Same But Different

My kid resembles me in so many ways. So often I am taken off guard when I glance at him and I see my self. A blonde boy me. So many similarities. I recognize some of his sensitivities as similar to my own. And his facial expressions. Also his huge brain, clearly from me. I like to say that Wes chose to mate with me because he wanted to "breed up." Wes likes to say that with the combination of his athleticism (snort) and my height (yes), we would make a world class athlete. That is not what seems to be playing out here, but who knows. Don't mention the orthodontia. That is my side, and therefore my fault, and I don't want to hear about it. Poor kid. I was aware early on that Buck might have buck teeth, and that har har wouldn't that be funny, or not. What are you gonna do.

One thing that is very much not like me: he's generally stoked to meet new people. When I was a kid, I developed muteness around strangers. I don't think we actually had many strangers in our lives, honestly. On a farm far from the madding crowd, we mostly knew everyone we saw routinely. This was kind of the opposite of my husband's childhood as a Navy brat, living around the world. Also, Wes talks a lot. To everyone. All the time. Buck is a lot like this. Probably not quite as much as Wes, but the kid likes to talk about stuff. He thinks out loud a lot. More than I need, to be honest. But at least I can rest assured that I generally know whats on his mind. That goes for both of them, really.

One thing that is very much like me: he likes lots of unstructured play time. He gets stressed and squirmy and worried if we have too much going on. Last week we were planning our weekend, which included a busy Sunday full of activities for Wes's birthday. Buck had to walk around with the plan in mind for a while, and then he said "So, mom, Sunday will be our busy day and then Saturday will be our play-it-by-ear-day, right?" Yes, essentially. The weak point in the plan is that he doesn't want to commit to anything, which means I have a hard time convincing him to invite someone to come play, which means he talks to me all day and I lose my marbles. We start to hear me say things like "I'm not going to talk for a little while" or "my brain needs a break from questions" or "GIVE ME SOME SPACE" or "momma needs a nap." Naps save lives.

So here is Buck, in the photo, waiting eagerly, if not somewhat wistfully, by the window for the babysitter to arrive on Saturday. Someone new to talk to!!! And he'd never even met this babysitter before! So excited all day about this! As a kid, I would not have been waiting eagerly by the window. I would have liked the idea in theory that we'd be having a babysitter, especially as I considered it several days in advance. But on the day of, I would have gotten nervous and then cranky and then mean, and I would have directed it all towards my long-suffering mother. And then when the babysitter arrived, I would have lurked in various corners, nervously pinching my lower lip, analyzing the situation, like a small mammal trying to decide when to leave the shelter of the shadows. I just came that way. I'm really not like that anymore, what with maturity and all. But not Buck! Buck was stoked to meet the new sitter. He stood front and center, all casual with one hand in his pocket like a cool guy, and offered a chill wave and "hey" to the newcomer. And then Wes and I left and it was, like, totally non-traumatic. And I am still totally perplexed and deeply grateful about this.

We went out to dinner and it was delicious. I wasn't even nervous. I didn't check my phone ten zillion times. Relaxed in the knowledge that big kid Buck was with the babysitter, talking nonstop, and enjoying himself. And then we went home and Buck was already asleep and I thought, maybe we should pay someone to come put him to sleep all the nights because, mercy, bedtime, ugh. Amirite?

Preparedness

After you've done all the laundry in the house and every bit of clothing is folded and in its proper place, do you ever think: dear God, if the plan is to take me from my Earth life soon, maybe today would be a good day because at least all of the laundry is done and the boys would have clean clothes for a while?

What is that? I have had that thought. My thoughts about that thought are basically equal parts 1) gloating, because I'm so giving and hard-working and living my maternal instincts (tho that feels complicated...but I don't want to write the book on it), and 2) concerned for my mental fitness. 

And that's not even taking into account my ill-defined, wishy-washy, work-in-progress, fly-by-night position on religion.

Nevertheless, I've thought that thought: If You're gonna take me, take me soon because all the laundry is done. The same rationale holds following a big trip to Costco.

Surely I'm not alone on this. 

I Stand Corrected.

Recently, Buck has been very interested in the story of Richard III.  (You know, notorious hunchbacked king of England, died 1485.) Specifically, we've watched a documentary about the recovery of his skeleton many, many times.

As we click on the documentery (again) this morning, Buck says:

"It's interesting that he had a...." pausing, searching for his words...

I say "... a crooked back?"  He says:

"NO! A curved spine!"

Well. I am sorry.

A Chicken Miracle.

A miracle has occurred here in Edison. And I'm only half-joking.

Yesterday, Wes let the chickens out of their coop to wander around the place (read: poop all over my yard.) Usually, they make their way back to the safety of the coop as dusk approaches. Well, yesterday only 3 of the 4 came home. And they were huddled in the doorway, clearly discussing something of concern. We were missing a girl - a pretty, fluffy, well-mannered Barred Rock. (a.k.a. Plymouth Rock; black and white in color.) Sad. Not good.

