Friday, July 22, 2011
Snippets about Thor and Beezus.
"Yes, my love."
"Both of you. She is the perfect blend of both of you."
This morning seemed like a fine time to see Lucy. It is overwhelmingly hot, and I am doing work. Looking at pictures is a luxury I rarely afford myself. I called to Beezus. Thor tottered in right behind her, and each of them sat on a knee.
"This is a picture of Lucy, Beez. This is a picture of your sister, Thor."
"Ssssis," he said. He pointed to Beezus then himself.
"Yes, Beezus is your sister, and this is Lucy, she is also your sister."
Lulu meet Thor. Thor meet Lulu.
"Ssssis," he said again, and pointed to the screen then himself.
Pointing. To him and the food he wants. To the place he wants to go. To the toy on the high shelf he can't reach. Grunt. Point. Whine. Point. Giggle. Point.
"Corn. Good." Beezus grunts as corn falls out her mouth.
We are cave people.
Food good. Tummy full. Girl happy. Baby clingy. Mama testy.
The other day, Beezus was carrying a card from the zoo which showed the new baby orangutan. Thor grabbed it out of her hands, staring at it and walking. He came up to me and pointed to the baby orangutan and then to himself.
Yes, my love, you are both babies. You are both little monkeys.
He makes connections. He is using signs. He make long exaggerated nods to answer questions in the affirmative. He is talking when he can. He says sister, mama, dada, Jack and dog, usually right after the other, so it sounds like Jack the dog. He says bird, and thank you and welcome. And other things that surprise me and make me feel like time is going much too fast. Much too.
Yesterday we went to the Farm Fair, and looked at the animals, and he liked each animal, but particularly the piggies. First he pointed at the baby piggies, and then himself. But then he kept waving and blowing kisses at them. They slept in the oppressive heat, but I couldn't help but feel sad. I always feel sad when I see babies wave to people and things that don't notice them at all. I always wonder if it is the first time of many that they learn the world is a cruel, cold place. Is that the neural pathway laid down by an unacknowledged wave? Or maybe they are learning they aren't the center of the universe. In the end, I think both are necessary and heartbreaking lessons.
I need to practice saying no. I say yes to too much, feel much too stretched these days. But I love everything I do, so I suck it up. I daydream about writing a long leisurely email, not the detriment of any other project. Just an email about books, and life. Maybe I would even complain about my husband if I could sit for a moment and think about some things that annoy me. (He forgets to put the garbage bag back in the can after he takes it out, so I mindlessly drop smelly garbage in the can, and then have to wash it out. That drives me insane.)
Thor just wants to be on me. All. The. Time. He still likes breastfeeding whenever he wants to, and it makes me feel like a Chinese buffet. I say no, and distract him, but he only forgets for five minutes. That makes me feel busy too. Because I am constantly moving a little person somewhere else. Everything takes me four times longer than if the children just sat quietly, reading Dostoyevsky, like I recommend.
Here is Crime and Punishment. Come back when you understand the concept of freedom in Raskolnikov's moral universe.
In the same token, I miss Beezus, even though I spend all day with her. She is starting pre-k in the fall, and that will be a new chapter in our lives--school. I sometimes realize that I didn't say goodnight to her, because she fell asleep with Sam while I was putting Thor to bed. She doesn't care. She doesn't notice. But I do. Holding Beezus is still holding my baby, albeit my long, lanky girl who was once my baby. When Beezus does come over for cuddles, Thor pulls at her arms. He untangles her limbs from my body, then he hits her, or pinches her cheek.
"But she's my mommy too, Thomas. I need cuddles too." Sometimes she cries at the injustice of it, and sometimes she laughs. Mostly she laughs.
Sometimes when I find myself so tired of being touched, I take a shower. I leave the children in the bathroom with toys, and turn it on cold. Of course, it is a millions droplets of water touching me, but it feels like resetting my touch-o-meter. I just want to not be touched, grabbed, pawed by another human, and yet, I know how fucking fast this all goes. It is already too fast. He has morphed from a baby to a baby monkey. And next will be a big kid monkey, and then a teenage monkey.
"Enjoy it. It goes by too fast."