spoiled. J. hasn't had to travel much in the last year or two. That's starting to change again though...he has several trips coming up.

Yesterday, after swimming lessons, I took Fruit Bat and Kitty Cat downtown to see a free concert by the Seattle Men's Chorus. I didn't expect to introduce my children to Drag so soon in their young lives. (Or at all.) But they were marginally entertained. I thought it was pretty fun.

I packed the day full (consciously or not, I don't know). So full we were all exhausted by the end of it. So full that Fruit Bat and Kitty Cat were sprawled across my bed watching Max & Ruby and eating Happy Meals while I sipped a glass of white wine and inhaled a hamburger. And it was all we could manage.

The sweetest, most breathtaking moment of the day for me was not, as you might imagine, taking this photo of my littles holding hands and watching the International fountain at the Seattle Center. Though that was nice, too. It was standing in the checkout line at Target waiting for Fruit Bat to pay for three small things he was purchasing. Just the day before he'd loaded his wallet with money for the first time (in the past he's always lugged his coins and bills around in a Ziploc or his pockets).

Anyway, he was taking forever and I got distracted trying to pull Kitty Cat away from the candy display. Finally a line started to form behind us.

"What are you doing?" I asked, exhaling impatiently. Then I looked down at his small, seven-year-old boy fingers rifling through his wallet's pockets and compartments. There were two crumpled dollars (not enough to pay for what he was buying). There were also: rocks, Sweettarts, a piece of gum, a marker, and a folded drawing. Those were things he thought would be handy to keep on his person.

GOD, it was so sweet. It breaks my heart just writing it.

I paid for his trinkets, with the understanding that he'd pay me back when we got home. And I fell a little more deeply in love with my boy.

 

A Grateful Green

If you'd like to read the first part of this story, Greener Grass, it's in my right sidebar, under I Like To Write.

*****

Joshua's body was sweaty, his head heavy on Tamara's shoulder as she carried him into the house and laid him gently on the couch. Eli and Caitlyn fluttered behind her, asking for Cheetos and graham crackers and cups of lemonade.

"Dave?" Tamara called, hoping he could subdue the kids, get them their snacks and drinks so she could focus on Josh. "Hey, Dave!"

But he was taking his time coming inside: fetching mail, cleaning out his car, probably checking the tires' air pressure. He was always performing inane tasks at the worst times.

"Five minutes," she said to Eli and Caitlyn. "Sit quietly for five minutes and I'll get you some food, okay?"

Joshua looked weak and tired. He'd been given the green light to go home after just two nights in the hospital. He had a serious concussion, but nothing more. Tamara knew they'd dodged a bullet, that he could still be comatose or, worse, slipping away from them.

She covered him with a light blanket and whispered that she'd be right back. 

As she took out bowls for the younger two, Dave came in. He sat at the dining room table, unfastened the straps of his Tevas with the familiar velcro rip and let out a heavy sigh.

Digging Fruit Roll-Ups out of the cupboard, she said, "So. Megan. She was good to the kids, huh?"

Dave, barefoot now, rubbed his face up and down with one palm. "Totally good."

She searched for lemonade in the fridge but found none. She poured orange juice into sippy cups instead and screwed on their lids. "Was Megan good to you?"

He peeked at her from between his fingers. "Are you fucking kidding me?" His voice was low. In one motion he stood, closed the door between the family room and kitchen and came up to Tamara. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Tamara frowned and shook her head. "Nope."

Dave's anger was so heavy and tangible, it seemed as if he were pressing down on her shoulders with his hands. But he didn't touch her. "You take off for weeks on some vacation because you couldn't handle the pressures of being mommy. You shack up with God knows who and do God knows what. You come back only when Joshua hurts himself and falls into a coma. And you're asking if something's going on between the babysitter and me?"

"I know. It's ridiculous." She shoved cookie packages aside looking for crackers or raisins, something at least marginally nutritious. "What do you give them for snacks?" she snapped. It was just an aside, though. "I know it's ridiculous. But, can you just tell me?"

"Can you just tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"Everything. Starting from about two years ago when you began acting more like a fucking animatron and less like an actual wife."

Anger surged, a million hot bubbles rising within her. "Oh, I'm the animatron?"

"More often than not, yes. It's like–-" and here his eyes clouded. "It's like you moved on. Like you were totally over me and the kids."

Joshua began to whimper from the other room. Caitlyn burst through the kitchen door and announced that he was crying and calling for mama.

On her way out, Tamara said, "I'm sorry for not knowing how to go about getting myself back after being sucked into a black hole of diapers and feedings and needs. Excuse me for messing it up. But I've never come up against anything remotely this intense." With that, she went to Joshua where she sat on the couch and cradled his head in her lap.

Dave stormed through the family room and disappeared down the hallway.

Just then there was a knock on the door. Tamara groaned--who the hell could it possibly be?--and asked Eli to get it.

Struggling with the knob, so big in his small hands, he finally managed to swing the door open. There, at the screen, stood Craig carrying a handful of purple balloons. "Hey," he said.

Caitlyn and Eli squealed at the sight of the shiny Mylar. Craig opened the screen and cautiously, sheepishly, entered. He handed the bobbing bouquet to Caitlyn, who was dwarfed. "Dave's Facebook update said you guys were home. Plus, you know, I saw your car pull in." He nodded toward Joshua and asked, "Do you mind?"

Tamara sighed and shook her head.

He approached her son and knelt, touching Joshua's forehead. She noticed that he'd finally trimmed his nails and, for a moment, she felt more charitably toward him than she had in a long time. She could almost recall how their friendship had formed in the first place. How easy-going and congenial he'd seemed to her in the beginning.

"Hey, bud. Hope you feel better real soon."

Joshua nodded at him, then winced and buried his face in Tamara's lap. She mouthed her thanks to Craig.

He stood, hovering a little, like he wanted to say more. "Want me to take Caitlyn and Eli for a while?"

A month ago, Tamara would've jumped at the offer. But right that moment, she wanted her kids around her. She turned him down and, with one last flaccid wave, he left.

The balloons kept Caitlyn and Eli busy for the next hour. Dave never emerged from the bedroom. And Tamara sat with Joshua, who's warm head she felt so grateful to have resting on her thighs.

Piqued

 

This week I've seen...

A dictionary lying, sodden, in a puddle (blasphemy!)

A turquoise-haired girl leap from a car and wretch onto the ground as pot smoke rolled out behind her. She looked lost in our neighborhood.

Blood squeezing from Kitty Cat's mouth and over her bottom lip just after she lost her first tooth. She danced around happily like a vampire who'd just found some juicy prey.

A man wearing a shirt with a chest patch that said, Cancer Lifeline Superhero.

Another man next to me in a coffee shop with papers full of squiggles and pi signs and x's and y's.

Faces softened, faces of middle-aged women and guys with ponytails and iPhones, when they saw a Bernese Mountain Dog tied to a bike rack. Almost everyone who passed stooped to pet him.

Myself in a dream wherein I was on a cooking reality show, racing to make some pasta dish. I was crushed because I couldn't find sun dried tomatoes. As I was frantically searching through cupboards, a producer came up and told me I was dressed sloppily and needed to buy new clothes. Analyze amongst yourselves.

Fruit Bat reading Kitty Cat a book as they sat curled up on the couch together. What a sweet way to start a weekend.