Monday, August 3, 2009
Adventures in Parenting
My son's home for a few weeks before he heads back to school and we've spent some quality time together, perhaps a little much quality time as I am ready for him to make his departure. I like the elbow room of living alone. My son is a bull in a china shop, his presence always knowing. He is protective and loving at one moment and the next wont call for a week. When the phone rings it's usually when he needs something. Watching him roll into a room is like watching a storm while standing at the top of camelback mountain the thunder of the bossy republican's laugh in my ear.
Yesterday was a Sunday and Rich and I spent the day together, he helping me organize my studio (this is no surprise considering the best friend is on her way.) He watched Men in Black 2, the little dog singing out the window (my favorite part) and I worked worked worked listening to Nancy Wilson smelling something slow cooking in the kitchen. The conversation was easy, there was no tension and he talked of a trip to Europe, which cities he wanted to visit and talking him out of a trip to Prague as prague should be seen when you aren't tired from being in 5 other cities, it should be savored like deep red wine.
We teach our children by what we do. I like that he sees me here working knowing that in that work I'll find a reward, to be called an artist, to keep it together when keeping it together is the very last thing I feel like doing. When we first moved here, he attempted to help me work in the garden. Under the soil was a deep bed of lava rock and I would just randomly point to places I wanted holes dug. He pushed in the shovel just a little and popped off at me "lava rock, can't dig." I thought this would never fly with my father and wished there had been a stronger man around who would have pointed out to him that men dont give up that easily. I am soft as a woman and want things to be easier for him and would have moved the lava rock if I could have. "Just dig Rich, the sooner it's done you are." He hates when I am unmoving and when I am he drips water on me like chinese torture.
He "knows" my weaknesses. He knows I put things off until the last minute. He knows that I am easily distracted but not so easily moved, it has to be a pretty wondrous distraction. He knows when I am tracking down something, not to bother me. He knows I will always be at the football game, when he crosses the yard line it will be my face he sees in the crowd. I wrote that to the cardiologist who saved my life, thank you thank you thank you I wrote him. If it were not for his bravery I'd be ten feet under and Richie lost. At his graduation he said to me, "Mom it must suck to be you, you ALWAYS have to be there because Dad never is." How to explain to someone you love that he is part of you, that your blood courses through his veins, he has your smile and your quick temper. He has his father's hazel eyes and he'll be a better man than him, better because I love him, better because he's removed from their insanity.
So last night we go looking for beads. I love beads, I'd sleep on beads if they let me. I tell him after hunting down for beads, that I want to go to the liquor store. This shocks my son to no end. Here she is he's thinking reinventing herself. You see years ago when I'd buy him beer at 16 teaching him or trying to teach him moderation which is difficult if you don't drink at all which I do not, usually. Well when he was 16 and we were driving around on a Saturday, the day we'd have lunch, a way to keep close to one another he wanted to go to a liquor store and I just laughed at him, we laugh about this even now. Well how to tell him I have been contemplating being a functioning alcoholic. I have. It's a very "in" sort of problem and people with problems seem more interesting. I liked the red wine the other night that's for sure and it conjured up a ghost and I liked dancing with the ghost, so why the hell not?
"Mom, you aren't going to turn out like Aunt karen are you?" hahahah. No. We used to put ashes in Karen's drinks when she wasn't looking, she was a fun drunk for about 5 minutes and then kabloom. No, not aunt Karen drunk just tipsy fun, giggly, interesting. I want to drink a cosmo or something blue. I want to be fabulous. We walked through the liquor store and it was like a candy counter for disturbed people. Richie knew all the alcohol, the things that had gold flecks, the colors, the alcohol content. He could run this place, I thought. He wouldn't need a grad school education to run the local liquor store, he was in.
I picked vodka, vodka goes with everything. I may crack that baby open tonight or let it sit there a hear. The last time I had a bottle of vodka in the freezer I wound up giving it away. Such is my mundane life. Today will pass just like it did yesterday most likely. Days have a way of doing that. Have I mentioned how much I am loving this summer, even now as it's ready to give up it's fight as the bugs are louder at night, as the flowers grow higher and the vegetables start growing in.
Women. We are such strange creatures, just when someone who loves us figures us out, we take up drinking or yoga. We dance to tempt or we dance to dance. We move with grace one moment and fall on our ass the next. I made a new Friend, her name Nicole, she's wild and brave and lives with some regret but mostly she's fearless. I like her and it's hard to like people isn't it? It's easy to love then, like the velveteen rabbit, by the time we love someone we've worn their fur off and their eye is dangling and we still love them and we love them despite their faults. To like someone new though, it's tricky territory as there are landmines everywhere and I already walking around on one leg. Fearless women are a force of nature they will pull you up like a tornado and let you down in Kansas wishing they'd do it all over again and again.
Ok, I am off to get some work done, to track down the perfect beads. I am listing new designs this week and of course you can always find me at Summerpoet@msn.com or my work at www.poetsummer.etsy.com.