No one will likely read this, but I'm writing it anyway. I just visited this blog for the first time in months and fell down a rabbit hole of memories. It always happens. Jerry will be talking to me while I'm reading, and I'm nodding, and five minutes later I realize I don't know a thing he just said. He could have just told me the apocalypse had broken out or the super-caldera in Wyoming has just blown and I'd be all, "yes, dear, very nice. ... " nodding, nodding ...
Anyway, the last post I read before I decided to pop on here was written back just before Wilder started kindergarten, when he used to ask me tons of crazy, complicated questions at night. And then, out of nowhere, he'd say: "Mom, go pee." Because I'd be dancing around his room, half the time not even realizing I had to pee. You'll no doubt note I go through life in a half-daze a lot of the time. It's called having kids.
Anyway, the post reminded me of how much Wilder picks up on, even when I'm not picking up on it myself. He's always been like that, especially with me. It's like he's made it a hobby to study me, my facial expressions, my voice, my clothing, etc., and he knows what it all means. Her chin is jutted out, she must be mad. Her voice is low, she must be grumpy. She's wearing sweats, it must be a day of the week. It's somewhat disconcerting, but mostly it's just kinda cool.
So, on Fridays, I go into the boys' school and help out with something called Spelling City for the second and fourth grades, and usually go into the library in-between and shelve some books, then douse myself in hand-sanitizer (because children's library books have to be up there with hotel remotes on the list of invisibly disgusting inanimate objects in the world). I love doing the spelling thing, because it allows me to see every single kid in their grades, get to know them, tease them a bit, check in with them if they seem down, etc. Lest I make myself sound too holier-than-thou, I also scowl at them or try to catch them cheating if I know they've been mean to my kid that week. And I silently judge their spelling abilities some. I'm human.
Anyway, today, a kid sitting next to Wilder is having some trouble with his browser window size, so I go over there to help him. In about 15 words, I show him how to grab the edge and pull it wider. "Thanks," he says. And I start to walk away.
"Mom," Wilder says, "um, it sounds like you have a tone to your voice."
This is his new thing. He immediately picks up on what mood I'm in based on my tone (emphasis his, by the way). It's kind of nuts, and he's almost always right. Yes, I wasn't in the best mood this morning. In fact, I had a headache for about the 15th day in a row, felt crappy, fat, old and ugly. I'd tried to make myself feel better by putting on makeup and wearing a dress, only to notice that the right side of the dress dipped lower than the other. Because I'm deformed. I thought maybe it was the dress so I tried another. Yep, still deformed. Fucking hell.
OK, I digress. I turned around to Wilder: "I do? Yeah, I guess I do. It's all right, kid, I'll be in a better mood by the time you get home from school." The girl next to him silently snickered. "Yeah," she probably thought in her head, "this explains a lot." I resisted the urge to scowl at her.
Anyway, point is ... that boy, he's paying close attention. I guess most kids are, which is why being a present, non-asshole-ish parent is such an important job.
