Another exodus this morning, all except Jon. I don’t know why … etc. I’ll try not to trot that out again. Anyway, it wasn’t so bad. A little while after Jon had taken H to school (another three-degree day today), the van pulled into the driveway. I refrained from opening the door for the new arrivals, in respect of the weather. Anyway, I was still in the middle of clearing the table from lunch. And singing along with Weird Al, coming through the headphones. I wonder if Billy likes Weird Al; he strikes me as the type.
As usual this time of year, everybody was pretty bundled up and it took me a moment to figure out who was who (whom?). Alexis was the first one I recognized, then Daniel, whom I hadn’t seen for quite a while, as I remembered. Then Peter, whom I hadn’t seen for quite a while longer. And Darren; I knew both H and R would be happy to see him. He’s grown his hair long again, for the winter. Another surprise was Claire. I haven’t had any of “the girls” here since Sarah was here last spring, so I’m looking forward to having another female influence in the house again. At least things tend to stay a tiny bit quieter that way.
And then. “Hello again,” says the TBW.
“Weren’t you just – I mean, did you even leave? Were you hiding in the attic or something?”
He grinned. “Well, the thing is, I forgot something so I had to come back.”
“What did you forget?”
“I forgot I hate being alone on my birthday.”
“That old excuse.” I had forgotten his birthday, too, after he’d been here for it the past two years. Mental slap on the hand.
He raised his eyebrows, the smile fading a bit. “Aren’t you happy to see me again?”
I nearly said something flip; it was just on the tip of my tongue. It would have been a stupid thing to do. “Of course I am, dummy.” And I wrapped my arms around him, cold coat and all, and I kissed him. And he kissed me back, in front of God and everybody. Or at least in front of Alexis and Darren. Who cares, right? Have it while I can; don’t worry about where it’s going. After all, I’ve had enough people walk out of my life, and whether they walk back in or not, at least we’ve enjoyed it for a little while.
I have the feeling there was something infinitely more important I intended to talk about, but I don’t know what it was. Something I should have mentioned a while ago. It ought to come to me eventually. Or not. So much for commentary on the great issues of the day. Well, I do that occasionally, when I can hold details in my brain long enough. That doesn’t happen too often either.
R’s having her first dental checkup tomorrow. Could be good; could be harrowing as hell. Like filling out her patient information forms this afternoon. I got smart at last and didn’t circle each “no” under the health history questions individually. Made things a bit quicker.
Just now she was making a racket out in the kitchen. “R, quiet down.”
“It was the elephant!”
“Well, tell the elephant to quiet down.” The elephant is quieter now. My children are weird. I just have to find out as they grow whether it’s normal age-related weirdness or a genetic inheritance.
I’ve been thinking of setting up a storefront to sell my bracelets. I have a boatload of beads right now. If I made all of them into bracelets for myself, I’d be swimming in the things. At the very least I should make some to give away.
It’s warmed up a tiny titch, but only a tiny one. At least it’s warm enough that I walked H to school today. We had a bit of snow yesterday so I pulled R on the sled. My arms are really going to hurt tomorrow; I can tell by how weak they’ve felt since we got home. Oh well. I know I needed the exercise and the air.
Harry started a fight with Junior this morning. I couldn’t believe it! Harry, who lets Baxter beat up on him – who lets all the other cats beat up on him. He’s a pacifist, for Frith’s sake – the original pacifist. Yet there he was huffing at poor old Junior, and smacking him with his paw, while all Junior did was growl at him and hide. This could be the sign of a major power struggle. Harry’s always been on the bottom of the totem pole here, regardless of Nerys and Baxter being younger and later-arrived. Junior’s always been on top, but of course he’s getting to be an old man. I just never expected Harry to be the one to take him on.
Pet Sematary is my lunchtime book right now. My regular reading is Othello. I remember this as being one of my favorites among Shakespeare’s tragedies. After I saw the video of it back in college, I was wigged out for at least two days. It’s that powerful of a story.
I’ve just totted over 800 hits on my blog. Now if only I could think that anybody who ever reads it comes back more than once, or does anything more than click there by accident and then wander off again. I know, very funny.
I read an article in Parents today about how mothers shouldn’t try to be “the perfect mother” but rather try to be a “good-enough mother.” Examples abounded, but I never saw one saying that mom shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting the kids out of her hair while she’s trying to work. I don’t feel guilty for that, but I have the feeling that society expects I should. It’s selfish of me to want to have time to myself, isn’t it? I certainly shouldn’t want time to myself to write; that’s not a useful use of my time. One of the examples I especially resented was, “Don’t feel guilty if you leave the beds unmade to spend time flying a kite with your preschooler.” Damn me, the only day I leave the beds unmade is Saturday, so I can have more time to play Sims. That sounded more like how to avoid worrying about being the perfect housekeeper – another concern I don’t allow to occupy my mind very often. The undercurrent I read in the article was, “Don’t worry that you aren’t a perfect mother, but you should still be putting your children first at all times.” Or maybe that’s just my own resentment shining through. My attitude, especially this time of day, is more often, “If I hug you, will you go away?”
I’m still bridging, because I still haven’t figured out the main plot of Kayli’s story. Maybe I should just put it away until I finish the trackers one, and see if that gives me any ideas. Trouble is, I’m floundering there too. Things just ain’t going nowhere these days. I read that writer’s idea book, but the problem is it seemed to be mostly about coming up with ideas for new projects. Project ideas I got. I need to know what to do with them now I’ve got ‘em. Writing exercises and prompts generally don’t do that much for me anyway. I know, I should go back through the book and do some of the exercises. I just have this prejudice about relating anything new I write to something I’m already working on. IOW, I don’t want to wander off on exercises when I have three books simmering at the same time. And I tend to write in a straight line. I don’t like jumping around, writing a scene that I might be able to use some time, because usually when I get there I can’t use it.
Anyway. I still don’t know how and where things are going on the TBW front. It’s frustrating, and no, I don’t mean in a purely physical sense. I don’t know how to tell him what I mean because I can’t entirely tell myself. Or when I do tell myself, the language just sounds wrong. I know I have low self-esteem. But it’s not unjustified. Repeatedly throughout my life people have pointed out to me that I am not a special person, a talented one, an interesting one, one that they would ever consider wanting to know. All of which is true. So why, despite the fact that I desperately want to believe him, should I believe a person who tells me that he is interested in me as just the person I am? Especially when he is who he is, and is so many of the things that I would like to be but am not. I refuse to believe he’s still coming back here after two years just because of me. I would be stupid stupid stupid to think so. But why do I insist on trying to push him away in the meantime anyway? I gotta enjoy this while it lasts, but I can’t believe it’s real.
At the same time I can’t bring myself to accuse him of using me, of faking everything. I know that’s not true, at least not yet. Some day it’s going to happen. And on that note I’m going to close this out, because I’m just depressing myself even more.