A Random Image

Archive for April, 2001

 
|| April 11, 2001 || 12:26 pm || Comments (0) ||

That Dee sure can come up with some gems. The ‘pizza tart’ entry just KILLED me. AHH-hahaha!

 
|| April 10, 2001 || 10:16 pm || Comments (0) ||

Because I am a kind and giving mistress. Because I want to see you smile.

But mostly because I want you to mock the politicos just like I do. Page three has GOT to be my favorite.

 
|| April 9, 2001 || 11:12 pm || Comments (0) ||

The evening’s festivities found me in the emergency room singing ‘The Mighty Quinn’ to my 2-year old. But allow me to trot back a couple of steps. In all fairness, I should deliver to you a very important piece of information/advice:

“Thou shalt not make plans, for they are fraught with peril and bombarded with setbacks and rarely, if ever, come to fruition.”

That about covers that.

My own personal plan for the evening was to gather up all of the children’s winter clothes neatly and carefully, then take them over to Nana’s house. Once there we would swap them out for summer-weight accoutrements that have whiled away the winter months, waiting for the season of bare legs and sprinklers to return. We have a closet at her house that accomodates our twice-yearly clothing shiftabout nicely.

Step one was completed, all winter clothes having been gleaned from the closets and deposited neatly in the car. Scout and Mathias opted to make the trip with me while Sam and Maxim offered to keep an eye on the grilling chicken to be eaten for dinner.

We arrived at Nana’s unceremoniously and Scout and I carried our burdens up the stairs. Mathias most generally has the full run of the place and I’ve never felt uncomfortable allowing this to be so; we don’t have cable hooked up at our home (too much time- and cerebral-suckage), so usually the baby parks himself in front of whatever cartoon happens to be playing at the moment.

So I guess you could say that what happened next was a combined lack of vigilance: mine for not hauling Mathias up the stairs behind me and Scout, Nana’s for not taking more care in placing “pretties” out of Mathias’ reach. She came swooshing up the stairs to show me that her multi-compartmented medicine tray was partially empty. She had found it in the baby’s hands moments before. There was a pretty mix of vitamin supplements in each slot as well as some potently drowse-inducing headache/sinus medicine. A cursory, then more thorough, examination of the kitchen floor yielded no stray pills. I hurriedly called Maxim to bring the syrup of Ipecac from our medicine cabinet.

I’ve had a bottle of Ipecac in my meds cab every minute since the first child was given to my care. Every minute. Each and every single year, I have had to throw the damned thing out because it was no longer good or viable or stable or whatever (kinda like my Aunt Lola). I never did throw the old one out, however, until a new one was purchased and settled into the cabinet.

Nine years’ worth of Ipecac. Nine seals unbroken. Until this evening, that is….

We administered a dose of the Ipecac and after twenty minutes it roused up to meet the mission. Mathias, running through Nana’s back yard, suddenly stopped cold and heaved hard at the soft grass. Thinking the matter settled, Maxim loaded Sam and Scout up and headed home to finish up dinner. Mathias and I were supposed to be not long behind, only stopping to gather the bags of clothing to put into my car.

He heaved for another five minutes into the utility-room sink. Now we are REALLY done. In the clear, yo.

As we sat down to dinner, nerves unwinding, Mathias got semi-lethargic and his eyes grabbed a glazed cast out of thin air. He started squinting to clear his vision, goggling upward at something…anything…nothing. I stepped into my boots, grabbed phone, keys, insurance card and the baby.

I am pretty calm and rational at times like this. I spoke to Mathias loudly, requesting that he keep looking at mommy’s face. I dialed 911 so that they could notify the hospital that we were on our way. My stomach was gathering up into a tight little square as we sped along; two blocks from the hospital Mathias went on the nods and my insides felt hard and white-hot.

Having to hold your toddler down while he has his stomach pumped is really no adventure that you want to take part in, my precious readers. Really….trust me on this one. Nor is watching him spew toxin-sucking black charcoal all over the car on the ride home. I think Maxim managed to scrub it all out of the light-grey interior of my car.