I was in need of some fresh air. I had caught the most recent cold that Buck the Preschooler had to offer, and I'd been cooped up (pun intended) all day on the couch. I'll walk around the block, I said, to look for her. What I found was a suspicious smattering of black and white feathers in the alley, but no girl. When I reported this, we clucked and worried and surmised that likely a bird of prey had taken her. They are abundant in these parts, and particularly the bald eagles are starting to hand around this time of year. A dim fate, but, we hoped, a quick one. Well, we'd lost many a girl in the past. This spring we'll definitely get some chicks. Its been a number of years since we've filled the ranks. Yay chicks!

Well. This morning, Wes informed me that we had a chicken miracle on our hands. For, in the coop were 4 girls, including our missing Barred Rock. She looked to be missing a good deal of feathers, but otherwise hale and hearty. Where on earth had she been?! A night of carousing? A vision quest? A desperate tussle with some dog that led her to hunker down out of sight till she had her wits about her to return home and somehow get back in the coop? We'll never know. Welcome back, girl. Lay some eggs.

In other news, today is my 40th birthday.

Hounding

I want an Irish Wolfhound. My birthday is coming up, so I've been snuggling up to the husband and suggesting gifty things here and there. Tonight, as we watch the Saints play the Falcons, I snuggled up and told him in low tones that I have a suggestion. I suggested we get a wolfhound. I heard the following:

"I would rather adopt a kangaroo."
"I would rather adopt a Somali warlord."
"I would rather adopt a mink farm."

So then we discussed that the real solution involves us owning another home, where I would live with Buck and the wolfhound. This home would be a large stone cottage (read: small castle) on a good chunk of land (not too much, though), abutting some woods. These things could totally exist around here. And I would live there and go for trail runs with my well-tempered wolfhound. The rest of the while, the hound would defend us and/or sleep by the fire. Done.

I'm not sure where husband will be. He'll be here in Edison, I guess. He'll come up the road to visit. UNLESS! OMG, unless the large stone cottage were in France! Somewhere in the Dordogne, perhaps. Close enough to a train station so we could jump on the TGV to Paris, where we'll also have a pied-à-terre. Of course, the hound would not want to be in our tiny apartment in Paris, so we'll need someone who can keep him company at the cottage when we're not there. Shoot. OK, so I need an old, grumpy Frenchman to live there on the property with us. I won't be able to understand him very well, but he will be devoted to the wolfhound, and will sneak rich meats to him. (wolfhounds shouldn't have a heavy-protein diet). Wes will like the grumpy old Frenchman because they will sit around and occasionally drink too much wine together. Ok. I'm going to go update Wes with this more elaborate plan. Wish me luck.

Today, driving in the car, Buck: "It's a sunny day on Earth."

Me: "It is."

Buck: "Yeah! and when when nighttime comes, the darkness will come from outer space."

ReMemory

I didn't see much footage at all of September 11. Not on that day or the following days, weeks, months, years to follow. On that day, and that week following, my then-boyfriend and I were on vacation and for the most part we weren't near a tv. For a bit on that day, we saw some tv footage; I remember having a hard time watching. I knew people were jumping from the Twin Towers and I was afraid I'd see them, so I avoided looking. Then, we were on the road, listening to the radio. Eventually, at our destination, we had a tv but it only had bunny ears and could only pick up the audio. So we listened. We listened to Peter Jennings on and off for days. We made phone calls to check on loved ones and wondered at how quiet the airspace was as no airplanes were flying. Frankly, I was grateful we were isolated.

Over the years, on the anniversary, I have continued to avoid any footage. I've been too wary; I'd caution myself against gathering any unshakable memories. Sure, I'd read and seen some specials about more oblique subjects such as memorials, or where-they-are-now pieces. But images I've been avoiding.  I told myself that one day I would sit down and watch something - a documentary perhaps - so I could join the rest of my fellow Americans in these visual memories. Its hard to avoid, year after year.

Today, this evening, just a bit ago, I turned on the tv. I don't normally do that, but we do have cable now, again, because of - duh - football. (go Hawks) I was going to watch Jeopardy because I'm a dork. But it opened to the History Channel, deep into a minute-by-minute special about the terrifying demise of the World Trade Center. And I was engulfed. I froze. I watched the whole thing. And then the following thing about some New Yorkers and their personal footage from that morning. And now we're watching a special about some firefighters who survived the collapse of the second tower. And its hard damn work to watch. But I'm not going back. And I feel so very badly that it took me this long.

Wes has joined me. Buck is bouncing around, trying to get our attention, but I'm determined to take this in. I pull out a Curious George board game to play with him, his back to the tv. For a moment, I feel parental guilt about my screen time competing with Buck's attention, but then, whatever. This morning on cnn.com I read a piece about a woman who lives in Greenwich Village and who reported from Ground Zero that day. She has a 2nd grader now and she is trying to find a way to convey the story/history of this horrible thing to a child.  How to talk about bad guys and scariness and how to remember the departed, how to inform the future. Maybe that essay galvanized my intentions tonight. Brazenly, I kinda don't care if Buck sees the screen.

Buck gets bored with us. He's doing his own thing elsewhere. I'm taking it all in on the television, trying to make up for something. Those poor people. Their absurd, heartbreaking fate. I'm so sorry.