Dancing Without Rhythm

I should have been in bed 2 hours ago.

This post may prove it.

My friend flew in from St. Louis tonight with her daughter and so I spent the whole day trying to get the house presentable. It didn't happen, but at least there was an improvement. I didn't clean up anything last night before I went to bed and when we got up in the morning Benja said to me, "Mom, could you do something about this?" and pointed to all the toys obstructing him playing with his toys. Some kids. He sounded alarmingly like his father when I leave used diapers on the floor.

Then Avee, unable to find comfort in my loving arms (because they were elbow deep in toilet water) found solace in a small white box. I hope she stays petite long enough to enjoy the petite-ish things she does with her little body.


(To the right of Avee, you will see the carpet mural done by Benja. The medium is magic market on cheap carpet, a 2nd year masterpiece. During his brief time as an artist he suffered immense persecution and dessert-withholding but always maintained that his contributions to the art world were "pwetty").

I spent a lot of time in conversation with Benja today and realized he doesn't get enough of that with me. He gets a lot of distracted answers and exasperated sighs when he traps me in circular conversations about why our car is green. He's really a funny kid and great at conversation. He's quick with compliments, "That's a great idea mom, I'm glad you sot of that!" and "Wow, this is a cool turkey sandwich, you did a good job with the turkey and I did a great job with the cheese!" He's got a wicked 3 year old sense of humor. "Ahhhhhh ahhahahahhaha! Did you see that? I almost fell off my chair and hit my butt. Ahhahahhahah buuuuuutt--is that so funny mom?" And he says things I swear he's only heard from me when I've been posessed by an elderly woman who wears nurses shoes and double pocket cardigans. Today while I was eliminating the blue sand from our lives (sad, short-lived existence), I retrieved a shovel from the bottom of the sand-tub Benja had been playing with this shovel less than a week ago. Yet, he exclaims, "Oh THERE it is, I've been looking for that for YEARS!" Later while trying to remove a stubborn watch from his wrist I heard him say through gritted baby teeth "This is a nightmiwoh!" That was the SECOND time I heard him say that today.

He also did an amazing job of entertaining himself while staying mostly out of my way. Benja gets his creativity from his father, but his fashion sense from me.

And so,the "Robot" is born.

As I worked endlessly on making my house presentable, I rehearsed saying things like, "Oh, the house is a wreck---please don't mind the mess" while trying to mask my true expression of wonder that my house has ever actually been this clean. I was good by the end of the day. I was confident in my abilities to act like I always have a clean house and the fpecks of debwee on the pictures constitute a "total wreck"

Drive to the airport. Benja falls asleep. Even better. None of my sins would be revealed through his incessant chatter. I have to switch around carseats so I ask my friend to hold Benja while I do that. He wakes up in her arms, looks up at her, completely unalarmed that a total stranger is holding him (he hasn't seen her in almost a year and a half) and says, "Our house is really clean. My mom cleaned it all day and I'm a real good cleaner too." And there it went. My wildest fantasies, the ones I spent all day creating and living and reliving, squashed by one half-asleep 3 year old. Of course, my friend doesn't just leave it at that, she gets all the juicey details on what the house used to look like and what exactly was done. I knew it was coming though. I told J it was a bad idea to teach our children to talk.

Posted by Angela on Tuesday, September 19, 2006 at 9/19/2006 | Permalink