Like much of the blog-reading world, I crush on VTT, who writes Bells On. Despite my long hiatus from writing online, it was therefore no minor thwack to be declared dead on her site (see her RIP Links). Oh, that sock in the gut that grabs the entire abdominal wall, when that hot high school senior girl, who talks to you, writes you off? It was like that.
Today I find I am no longer R.I.P.'d at Bells On. Happy! Happier than finally finding the right no-not-the-40MB-download printer driver for my son's computer. Almost as happy as getting a coffee date with my ttractor honey this morning. Way happier than getting an estimate to replace the bumper on a late-model 535i. And about as happy as getting 20 minutes to read two essays in Joseph Epstein's latest collection, In a Cardboard Belt! (I don't necessarily like the review linked to here, but I also don't feel like throwing Amazon a potential sale).
My brain swirls these days in very particular particulars. Making sure my son can open his combination lock on more tries than not. Getting all the correct binder widths, divider counts, tabs marked, post-it sizes, waterproof "sportfolio" covers. Seeing what got eaten for lunch, what came back, what leaked to the bottom of the bag. How is it, being the only freshman in math class? Getting clothes warm enough for morning, breathable enough for walking home. Having grown up in inland marsh country where layered clothing is all but unheard of, I'm sometimes unsure when dealing with his most basic adjustments will descend into terse, grumpy just-forget-its.
There's little time to reflect. Staying on task is an all-day's affair until things settle down. It's not my favorite mode at any time. Before now, doing it for my child and for my LTR, no one would have ever accused me of operating in this mode with grace. But my son is at a certain beginning to coming of age, and this is the role I want, to serve until I'm not needed. I am also arriving into something new, and I want that role too: to live well, and love, and be loved.
And even with all that in store, my greedy id still wants every little acknowledgment, every bit of attention it can muster. I have been re-admitted into existence. And by that hot senior you've been dogging! Watch me gliiiide.
Today I find I am no longer R.I.P.'d at Bells On. Happy! Happier than finally finding the right no-not-the-40MB-download printer driver for my son's computer. Almost as happy as getting a coffee date with my ttractor honey this morning. Way happier than getting an estimate to replace the bumper on a late-model 535i. And about as happy as getting 20 minutes to read two essays in Joseph Epstein's latest collection, In a Cardboard Belt! (I don't necessarily like the review linked to here, but I also don't feel like throwing Amazon a potential sale).
My brain swirls these days in very particular particulars. Making sure my son can open his combination lock on more tries than not. Getting all the correct binder widths, divider counts, tabs marked, post-it sizes, waterproof "sportfolio" covers. Seeing what got eaten for lunch, what came back, what leaked to the bottom of the bag. How is it, being the only freshman in math class? Getting clothes warm enough for morning, breathable enough for walking home. Having grown up in inland marsh country where layered clothing is all but unheard of, I'm sometimes unsure when dealing with his most basic adjustments will descend into terse, grumpy just-forget-its.
There's little time to reflect. Staying on task is an all-day's affair until things settle down. It's not my favorite mode at any time. Before now, doing it for my child and for my LTR, no one would have ever accused me of operating in this mode with grace. But my son is at a certain beginning to coming of age, and this is the role I want, to serve until I'm not needed. I am also arriving into something new, and I want that role too: to live well, and love, and be loved.
And even with all that in store, my greedy id still wants every little acknowledgment, every bit of attention it can muster. I have been re-admitted into existence. And by that hot senior you've been dogging! Watch me gliiiide.
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Or is that just my little fantasy in the corner of my twisted brain?