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Posts Tagged ‘pool’

There is a fine line between telling my story “sans sugar” and telling too much, or, worse, lacing it with saccharine.  The truth is, the narrator is still not exactly sure where she belongs in this world, if she belongs in it at all – but also that this doesn’t matter.  It’s all about Jonah.

For an only child like me it’s a tough pill to swallow sometimes.  It isn’t at all about me.  And yet, can I be relieved of my role in all of this?  Of course not.  Jonah needs his mama.

Still I sometimes think:  I can’t live this life anymore

And:   What a nice hot day to park the car at the top of the Rhinebeck Bridge — so perfectly inviting for suicidals – no barriers to your leap, yet reminding you every few hundred feet or so that LIFE IS WORTH LIVING.  I know I have mentioned this bridge before.  I’ve always wanted to fly, and that view is so spectacular, and if I ever did come to that fine line and cross it, I think that would be my place to fly-bye

And:  I wonder if other people have places in their minds, like I do.   My place is like the cyanide pill they ostensibly give you when you go up in the space shuttle.  It is a choice you may never have to make but one that’s comfortingly there nonetheless

I still, though, think:  I have to do whatever it takes to ensure Jonah’s health, education, happiness, and nurturing.  I must ensure everything.  Some of that everything is making sure things can stay the way the are, and it looks like things are going to need my help for that to happen

And I berate myself:  You ain’t going nowhere, fool

And I can dance around things that were said this weekend, and all the millions of ways, as usual, in which I was spectacularly weak.  But I’ll post pictures too, for Jonah was mostly good, albeit scattered and frenetic.

It was a sunny day, almost too hot.  A beautiful Saturday, and a good portion of Jonah’s day and mood mirrored that.

Andy was kind enough to drive Jonah up to visit us at my mother’s house.

my mom’s next door neighbors kindly let jonah use their play-set and pool, once it’s opened. jonah asked for “Pool?” a dozen or so times.

At home way at the top, my climber-boo

hey mama!!! hey mama!!!

Eventually he wanted to go see train so we piled in the car, Jonah singing along to the Top-40 Andy’s got on the radio.   We were relieved to see the green light down the tracks meaning a train is coming, so we pulled into a parking lot to wait and watch for it, like we’ve done hundreds and hundreds of times before.

This time, though, he got scared of the train after a few seconds.

This was the last of the pictures for the day.

Out of nowhere he grabbed for my hair.  I know what to do when someone pulls your hair (grab their fist and pull it in toward your head) so it wasn’t a big deal.  Andy got out of the car to let me out of the car, and then Jonah burst into tears, sobbing and upset.  Within minutes, though, he was okay and we were able to say bye bye to the train (thank God it wasn’t a long one) and go back to Grandma’s for another shower.  His beloved train reminded him of how much he misses home?  No.  Don’t invent things inside Jonah’s head, I tell myself.  You’ve got enough troubles inside your own. 

Today M and I went on a long Sunday ride, just like in the olden days when it was deemed neither wrong nor unusual to do so.  When we got home I planted flowers in the God-awful hot for about 13 minutes until I felt I would die.  I thought about Andy, and how unless I am mistaken he is working for somebody today doing some mulching under this same heat, and how under that same sun too my boy probably asked for pool ad infinitum.

Tomorrow I have to go back to producing numbers; here I can produce words.  It’s a fine line, my tightrope.  Sundays are difficult.  And I only took 3rd place in a “query letter” contest I was hoping to win.   And I’m not schooled in query letters.  Looks like I have some work to do.  First place was the opportunity and $500 to self-publish.  

I don’t really want to self-publish anyway.  Isn’t that, after all, what I’m already doing?

Anyway.  Jonah has his daddy close-by.  Today, after all that hot work in the sun, Andy came and got Jonah and kept him for another part of the day.

“He was fine,” Andy told me on the phone. “He had a fun day.”

For me, for now, it is enough.  As usual it is still only early evening and I am bone tired.  I imagine Jonah settling in to sleep.  I miss watching him sleep but imagining it is sweet — I can use memories and visions and dreams.  It is good.

