A Deep Breath

Fresco shows the same determination towards Not Sleeping that he shows towards everything else in life. He applies himself full-on, hard-headedly, steel-jaw’dly into it. After he spent three hours up this morning (after getting up at 5:30 am) he was veering into the furniture and bursting into tears at the cheeziest of Sharon, Lois and Bram songs. I was convinced he was ready for a nap so I took him up to his room and attempted some cozy rocking. Suddenly I found myself pinned to the floor while his sweet face cackled above my head, his four teeth glinting in the morning sunlight. His ham-hands held me down while he reached behind him for something big enough to hold me there so that he might be allowed to roam the room freely, removing plugs from wall sockets at will.

As we have done other days, I got myself free using my gigantic feet and brought him downstairs to continue his self-destruction so that I could brush my teeth. The alternative is to leave him in the crib and he would happily scream for a day or more. In fact the last time I left him in there for 20 minutes or so and when I went back in he was biting his own arm and still audibly screaming. What the hell. He later dozed off in the buggy as we walked up to Trombone’s Sports Class where today’s theme was – what else – hockey! I remembered as I played that I actually liked and was good at floor hockey in high school. I mentioned this to another mom and she told me there is a women’s amateur league in the Mizzle.

I didn’t like it *that* much. Good lord.

After the class we met up with my mom and an awake Fresco at the nearby park. I like the sunny weather but I could do without all the other people at the parks lately. Seriously. Yesterday, Fresco was steering the play truck at the park and this woman said, “oh, look he drives just like a typical male. One hand on the wheel…”

She had two sons of her own.

Or, male charges, I guess. Maybe they weren’t hers.

Anyway I drive one handed. Am I a man? I changed my sex on Facebook to Male just to see what kind of sidebar ads I will get because I am sick of being told to drink so much tea that I lose weight. I like to enjoy my tea and I like the weight I am. I don’t actually recognize “bikini” as a season so I refuse to fret about its alleged approach.

As we left the park, Trombone was invited to sleep over at his grandparents’ house and at first he said no because he was all traumatized over having to leave the park (though not so much as the girl I saw yesterday who sustained a *10 minute long* tantrum while lying flung across the top of the monkey bars!) but then a few minutes later he said, “So did you ask me to come sleep over at your house?” and my mom said, “Yes,” and he said, “Oh I would like that!” so off they went. And now, in a bizarre and somewhat terrifying twist of fate, Fresco is napping.

At the same time as Trombone is out of the house.

That. Never. Happens.

I am making April Shortbread. (there was no March Shortbread, in part because in March we needed a LOT of chocolate chip cookies and I had to sort of triage the butter supply) I am drinking tea – almost done the whole cup and it has been hot the whole time. I am making supper. Something that involves chopping food, not just opening a box. This keeps up I might even get through the 17 tabs I have open in my browser that I have been meaning to read since the last time my computer needed rebooting. (I am on a Mac. It has been a while.)

It’s like when you work in an office, a busy office, and then it’s Christmas and New Year’s and everyone takes time off but you don’t, you go in anyway because you can file and sort and catch up on bullshit stuff that you never get to because you’re always too busy putting out fires or doing the bidding of your ridiculous boss.

It’s like that. But with fresh shortbread and a breeze through a screen door.