So, this led to this conversation:
Ari: Are you going to stick this up your butt?
Me: Uh…No, that’s not where they go…
Ari: Yes they do!!!! Where else would they go??
Me: (and I am so embarrassed about this but I was UNPREPARED) Well, Mommy has another hole….
Ari: (mischievously) Your peanut?
Me: Well, I guess you could call that but it’s actually called a vagina
Ari: So, you stick it up your peanut?
Me; Yeah, I stick it up my peanut
K. (who has overheard) Sex Education With J!!! And laughs.
Me: Shut up! I told him it was a vagina, he chose to call it a peanut.
Ari: I have balls.
Me: Ari don’t call them balls. And stop playing with my tampons!
At this point I just went into shock and said, “where did you learn that word?” He wouldn’t answer. K. made fun of me again.
The check that e. gave me for ari bounced.
The director of Ari’s daycare gave me a break. She has been fairly supportive of everything I’ve gone through financially and I appreciate that so much. I feel bad that I didn’t show it the way I wanted to. I am terrible at expressing myself in situations like this, I get shy.
Last night I read Ari a story before bedtime and did the usual staying in the toddler bed with him until he gets a least a little sleepy. It’s our special catching up time. Last night I told him that I should have named him “silly”. He got upset and hid his head under the sheet and said “no” in a really pouty voice. I didn’t know that it would hurt his feelings so I told him that I was just teasing and that I loved his name. I asked him if he liked his name. He said yes. I said, “well mommy gave it to you, so of course I love it”. Then we went through all of his middle names (2) and last name. He wanted to know his grandparents middle names, etc. Then he asked about great-grandparents. Then he asked about my granddad. Usually when I talk about him I feel sad and nostalgic. For the first ten or so years after he died I couldn’t really honor his memory like I wanted to. I ignored the sadness. I didn’t cry about it until years later. I acknowledged my grief and visited his gravestone. His death was the biggest loss I have experienced with the exception of one other person that I was very close to. Not only that, he knew me. He supported my goals and always told me that he was proud of me. He died thirteen years ago and I still think about him a lot. Oh, yes and he is where I inherited my youthful appearance. I think he was 72 or 74 when he died and his hair was still black and not balding.
Last night when I was describing him to Ari it made me very happy. I described the way his voice sounded (very low), how his cologne smelled, how he dressed. How he used to do silly things when my grandmother got mad at him. I felt happy talking about him and instead of feeling that huge gaping hole, I felt a peaceful connection. I don’t know where it came from. Maybe Siddhartha went to my head (kidding). I didn’t feel cheated like I normally do when I think of his death. I thought about how proud and how not-so proud he would be of some of the decisions I have made.
One of my favorite things to do when I was little when my dad was gone (which seemed to be often) was to climb into my parents bed with my mom and brother and listen to all of her stories about her childhood. Both of my parents are excellent storytellers. Our favorite ones involved our grandfather. Now I tell Ari the same stories and he giggles. I was in a very good mood after talking about him.
Afterwards Ari was lying next to me and looked at me out of the corner of his eye (he was supposed to have them closed) and started giggling. Giggling to the same degree that I would when my dad would storm into my room and said “If you don’t stop it right NOW I’m going to separate you!” (which unfortunately made me laugh harder) It was infectious though I started giggling too. I started singing to annoy him and he protested until I started singing Frente and he loved it. I sang the songs that I remembered from the album Marvin, twice and he fell asleep next to me with his arm draped across my stomach.
I was a little surprised at my voice, it seems to have gotten a little stronger. I don’t know how, I haven’t been practicing. It was so much fun. I think I’m going to take voice lessons now that I know that I won’t pass out in front of a large group of people anymore.
I have no reason to be in a good mood. In fact we got some bad news yesterday that normally would have sent me spiraling into “ican’tdothis”. But I am. I am not a manic person. I don’t have wild ups and downs (unless I’m really very drunk which is not often) But, today I seem to be in an extra good mood and I am PMSing. That’s usually the worst time. What the hell? I shouldn’t question it, I know. I have been surprising myself with ideas and ambition that I have always possessed but quench with negativity. Adventure and a little deviousness. My office is organized. I’ve been doing the tedious crap that I hate (working with vendors).
**edited for bitterness. somebody's father is the most irresponsible person I have ever met. That is all I am going to say.