In it all, though, there are those moments that stand out, those moments that when I look back on it and laugh with him about it in years to come, those moments that make even this big scary event pale in comparison to those little flashes of humor and sweetness. How he screamed, “UGLY, UGLY!!!” at the nurse who was pumping his stomach. She was acting ‘ugly’ to him and he was trying to communicate this past the tube stuffed into his nose and down his throat. Mathias, rolling his eyes heavenward, wailing “Howp me, howp me!” in some strange 2-year-old prayer to the Powers That Be. Me, that’s Mommy to him, running out of tunes in the standard repertoire, still being beseeched to “wockababy”….and out of nowhere a song I’ve not thought about nor heard for ages pops into my brain and I crooned Mathias softly to sleep with it:

“Ev’rybody’s building the big ships and the boats,

Some are building monuments,

Others, jotting down notes,

Ev’rybody’s in despair,

Ev’ry girl and boy

But when Quinn the Eskimo gets here,

Ev’rybody’s gonna jump for joy.

Come all without, come all within,

You’ll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn.”


(extree-special thanks to Mister Bob Dylan)

 
|| April 8, 2001 || 11:00 pm || Comments (0) ||

Can I have one of these, pleeeeeze?

 
|| April 8, 2001 || 3:43 pm || Comments (0) ||

I awoke this morning with a terrible headache. I tried moving through it, working around it. Didn’t work.

I sought the solace of my large bedroom, with it’s (its?? i can never get those two –and its’– straight…frustrates me extra-large) dark gray walls and stark white trim. I stretched across the fluffy comforter, covered in a pattern of ivory and white diamonds of differing textures, that adorns my bed and stared up at the huge framed print above my mantle. It’s a litho of the Erythrean Sibyl by Michaelangelo and I could drink it in with my eyes for hours on end. I have been known to, at times. Everything about it speaks to me: the colors, the way the lines are rendered, the subject. I find it quite fascinating that Michaelangelo used a study of the male form to create a woman from when he depicted the female sibyls. I also find fascinating the fact that he spared no detail on any of his Sistine works, even the simplest of pieces. What a ferocious passion must have been housed behind his eyes!

I drowsed lightly after some time and then roused half-heartedly. I slipped on sandals and shorts and made my way to the store for a soda. I am trying to be good and house them in the convenience of my refrigerator no more.

When I got back, Maxim was on the phone and I went into the kitchen and fixed myself a fajita….mmmmm. I sat down at the dining room table to consume it and a book that I have become wrapped up in. After a time I noticed that the house was too quiet and I called to Maxim, “You still on the phone, babe?”

“No,” came his reply and I could hear something behind it, so I called him in to me.

He slid into the adjacent chair and told me he had been talking to Heath, resident best friend since elementary school. Funny coincidence that they found one another among the sea of faces; their deadbeat fathers had abused liquor and various other substances together when the boys were but wee tots.

So now it is nearly twenty years later and both fathers are long gone from the earth. Their beautiful boys have grown to be beautiful men, but in entirely different ways. Their beliefs are not so far apart, but the ways in which they comport themselves are. Maxim judiciously exercises restraint over his baser instincts. Heath is married to lots of those baser instincts and it is a marriage that has soured.

Without warning Maxim, both elbows on the table’s surface, buried his face in hands and quietly cried into them. I placed my hand into the crook of one of his elbows and waited wordlessly.

It’s a terrible and beautiful thing to see a man cry. Most often it’s done soundlessly, so that has an added element of fear for those beholden to observe. We forget that a man can cry. We forget that a man should release the burden sometimes in other ways than smashing a fist into a wall or swearing in frustration or driving too fast or flinging a baseball or drinking a beer.

When he came back to himself, he told me that Heath was depressed and repressed by this place, by his habits and felt that he would be dead by the end of the summer if he did not get away. The catch-22 is that he is afraid of stepping out, of getting on to a bus or train because of the drug-deprived sickness that will ensue.

I know where he comes from. It is a horrible thing. Maxim never had the pleasure of experiencing it, his dance with drugs only being a flirtation in his early twenties.

I have never kept anything from my husband, because we have the purest of friendships, and I couldn’t lie to him now: “A junkie knows when he is going to die, baby. He WILL die if he doesn’t lay it down and if he does, he will die if he ever picks it back up.”

