2. This morning, while checking his school backpack, I find a Poetry Couplet exercise.
Fuppy the Puppy
There Once Was a Puppy,
I Called It Fuppy.
He Smelled Like Candy,
And His Nickname was Sandy.
I Called It Fuppy.
He Smelled Like Candy,
And His Nickname was Sandy.
He Likes to Eat,
His Favorite Food is Meat.
Suffice it to say we've come a long way since he suggested in a journal article that his day as principal would include murdering the students and burning their bodies before offing himself. Talk about your literary lead balloons...
3. He just looked out the doors leading to the back yard full of trees and remarked, "The birds sure are busy looking for food; they probably have baby chicks that need to eat." It's hard not to love your child when his mind never stops out of embarrassment or self-reflection (at least, not immediately)...
--segue--
4. Out to the garbage can on wheels not-so-affectionately called "Dad's van" so we can drive to school. We missed the bus this morning because our budding Shakespeare brought out clothing fit for a blizzard, not the 72 degree F day in store for this afternoon. It was cool (about 37 degrees F) but he couldn't get the van door to open. He thought it was frozen shut. I relocked and unlocked the doors again to no avail. Hmmm, this seems a tad peculiar. So I put my full 185 hard, sculpted pounds of Dad into the effort (the additional, unaccounted pounds sat this one out, as usual) and -"Voila!"- open popped the door!
4a. The side sliding doors on this van have a history of "freezing" shut, especially when they are exposed to very hot, direct sunlight. Toyota, given its less-than-sterling reputation for coming clean, told us the problem was "children spilling sodas" into the locking mechanisms. We knew this was total BS because the ONLY time it happened was during times of extreme heat and the problem would solve itself by running the A/C on full blast until the latch reset on its own. Except this time.
The problem WAS due to children and their syrup-based drinks. Upon closer inspection, a Cherry Icee had been left in the side-door's cupholder and the remaining liquid destroyed the bottom of the waxy paper cup, thereby allowing the sticky fluid to seep out, down the door until it had pooled along the runner on which the door rested and ran along when it was opened and closed. The volume of sticky goop was sufficient to adhere the door to the runner until I was able to wrestle the damn thing open.
Epilogue: My mood quickly soured and I instructed my budding Shakespeare--in those voluble, irritated parent tones we all know all too well--that he had a chore to accomplish once he returned from school. To his credit, he was contrite and apologized and said he'd clean it up.
To MY credit, a series of recent chronic pain group therapy meetings gave me better "tools" to anticipate and control my temper before it started poisoning everyone and everything around me. I concentrated on not harping about the incident all the way to school and started to talk about his spelling quiz, the weather, Godzilla movies, etc, until my mood was neutralized and he was able to re-focus on some things more important and less heavy than Dad's over-the-top reaction to a cup of ooze left in "Dad's van."
I love my children (and step-children) fiercely and need them more than ever to show me that not everything is a crisis and that some things are better dealt with with humor and deflection until the context appears to me and lets the air out of the balloon naturally, harmlessly. It seems to be getting easier for me to grab the reins before Yosemite Sam takes over, especially with the teen in attendance, thus lending a sense of tranquility not experienced in a while, a LOOOOOOOOOOOONG while. Nevertheless, the abyss is never very far away and I can't seem to shake some nagging expectation or fear that I'm not, ultimately, helping me stay away. One day, one step at a time.
Ya'll have a great weekend.
XOXO-Ernst
ps-please, don't confuse my aims for my kids. They are not responsible for me or my health. I was merely pointing out how grounded they (and Ellen) keep me and how much I want to alter my moods and anxieties in order to help them grow up to be well balanced, successful, and happy. jrb
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