Monday, December 3, 2012


As they go, this was a strange weekend for me. There were nice things, like pretty snow that's already melted, and my kid being his ever amazing self, but the niceness was tempered by a few things. One being that I saw Mike for only a handful of waking hours due to a fill-in shift at work and miscellaneous housekeeping junk. I like my alone time, probably more than the average person, but I really felt his absence this weekend and am looking forward to whatever chunk of hang-out time is in our immediate future.

The other is that my dear longtime friend is very sick, and has been for awhile. I've put off even mentioning it for a lot of reasons, a big one being that I know she reads my blog, several people who know and love her do. And when things are bad, particularly when it's not your own, personal bad, how to even start talking about it? What gives me the right? But I can't not anymore. To not address what has become a constant source of worry and heartbreak makes me feel like a big fake. Her fight doesn't belong to me, but to leave it out of what I write would be glossing over the experience of my own life. I in no way mistake her illness and what it's doing to her for my own struggle-- I'm not the one going through it, not physically suffering. I'm not geographically close enough to be much actual help. But it doesn't change the fact that when people I care about are hurting, it hurts me, and it hurts enough that I can't not write about it any more. And so I will, but not until tomorrow. I want to give the situation its own entry, its due. And I would trot out my usual refrain re: cancer but out of respect for my girl, who has always had an irrational hatred of the "F" word, I will tone it down to EFF CANCER. Same sentiment.

My two-point-seven-year-old piece of work was in rare form over the past few days, and the light he brings to our lives couldn't be more appreciated. The other night we went out to dinner, just he and I, at the neighborhood deli. We had just come from the Curious George store, so he brought the new farm animals I got him for his "pecial qweet." He played so happily and was such a little mensch over the entire course of the meal that diners from three separate tables stopped by to compliment me on his behavior. Trust me, I know it had as much to do with the recently purchased toys than any blazing parenting skills, and he could just as easily be the screeching meltdown monster that was seated across the room from us, but parents are so rarely given props for anything, I took their kind words with gratitude, they made the whole rest of the night for me. Truthfully dining out has never been our problem area with the dude--sleep and that whole talking to people issue have been our historical dragons to slay--but every toddler is a ticking timebomb in public and every time I can get away without an explosion I consider it a successful outing. This is the first year he's shown any interest or awareness in the holiday spectacle, so checking out the light displays has been a blast. He especially enjoys the manger scenes with the big animals and what he calls "farmers" (Mary, Joseph, etc.). And we had a laugh this morning when I offered him the opportunity to go on the potty--he's clearly not ready, we're not pushing it yet, just reminding him--he responded, "That not sound like fun." What can you do but agree? And if it's not fun, why bother? He has no idea that some days he's the only reason to smile. To be fair, he has no idea that he's not actually the sun and moon.

Anyway. Until tomorrow. 

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