We stayed up late last night, labelling a few months' worth of photographs, so that we could send off a disc-ful to each set of Grandparents, since we're sending a package of books for David's dad anyway. And I woke up in a bad mood, having not had enough sleep. Not an awful mood, not a foul one. Just a bad one. One of those where it's possible that, left alone for an hour or two, I'll have forgotten about by lunch time, at which point David might get a call and a sheepish apology (which never actually contains the word "sorry" - the proverbial oil to the water that is my vocabulary) from his wayward wife, with the hint of a promise of that I might be feeling very, very frisky tonight...
Recognising this bad mood for what it was, I chose to go about the morning's business in silence and without making any eye contact with other, actual living beings. And no, I won't apologise for opening and closing the kitchen cupboards a little bit harder than I normally do. I wasn't swearing at, threatening, attacking or murdering anyone, dammit - I deserve some credit here!
And this is why the words "Don't Start" have the power to kickstart a miniature Armageddon in my universe. He had merely to breathe them softly in my presence as I flung open the cupboard where we keep the cereal, and my bad mood became a filthy one. When I'm pissed and roaring cusswords and foaming at the mouth, I'm "starting". And when I'm good naturedly banging things around the house whilst not roaring cusswords and foaming at the mouth, I'm still "starting". You can't have both, see, because that amounts to telling me that I'm not allowed to experience and express my emotions, and that is a fail-proof method of incurring The Legendary Wrath.
SOME ADVICE:
Me taking out my bad mood on the furniture/doors/floors/walls/other inanimate objects commonly found in the home? That means I'm busy not taking it out on you, and you'll do well to keep out of my way until I've finished not taking it out on you.
This is a fail-proof method of avoiding The Legendary Wrath. Okay?
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Michael
My Favourite Son,
Today you are three years and one day old. I've watched you change over the past thirty six months from baby to little boy and I have wished, almost as often as I have wished for unlimited supplies of vodka, that I could have somehow better captured your babyhood than in photographs and random recalls of a few unusual incidents. This is probably only because of the way that mothers' minds are programmed to forget about the agony of sleepless nights, colic, vomit and that gooey, yellow, sourish-smelling poo that only tiny babies know how to squirt out of their otherwise endlessly cute bottoms. Exactly the same way that most mothers' minds are programmed to forget the agony of labour and childbirth. ( I seem, suddenly, to have forgotten where I was going with this...)
Anyway, a couple of things I want you to know:
1. I know it's rough being a small person. Just remember, it's quite probable that you'll be bigger than your big sister - and probably most of the other kids your age - by the end of the year.
2. This will not give you license to beat your sister up the way she beats you up now. We don't hit girls. Unless they hit us first and then think they're gonna get away with it just because they're a girl... but that's a lesson for another day.
3. Your name is Michael David Parkins, not Peter Parker/Spiderman!
4. Now that you're getting older, we expect that you'll be a little bit more independent.
5. But it makes me feel warm and fuzzy to know that there's still no-one more important to you than your Mommy.
6. Always take care of your eyes and your smile (brush, floss and keep your lips moisturized!). They will probably earn you more invitations, get you out of more tight spots, grant you access inside more girls' bras in your teenage years, and be the means by which you experience life's simple pleasures (food, drink, pretty girls, kisses) more often than you'll be able to remember.
7. Your mother, unlike ordinary mortal women, is immune to the aforementioned charms. Attempts at disproving this are considered both unethical and unlikely to succeed. Proceed at your own peril.
8. No matter how much you despise me one day, when I show your girlfriends your baby photos, smack you upside the head for smoking that joint, refuse to let you drive my car or teach you valuable lessons in money management by making you work a part-time job to help finance your studies at university, always remember that I gave you life. Don't tempt me to take it away again.
9. I don't care if everyone is doing it. You are my son, and no son of mine is a sheep.
10. Being my child gets you an unlimited supply of my love and support, no matter what. Hang onto it, kid. It's going to come in handy along the way.
Mom.
Today you are three years and one day old. I've watched you change over the past thirty six months from baby to little boy and I have wished, almost as often as I have wished for unlimited supplies of vodka, that I could have somehow better captured your babyhood than in photographs and random recalls of a few unusual incidents. This is probably only because of the way that mothers' minds are programmed to forget about the agony of sleepless nights, colic, vomit and that gooey, yellow, sourish-smelling poo that only tiny babies know how to squirt out of their otherwise endlessly cute bottoms. Exactly the same way that most mothers' minds are programmed to forget the agony of labour and childbirth. ( I seem, suddenly, to have forgotten where I was going with this...)
Anyway, a couple of things I want you to know:
1. I know it's rough being a small person. Just remember, it's quite probable that you'll be bigger than your big sister - and probably most of the other kids your age - by the end of the year.
2. This will not give you license to beat your sister up the way she beats you up now. We don't hit girls. Unless they hit us first and then think they're gonna get away with it just because they're a girl... but that's a lesson for another day.
3. Your name is Michael David Parkins, not Peter Parker/Spiderman!
4. Now that you're getting older, we expect that you'll be a little bit more independent.
5. But it makes me feel warm and fuzzy to know that there's still no-one more important to you than your Mommy.
6. Always take care of your eyes and your smile (brush, floss and keep your lips moisturized!). They will probably earn you more invitations, get you out of more tight spots, grant you access inside more girls' bras in your teenage years, and be the means by which you experience life's simple pleasures (food, drink, pretty girls, kisses) more often than you'll be able to remember.
7. Your mother, unlike ordinary mortal women, is immune to the aforementioned charms. Attempts at disproving this are considered both unethical and unlikely to succeed. Proceed at your own peril.
8. No matter how much you despise me one day, when I show your girlfriends your baby photos, smack you upside the head for smoking that joint, refuse to let you drive my car or teach you valuable lessons in money management by making you work a part-time job to help finance your studies at university, always remember that I gave you life. Don't tempt me to take it away again.
9. I don't care if everyone is doing it. You are my son, and no son of mine is a sheep.
10. Being my child gets you an unlimited supply of my love and support, no matter what. Hang onto it, kid. It's going to come in handy along the way.
Mom.
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