Catching Up
Holy crap, it's been a whole month since my last post. I knew it had been a while, but I tend to lose control of the days in the second part of May, in a subconscious attempt at slipping quietly by my father's birthday. It's incredible how much I miss him. And inconceivable that he would have turned 87 this year.
Anyway... Lots more cheerful things to discuss. Oliver, for one. My little Narcissus has named his stuffed giraffe "Oliver." I am sure that means something, but am too frightened to start googling it.
And speaking of frightening... This morning, for the first time in weeks and weeks, I had half an hour to lounge around in bed before dashing for the shower and the kitchen counter (it's illogical to hate making school lunches as much as I do). Oliver lounged with me, and his first question of the day was this:
"If people are dead, does their skin fall off?"
Which is even more alarming, if it possible for a question like that to seem MORE alarming, considering the "gift" he gave me on Wednesday. He was at the shop with me, cutting up paper (his favorite activity). He cut a strip, "wrote" on it, and screwed it up in a complicated system of folds, then presented it to me as an objet d'art. Or so I thought. Turns out it was a ring. I asked how I was supposed to put it on my finger. He took it back in order to show me and declared I had ruined it. I asked him to fix it for me, please, thus occupying him momentarily.
I then promptly forgot about the whole situation and got back to my important conversation with my work release girl (the entire week, I was unable to say "work experience" without first stumbling over "work release." I gave in to it on the second day).
A few minutes later, Oliver tapped me on the leg and held up his re-creation, which he had twisted into a tiny, sharp point:
"This is for you, Mommy, for when you need to poke the people."
Needless to say, Work Release Girl and I fell about laughing. Oh, the mirth! It was almost, just about, very nearly funny enough to drown out my alarm.
What people would I need to be poking, sweetie? The bad people. Yes, I see. Well, thank you very much, that was a very thoughtful and useful gift.
And now he wants to know if dead people's skin falls off. This is probably an appropriate spot to remind you, Dear Reader, that Oliver is THREE YEARS OLD.
Shudder now with the fear that engulfs you; what impact will this child have on the world at large? This is most certainly one of those blissfully ignorant moments.
He nearly redeemed himself, though. A few minutes after the dead people question, he asked, "What does love mean? Is it hugging?" Awwww, the cuteness. Nearly conquered by the worry about this THREE-YEAR-OLD's grasp of philosophy.
Keep shuddering. No point stopping now.
Anyway. Work Release Girl helped organize me. It was a bit like having my mom here. At one point, she glanced at me, and with uncanny perception and timing said, "I don't know how tired you are of hearing, 'What price should I put on this?'"
But she kept on, and all those baskets of unpriced stock are now cleared away into their proper (or close enough) places, and I have taught my work release charge a valuable retail lesson: sometimes it's just easier to make up the price than to locate the invoice.
So one of the things she found was a little tin money box, which was perfect, since I'd just said to Eddie the day before that we'd try to find one for him. He and I have decided that he should put all the money he finds into the tin, and at the end of one year, see how much he's got in there. I fear the tin will be grossly inadequate to the task, as he's already found a few dollars. In two days. That child finds money EVERYWHERE.
And next we need to find a big box for Leander to put his rubber bands in. What is it with that kid and rubber bands? At what point do I reasonably need to be concerned about his rubber band obsession? I meticulously dispose of all rubber bands that enter my shop, Duncan's shop, or our house, and I still pick rubber bands out of the washing machine daily.
I console myself that it is merely the disparity - Eddie with his money and Leander with his rubber bands - that highlights my fears. Perhaps Leander is a perfectly normal child, who is just made to look peculiar by his rather more fortunate (and I mean that word as literally as it is possible to mean) brother.
I hope that's what the judge says, anyway, when the day eventually arrives.
Anyway... Lots more cheerful things to discuss. Oliver, for one. My little Narcissus has named his stuffed giraffe "Oliver." I am sure that means something, but am too frightened to start googling it.
And speaking of frightening... This morning, for the first time in weeks and weeks, I had half an hour to lounge around in bed before dashing for the shower and the kitchen counter (it's illogical to hate making school lunches as much as I do). Oliver lounged with me, and his first question of the day was this:
"If people are dead, does their skin fall off?"
Which is even more alarming, if it possible for a question like that to seem MORE alarming, considering the "gift" he gave me on Wednesday. He was at the shop with me, cutting up paper (his favorite activity). He cut a strip, "wrote" on it, and screwed it up in a complicated system of folds, then presented it to me as an objet d'art. Or so I thought. Turns out it was a ring. I asked how I was supposed to put it on my finger. He took it back in order to show me and declared I had ruined it. I asked him to fix it for me, please, thus occupying him momentarily.
I then promptly forgot about the whole situation and got back to my important conversation with my work release girl (the entire week, I was unable to say "work experience" without first stumbling over "work release." I gave in to it on the second day).
A few minutes later, Oliver tapped me on the leg and held up his re-creation, which he had twisted into a tiny, sharp point:
"This is for you, Mommy, for when you need to poke the people."
Needless to say, Work Release Girl and I fell about laughing. Oh, the mirth! It was almost, just about, very nearly funny enough to drown out my alarm.
What people would I need to be poking, sweetie? The bad people. Yes, I see. Well, thank you very much, that was a very thoughtful and useful gift.
And now he wants to know if dead people's skin falls off. This is probably an appropriate spot to remind you, Dear Reader, that Oliver is THREE YEARS OLD.
Shudder now with the fear that engulfs you; what impact will this child have on the world at large? This is most certainly one of those blissfully ignorant moments.
He nearly redeemed himself, though. A few minutes after the dead people question, he asked, "What does love mean? Is it hugging?" Awwww, the cuteness. Nearly conquered by the worry about this THREE-YEAR-OLD's grasp of philosophy.
Keep shuddering. No point stopping now.
Anyway. Work Release Girl helped organize me. It was a bit like having my mom here. At one point, she glanced at me, and with uncanny perception and timing said, "I don't know how tired you are of hearing, 'What price should I put on this?'"
But she kept on, and all those baskets of unpriced stock are now cleared away into their proper (or close enough) places, and I have taught my work release charge a valuable retail lesson: sometimes it's just easier to make up the price than to locate the invoice.
So one of the things she found was a little tin money box, which was perfect, since I'd just said to Eddie the day before that we'd try to find one for him. He and I have decided that he should put all the money he finds into the tin, and at the end of one year, see how much he's got in there. I fear the tin will be grossly inadequate to the task, as he's already found a few dollars. In two days. That child finds money EVERYWHERE.
And next we need to find a big box for Leander to put his rubber bands in. What is it with that kid and rubber bands? At what point do I reasonably need to be concerned about his rubber band obsession? I meticulously dispose of all rubber bands that enter my shop, Duncan's shop, or our house, and I still pick rubber bands out of the washing machine daily.
I console myself that it is merely the disparity - Eddie with his money and Leander with his rubber bands - that highlights my fears. Perhaps Leander is a perfectly normal child, who is just made to look peculiar by his rather more fortunate (and I mean that word as literally as it is possible to mean) brother.
I hope that's what the judge says, anyway, when the day eventually arrives.
posted by amy at
9:08 AM
