Skip to main content

Little voices

My son is having a conversation with himself.  It's fairly common these days.  The mumbling, the sighing, the mouthing words without sound.  It happens all the time.

It makes my blood boil in my veins.  And also, my eyebrows shoot skyward like they have strings pulling them up.  It's very annoying.  (The eyebrows and the conversations.)

See, the thing is, I asked him to read a book.  A good book, one I've read and enjoyed.  (Pillage by Obert Skye, if you're interested.)  He's reading this book for school.  He has to read about 14 books by the end of the quarter.  I'm really hoping that means December but I'm not sure.

My son, bless him, went right into convulsions.

The body language alone is fascinating.  Arms and legs and head bobbing in separate directions.  And then there are the sounds.  Long exhalations of breath, lungs emptying at alarming rates, teeth pressed together so that the air comes out in a whistle, and limbs hitting against the floor or each other.  It's like a symphony of exasperation.

I'm just that difficult.

After the glorious display, I sent him to his bed.  Partly because he's clearly tired.  The dazzling exhibition is enhanced when he's cranky.  (He's not asleep yet after 30 minutes, but that's probably because his solo conversation was quite interesting, and partially due to his normal routine including a later bedtime.) 

But also because I'm tired.  And sending him to bed was some action on my part to alleviate the situation.  Of course, I felt bad right away and almost let him have a second chance.

Alas, I would have missed the soft sounds of his annoyance.  We wouldn't want that to happen.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Carly,

I assume that one day you will come to me wanting to know who you are, where you came from, where your other family is and why they gave you to us.  I offer you little bits of information already, but certainly not crumbs enough to satisfy the appetite.  Perhaps it won't matter to you.  I am assuming a lot, already, about how adoption will impact your life.

People often wonder why adoptive parents are hurt when their children seek out biological roots.  I have the answer, and it's very simple.  Adoption - at its core - makes us question the legality, authority, voracity, and validity of parenthood.  For most adoptive parents, first you must come to terms with an issue that strikes at the foundations of mortality: fertility.  From birth, most of us are driven to form families.  First we are nestlings, nurtured and weened and eventually taught to fly.  Then we are nest-builders, filling our lives with the stuff necessary to drive life forward.  Knowledge, safety, money, a sturdy …

Fragmented re-introduction

I dreamed a dream once of what this would be like.  Of life.  Of patterns and songs and ticking off boxes to find my way. 

Trouble was, I keep looking at the wrong list.

This year's list:

- Turn 40 (check)
- Move again (check)
- Send the boy on a mission (check)
- Finish admin license
- Get lost (check)
- Get found (check)
- Lost again (check)

Wait, that went off track. 

Adulthood is a lot of getting off track.  And back on.  It's weird.

I thought at 40, I would have it all together.

But, I'm barely keeping it from falling apart. 

Weird.

So, this is me where I am now.

40, working, waiting.  My boy's on a mission in Boise.  My girl's 12 going on 20.  My husband hates his job most days, and loves it alternatively.  Same for me.  We live in a small town I don't like very much and dream of going somewhere else, but we don't know where that is. 

I want to be a writer, but I don't spend time writing.

I read something the other day that gave me hope: Guy Fieri…

It feels like...

Having an (almost) teenage daughter can be...quite an experience. 

"I hope you have a kid just like you," so the saying goes.  Usually, you only hear this if you're a rough kid.  I was a rough kid - in some ways.  I gave my mom a pretty hard time.  And, if she wished for a kid that was 'just like me' to come along as payback - the parent gods smiled on that wish.

Today (after a pretty tragical and frustrating encounter) Carly said: I just needed to get mad at somebody.  I don't know why.

Well, if that doesn't sum up teenage angst, I don't know what does.

It also kind of applies to adult angst.  Some days I just want to be mad at somebody and walk around stomping my feet.  Today I felt like that.  In between good things, though, so at least there's balance.

And balance is tricky this days, too.

It feels like the house is a wreck (it mostly isn't, but sort of is).

It feels like I'm swimming in work and can't catch up (this one is very tr…