The thing here is, the thing here is, the thing here is….

Heath cannot stay here and kick. He has too much of a negative support network. He cannot go away, because he fears the pain of withdrawal. And it is a mighty and crushing pain, let me tell ya. If you do it the RIGHT way, that is. Methadone, my fucking lily white ass.

Maxim is like me; he is selective with the people that he allows completely in. When they are in fact in he loves them with a fierceness. I love Heath because he is special enough for Maxim to deign to love. If we didn’t have the kids, I would bring him into these four walls. I would take some time off of work and sit on him until his physical system was purged. Maxim, not having been there, would not have the mettle to do so. And he is a man, so while he may have the physical resolve, the complete emotional strength would not be there. And let us not forget that I don’t have the years and experiences vested in this person that my husband does. That makes a large difference.

After we tackled the physical aspect of his addiction, we would work on the mental pipes and I would send him out to start his sober adventure after a time. He is a beautiful spirit who the world is not quite worthy of and lucky to have, save for his enslavement to his addictions. When I was stressing over something one time, he grinned his pretty lopsided grin at me, pushed the hair out of my eyes and said, “Don’t worry about it, girl, we’re rollin’ on God’s time….”

I hope like fuck that the same God sees fit to spare him. Please.

 
|| April 8, 2001 || 8:22 am || Comments (0) ||

The weather has been warm here this week and we have mostly lived outside, when time allows, coming in dirty and sweaty. Scout started softball practices and Sam wants to walk to school everyday rather than have me drive him. Why do I increasingly have the impression that time is sliding away faster and faster?? What is going on here?

The kids and I got up yesterday morning and went to the coolest Easter egg hunt that I personally have ever attended. I took them to McDonald’s for breakfast (something I generally have a moral objection to, even though their fries rock my ass…besides, the little blonde trio asked so sweetly). While we were there I had one man approach me and tell me what beautiful children I had…not in a creepy, pedophile sort of way. I dunno, it was just kind and unassuming, the way he said it. A couple in their late 40s came by and complimented the four of us on how well-mannered the kids are (they weren’t including me because we all know what a rude bitch I am) and how courteous and watchful they are of one another. It was very nice. Kinda made me feel good and shit, even though I don’t normally care what people think, to the positive OR the negative.

Anyway, we had a smashing time at the egg hunt, which was well-staged. The eggs hunted were little plastic ones with bible verses in them, which was cool. They even had the Easter bunny miked up on the inside of the suit and it delivered a message that basically said, “Hey, man, I’m fun and everything, but I am not what Easter is all about. Easter is about newness and forgiveness and ….” and you should know the rest. The kids danced around the parking lot and got candy thrown to them from afar and everyone won some doorprizes. Not crappy doorprizes, either. The stuff that was given away was awesome.

It was just one of those really great events that you don’t have to pay a dime for and have a really great time. I think that I shall write them a thank-you letter. We all came home with full baskets and full hearts and big smiles. Mathias was the lucky camper that got to sport two scuffed knees.

Sam walked Scout to practice while I bathed the baby. Maxim took him to Nana’s house for the weekly visit while I went and watched the end of practice. We worked in the yard for part of the afternoon (Maxim feels it imperative to burn every stick out there rather than set them out for the street crew with the leaves) and then everyone got cleaned up. Sam and Scout’s dad came to get them for an overnight and Maxim and I went on a ‘date’.

The kids find it utterly fascinating that we still date. No parents that they know date. Hell, many of them don’t like one another. The kids see us argue from time to time, but mostly they see a mutual affection and respect. They see laughter and rich conversation and encouraging words pass between their parents. It’s all pretty effortless when you are passing time with the right person.

So Maxim and I went out on the town, dinner, a little technology shopping, a theater movie foregone for a rented one (‘The Virgin Suicides”–BUY IT NOW). We sat and ate and talked for over three hours and I decided to tell him all the reasons that I loved him, but it was taking too much time and I finally settled for “You’re my best friend” and shut up about it. It’s nice to be happy with something/one for a change.

 
|| April 5, 2001 || 9:10 pm || Comments (0) ||

Dirk just said something really funny to me:
“I am experiencing some web weirdness!”
Yeah, man, aren’t we ALL.