one moment

I just want to save this image.  

     Last night I was trying to get L organized for what is going to be a long week and get him headed to bed before it got too late.  He's in the last weeks of play rehearsals, so every day of this upcoming  week is booked.
     It was one thing or another and he's not heading toward bed.  At one point he has me watch a video of a TERRIBLE singer autotuning an ode to Friday... "we so happy it's Friday"[sic.].   I tried to click the video off, but he maneuvered my hand away and we sat there staring, expression of disdain on his face and, on mine, awe at how bad a music video could get.
     I confess that I was also sabotaging my own efforts to enforce reasonable bed time by issuing contradictory commands as I needed him to look for a worksheet, organize papers, and get to bed - "Oh, and did you take out the trash?"
     The final distraction was the cutest, "Where'd you put my new soccer gloves?"
    They weren't where he had left them sitting on the desk in what used to be his bedroom (minuscule room, now used for storage - laundry to fold, teaching material, papers, etc.).
     I had put the gloves in a bag and hung them on a bulletin board.

Switch to present tense for the real moment I want to save: 
     When I go to check on him, he's sitting on the floor trying on the gloves.  It's clear that he can't wait to use them --this is about the fourth time he's tried them on-- but they're too good to use for practice.  Anyway, I find him so adorable on the floor like that and, armed with fresh patience, I remind him to "hurry up."  He sets the gloves BACK on the little desk to keep them safe, but I manage to convince him that it's not a good idea; the desk is not sacred, untouchable territory.  My bulletin board safe-storage-solution doesn't satisfy him, so I suggest an old mesh basket hanging from the ceiling.
     When L notices that it's full of his old plush dolls, um, toys  (there's a bean filled salamander we got from some amusement park and there are all of his old "ugly dolls"), he gets all sentimental, "Awww.  How soft."  When next I see him he's walking downstairs hugging old toys and cooing in a baritone baby voice.  It's this self-conscious, but not awkward, moment of letting himself regress - hamming it up a tad for the audience.  Still, it's easy to see his real attachments now; I look in his old room and instead of putting the soccer gloves in the hanging toy basket, he has hung the gloves, all by themselves, in a place of honor.  The mesh basket with the rest of his old toys is on the floor.
     I put the gloves in the basket and hang it again.

     Will I ever get this kid to bed?

Love, actually

I've been pretty nice to H (husband) lately on these pages.  But, today he made me really cross - so mad that I was actually thinking the "D" word... Sigh...
    This isn't uncommon.  That's the whole point.  Constant forgiving and tiny efforts at generosity of spirit and memory are at the center of a relationship.
I made H mad too - of course.  Here are the embarrassingly  mundane details:
     --He comes upstairs after his shower, and as usual he puts his deodorant on in the upstairs ("my") bathroom .
     --I tell him not to turn on the water because I just cut my hair and I'm going to vacuum the hair out of the sink and off the floor.
     --H tells me that when he cuts his beard he puts a newspaper in the sink, and I should too.
Well, I know that he puts a newspaper in the sink, and I also know that I always have to finish cleaning up after him... So, it galls me a bit that he lectures me.  Yes, I know it wasn't a lecture, just a "helpful comment," and I try hard NOT to say what I'm thinking.  That is, I really don't want to scold, nag, or be pettty.  Instead I choose to react with a smile and a small insiders joke - let's see - a song we heard recently in some movie... Something about my haircuts being special...
    Doesn't work: H won't let me off the hook without responding to his suggestion... so I do make the above two points: [one] I know he uses newspaper, and I always clean up after him anyway and [two] since I'm going to do the cleaning, does it matter whether I use the newspaper. (No question mark, because, to me, it's clear that this is a rhetorical question.)
     Humberto get's mad.  He claims that it's about minimizing the hair and that HE is the one to unclog my drain.  The latter isn't true - the drains in the upstairs bathroom have never become clogged - but H does periodically do the thankless task of pulling up the stopper in the bathtub downstairs to get out the gross gunk which starts to slow that drain.
     I won't pretend to remember all of the dialogue here - and I won't pretend that I was a saint, but I can swear that I was working hard NOT to get excited or worked up.
     H was steamed, though, because I wasn't recognizing that from now on I would definitely use the newspaper over the sink like he does.... And truth is, I could have said that, and it probably wouldn't have been so incredibly difficult to say it or do it.
      But H overreacts and I get stubborn.
     Behold! The central image I have from this argument; it was about this point that the D word crept into my imagination:  H comes out of our closet in his underwear, he's holding his socks in his hand, and he SLAMS them down on the bed and loudly says, "Damn, damn, damn, Fu..., damn..."  He goes on to say that I "always discard his things." By this he means that "siempre descarto sus sugerencias."[descartar: verb - to throw out, can be used to imply something thrown out without any thought or consideration[.
     Actually, later that day, and even days later  (this post being written over several days - btw)  I giggle when I think of the sock-slam.  You see, if you're frustrated, slamming socks down is just not a very effective gesture.  The only thing worse is to do a sock-slam while wearing only tighty-whities...