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“Faithfulness to the past can be a kind of death above ground.  Writing of the past is a resurrection; the past then lives in your words and you are free.”  ~ Jessamyn West 

I know exactly what Jessamyn means, though I’d never have been able to state it so succinctly.  And so resurrection occurs for me this Easter through writing.  When you write about something, your perspective gets to control it; when it has already happened you can shift it…place it under the microscope of your perception.  You can then craft it, shaping it, painting and whittling and building.  When something inside me has died, this is its resurrection.

Several things died inside me yesterday.  I am hoping the writing of them will resurrect.

My mother wanted to drive us down to see Boo for “our Easter” with him.  On the trip I would look over at her, worry over her; she drives the car a little jerkily these days, and she has lost so much weight.  She has not smoked in almost a month, and I told her I was proud of her.  I am.  But for her to quit smoking, she must have been very close to calling-911 sick, that unable to breathe.  She doesn’t let on to things and she does not go to the doctor.  Ever.

And so my mother and Andy and I repeat this process every Saturday, spinning the wheel of Jonah-Fortune, each time getting a different result.  This time my mother and I passed a truck on the way down; on its back was painted a Bible passage about hope and trust in the Lord.  This my mother took to be a good sign.  I took it too.  If  God wants to throw us a bone, I’m a grateful pup.

Anyway, Jonah’s school had an Easter Egg hunt that morning, and Jonah loved it, they told us.  I wish there were pictures, a video.  I wish I could be Big Brother watching.  No, not really.

I just want to watch my son smile and laugh.  He laughed on the way to the apartment.  We held hands and sang Guster songs and Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.  We played Where is Thumbkin…

I took 3 pictures of us.   I’m a homely thing, but I’ll post one anyway.  Jonah must have gotten the cute from his dad’s side. 

When we first got to the apartment everything started as usual — Jonah almost immediately stripping down for a bath, my mother spreading out food on the table, Andy supervising the filling of the tub, me preparing to help where I’m needed.

Downhill it all went, quick as a bunny, you might say, and there isn’t going to be much of a blow-by-blow today because I don’t have it in me.  Jonah ramped up and ramped up, splashing water, then throwing his plate of food, then turning like lightning and going for my face.  I caught his wrists, he scratching the insides of my wrists.  On time-out in the bedroom Jonah decided to use poop as a weapon and started to push.

Andy quickly picked him up and put him on the toilet, where Jonah finished pooping – but not before he got some on the white knitted throw.  Andy did restrictive holds and scolded Jonah while my mom put the bedspread in the sink, scrubbing it, and I stood in silence.  There was fighting and yelling among us all.  It was chaotic and felt dangerous and wrong.  It made me want to scream that scream inside me, the scream that keeps getting bigger, tight and thick as a brick.    All this was supposed to be our little Easter celebration.  I didn’t eat more than a few bites.  I don’t know how long it will take for this to feel like another new normal.

I think it’s time we make an appointment with Jonah’s caseworker and we can all go and talk about Jonah, ask for guidance, find out what’s working for them and what isn’t, find out something.  Find out anything.

Eventually we did get a small amount of playground time with Jonah, and we walked over to the vending machines and bought him pink lemonade. “Pool? pool?” he even asked as we passed the gated, empty, cavernous rectangle .

Yes, bunny, pool is coming…just a few more months…

Then back to the playground, where he actually scampered up the slide and on other play equipment (as opposed to swinging to the exclusion of all else).  Abruptly he asked for “Birch House?” –which is where he lives, right next to the playground.  His bedroom window overlooks it, the play area…his favorite swing… the pool beyond it.  We followed him in to say goodbye.  I know now how to put my brain and heart on NEUTRAL or I couldn’t do this thing again and again and again.

A small scratch Jonah had made just under my right eye stung every time I cried yesterday.  My wrists look mysteriously pocked, almost pecked – The Birds style.

But mostly it’s exhausting emotionally for us all.  Sometimes I don’t think Andy is doing well, I know my mother isn’t doing well, and as for me, writing is my resurrection.    Still, there is doubt in everything I do — in every motive.  Am I too self-conscious or merely self-aware?  Am I hyper-sensitive or is everyone else desensitized?

And how the heck does the Easter Bunny get from house to house?  I do not believe this has ever been explained to me.

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