I had this long rambling post about how I was pretty much given a drop kick to my heart recently, but I decided that it’s best not to dwell on what I can’t control, like my tiny brain that does not have enough space to remember egregious acts I committed SEVEN YEARS AGO. In one of my favorite Chuck Palahniuk books, Survivor, the main character says something like, “You can’t remember all of the Bible. You wouldn’t have enough space for your name.” I like to think of my brain that way, a very microscopic organ that needs to store valuable information like my name, my son’s birthday, the original cast of Saved By the Bell and things that make me happy.
Because I don’t have that much brainpower and because blogging provides a much better record of events than the way my brain categorizes events (and definitely colors them in a light that always makes me the good guy), let me record the following:
1. I downloaded several episodes of Sesame Street’s video podcast off of iTunes and this has been Nathan’s fave show to watch. Only because I am cheap, I downloaded the free episodes, so instead of the requisite number roll-call with the Count or hide-and-seek with Snuffleupagus, Nathan has to watch Sesame Street’s more serious plotlines, complete with songs about getting a blood test to check for lead or episodes about Elmo freaking out about a fire. Sorry, Nathan. Mama doesn’t have the pockets for the regular shows.
2. See how I did my hair? First time THIS WHOLE YEAR. I feel like a woman.
3. One of our regular spots in West Seattle is a coffee shop called Coffee to a Tea with Sugar. It is a long name that I always bungle up, but the coffee is great, the cupcakes delicious and the staff super friendly towards frizzy-haired moms. One of the best parts of this place is the play area in the back. There are books, toys, a train table, a wooden doll house, etc. The other week we were there, visiting with my old classmate Rosmic and her beautiful daughter K. Nathan was playing with some trains when some kid about his age went up to him and yanked the toys from his hands. Nathan was stunned and stared at me before breaking out into, “THE WORLD IS SO CRUEL” tears. He waddled over to me, weeping, and I hugged him, patted his back and said with my voice toward the kid and his parents, who were now dealing with their son yanking toys from ANOTHER kid, “He’s just learning how to share, Nathan. Like you are learning how to share, HE IS LEARNING HOW TO SHARE!” There is no real moral to this story and like with most things I do as a mother, I am probably messing this up, leaving my son inadequately prepared to handle life’s dilemmas–the brazen toy thieves, the girls who will mangle his heart, his mother’s blog.
4. There have been a few firsts during my mom’s visit. She apologized for a disagreement we had. If there’s anything to know about the sweet woman I call mom, it’s that she’s never wrong. Even when she’s wrong, or especially when she’s wrong, she is right and the way to illustrate the correct answer is similar to UN negotiations. There’s the same politics, the same delicate language even if it’s pointing out that not all offices observe Good Friday. So when she said, “I’m sorry,” I didn’t know how to respond. I wish I had a Lisa Frank unicorn sticker diary where I could write an entry with, “OMG! U will nvr guess wut hapnd!”. Because I’m sure that an event like this will soon render my brain incapable of writing anything more profound than: “IDK my BFF jill.”