     I try to make H understand that he chooses whether or not to let these little issues make him mad.  He can't help it - he gets mad.  Am I evil because I refuse to placate him right away?  That is, I can't predict that he will be infuriated by my reaction to any one comment, but it would be pretty easy to just practice the, "Yes, I'll do that."
     But, I can't.  It isn't me.  Sometimes it's a matter of not agreeing with him - others it is  just stubbornness.. or maybe I'm going to think about it - look it up, whatever. But should I say I'll do it - and then ignore him if I decide that I don't agree?  Maybe I could be much more tactful.  Still, that's a recipe for disaster too - because then the next time he sees me doing "it" wrong (whatever "it" is), he'll really explode.  So, I try to stay honest, unless it's some very particular comment about something I'll probably never do again... or something like that.
     He's so convinced that I "descartar" his ideas that he over-reacts.  Probably ten minutes after the explosion had ended, but when we were both still irritated, I explained it to him well and mollified him.  I pointed out that for four decades I'd always put a lot of the hair clippings from my haircuts into the toilet to flush.  I'd only changed that behavior because I had listened to what he said to me a few months ago; he'd seen me do that and told me not to because it could clog the toilet.  Now, that objection did seem possible to me, and so I changed my method.
    "See, H., I do listen to you and I do change my behavior based on things that you say."  I think he might have hugged me there and I let myself be hugged for a few second and then hugged him too.... I'm guessing about this scene because I took too long to finish writing this - but it is something we would do.
     A few thoughts to wrap up .
     One: I hope that nobody thinks I believe I am without guilt.  Heck, I don't even think I'm capable of describing this situation without bias.  But, I do often wish I could record these interactions - except I couldn't know they were being recorded.  See - it's impossible.
     Two: What do I mean about "thinking" about the D word?  Hmmm.... As H is yelling or behaving in a way that I find unreasonable, I'm wondering - "would I"  "could I"  "what would it be like"  It doesn't usually last long; it's been  a really long time since there has been some sort of situation which even made me take that idea to bed at night.  Instead, nowadays, I just  let it go.  It's easy to get back to equilibrium - back to seeing us as a "yunta" - back to recognizing . . .  (STOP! This is getting too far away from the idea I wanted to build in this post)
     Three:  You know who I've observed who is very good at agreeing with H and acting as though she believes H is right?  His ex-wife.  (Because their daughter V lives with us, naturally my husband's ex-wife has stayed with us more than once and, as much as H would rather avoid a lot of interaction, they have talked about things a number of times over the past decade.  It was only during her last stay, however, that I observed a conversation or two and suddenly it clicked... She was really good at saying he was right or acting like she thought it.  But, you can be damn well sure that  - let's see... How to put this?  Oh, Hell, this is like quicksand; even though I wasn't planning on saying anything insulting about his ex, it would probably end up sounding mean-spirited in a way I didn't intend.  So, let's leave it at this.

Secret

There’s an address (connected to website) where people can send secrets. I understand the urge. There are some things which are just too shameful to be shared... but not sharing is a burden. This is why, I’m inviting EVERYONE who reads this to post a secret in the comments. (Anonymously if you want). Trust me, nobody is reading this. Your secret is safe here.
My secret is shame-inducing (to me) beyond all rational logic because my husband has been so nice to me. The day before yesterday I couldn’t sleep, and he was so understanding and loving toward me (rubbing my back – coming down to lie on the sofa with me after I got out of bed to read – you know, those little gestures that communicate a lot). Last night, again, he was especially tender with me.
As my son said so famously (see future post?), “I’m not worthy.”
Yesterday, you know what I did all day? I sat on the sofa next to my kitty cat and played a Nintendo DS game called Brain Age (puzzles)... over and over and over. The winter sun beamed on us through the kitchen windows and, every once and a while, the little kitty would start purring for no reason. It was very gratifying, and would be a happy memory if I had kept at it for less than an hour (59 minutes tops).
WHY? Why the Hell can't I just put the game down, period.
But... I kept saying, “just two more times. No! That one didn’t count because..."
I roused myself from this lethargy long enough to walk to the post office to mail my Netflix movies, to stop by the grocery store for dinner ingredients (on my way home), to roast a chicken for dinner, and clean kitchen. I mean, I wasn’t a wild-eyed ratty-haired looser of a housewife. No, I even finished going through all my income tax work (a trial run to see how painful this was going to be).
Oh, when L got home from school, I hid the game from him – and we spent a long time on line together trying to get him some soccer equipment... But, when he wasn’t watching, I was at the game again. At a certain point that evening, I didn’t even bother to hide it from him, although of course I acted as though I just pulled in out for a little while.
That evening I said to hubby, “I did the income taxes...” and I made myself sound pretty productive. But, seriously, I’d tracked down the necessary papers earlier, so doing the taxes involved sitting at the computer screen and just typing in the appropriate numbers (I have a program) – and trying out a few things (like what would happen to my tax return if I opened an IRA account). My tax work on our behalf was nothing to boast about...
When I got to a question which asked whether I’d ever paid the alternate minimum tax because there might be some tax credit, my reaction was kind of, “How the Hell should I know?” Yes, I did do the taxes last year, and the year before, and so on... But, BLAH – I just skipped the question. If the U.S. had more tax payers like my family, the country’s deficit would be a lot smaller. I’m all about “Just get it done.”
So...my deep dark secret... I didn’t do anything on my numerous long-term projects yesterday AND there are intense occasional jabbing pains in my shoulder because I used that tiny little stylus in such excess. The repetitive slight tensing of the muscles... murder on the aged (or, maybe I should say, it's aging me).
Today, I’m trying to be more productive, but the forces of inertia and chaos seem to be aligned against this effort. For example, not only am I wasting time on this post, but . . . read on.
This is bake sale day at my son’s school – and I had just popped the first batch in the oven when I went to check my e-mail. I saw a message, “Bake sale today – READ THIS!” So I did. It said not to bother baking because this week’s bake sale would be the “clean out the freezer effort.” In the meanwhile, as I got caught up answering e-mails, I burnt that first batch. I’m wasting precious time ruining cookies that I shouldn’t even be making.

Take my advice. . . please

For a few years now, as soon as I start dancing, my son demands (begs, huffs, vomits, cries, sneers) that I cease and desist. At once.
Usually this goads me into dancing even more.... although sometimes I stop for a little while, until I start again.  It is very hard NOT to dance because we listen to music in our kitchen.  Well, when I'm in the kitchen, I'm typically doing boring unskilled labor - so music sustains me.  My son, on the other hand, is often reading, doing homework, talking - all of which, for him, require the music at high volume.  You see my dilemma.  It's not that I want to be a pain in the neck. . .
I ALWAYS used to say to him that the problem was that he was just too easy to provoke.  I'd say, "If you ignore me, I'll feel like an idiot, and I'll stop."   I'd say something similar about other situations; for example, when his sister V would provoke him.  Oh, or his dad... when he'd try to rob L's food, or something.  WHY can I not think of any better examples?  My point was that,  at times by reacting too obviously to something, we make ourselves too irresistible a target, right?  I mean, I still think there is some truth to this.
     Guess how my son finally managed to get me to stop dancing around in the kitchen?  A simple xylophone riff indicates that we've entered flashback: 

I had been noticing that my son didn't react to my dancing as much, and I was beginning to think, "Hallelujah!  I can finally enjoy the music without expressive censorship again!  L is growing out of that phase, I guess."
Until, not too many days later, L says to me, "Mom, you know how you said that I should just ignore you when you dance. . . to get you to stop?  Well, I've been trying, and it doesn't work."
It was such a lightning bolt to me.  I had given him bad advice (well, see qualification above).  Well, du-uh.  It turns out that I like to dance spastically as I work in the kitchen.  It wasn't just to provoke my poor child.

Since that moment, I have sincerely tried to stop dancing when he's around.


P.S. Surely he'll grow out of his aversion to my dancing?  With any luck this'll happen before the arthritis makes it impossible for me to get down with my salsa moves.  ha ha aha ha ha ha