Up Popped A Fox

Last night, I had a dream that Luisa and I went home with Sara Ramirez. I’m not actually sure how this came to pass but we picked her up from the airport and we all went back to her apartment. This was obviously our first time there because we (and by “we”, I mean “I”) started snooping around as soon as Sara went to her bedroom to unpack a few things. Her apartment was very neat and beautifully furnished and she had an entire bookcase filled with skulls. Because I don’t want you to think Dream Sara was tacky or weird, let me assure you that the skulls were quite classy. Many of them were crystal and some of them were filled with mysteriously squishy things that were clearly symbolic of brains but seemed more like balloons of various colors filled with gel. I know how they felt because I poked every single faux brain. Luisa did not touch, of course, and asked me not to touch either. But, what would you do if you encountered a case full of beautiful skulls in Sara Ramirez’s apartment? I went through the shelves one by one and eventually came to two skulls that were real skulls and then I didn’t really want to touch anymore. Dream Sara then came out of her bedroom and saw us pondering her collection and said, “Most of those were gifts” and then shrugged. She was quite beautiful when she shrugged and her hair was wet and shiny and she was wearing a hot cami and I’m sure she was wearing pants but I can’t say for sure because I was absolutely mesmerized by her face and general hotness and then, she said, “You guys, I think I just found a nit on my pillow.” I was like, “Are you sure?” Dream Sara was pretty sure and then showed Luisa what she had found and Luisa said nothing but went into the laundry room and started stuffing clothes into trash bags. Dream Sara was pretty freaked out and wanted to know how she could have possibly gotten lice and I told her all the ways that it can happen. Then, I knew that I was going to spend the evening nit-combing Dream Sara’s hair.

That is most certainly not how that dream was supposed to end. I woke up deeply disappointed – fucking lice ruined my three-way with Dream Sara Ramirez.

As I pulled a t-shirt out of the dresser recently, I realized that my summer wardrobe is largely determined by the fact that my girlfriend is an epidemiologist. She gets a lot of t-shirts from events related to her work, so, I am a walking billboard for health issues. My chest screams “NO MAS!” and my back gives links to sites about HIV and STD’s. Sometimes, my chest whispers “AIDS Walk” and my back simply advertises for various sponsors. One of my favorite and most comfortable shirts says, “World Refugee Day” on the front. There are some I won’t wear though. One says, “STOP DROP AND ROLL” and has a big picture of a condom on it. I’m not a prude - I object to the shirt because 1) it’s ugly and 2) I think “STOP DROP AND ROLL” is a stupid slogan. Luisa wears that shirt all the time, however – despite my pleas. There is another shirt that simply has a picture of a giant condom as a parachute. I don’t even remember what it says but the condom is a heinous salmon color and the whole things is just ridiculous and unappealing. I appreciate a free shirt now and then so it’s all good. Poor Luisa gets no social work t-shirts. The only one I could think to make anyway would say, “Don’t Let the Bedbugs Bite”.

Last evening was nearly perfect. The kids were in their rooms – one listening to a book on tape, the other playing quietly. I made dinner in the kitchen while listening to Mariza while making dinner and sipping a beer. We had a pleasant dinner together. No one complained about the food. No one argued. After dinner, Miguel asked to walk to the convenience store for a treat and I let him (much to his surprise). Zeca had had a stomach ache earlier so I told her that she couldn’t have anything after dinner. She didn’t scream the eyebrows off my face or throw herself to the ground sobbing, not even when Miguel returned and ate a Snicker’s bar in front of her. Then, Miguel headed back to his room to listen to his book some more and Zeca got some things together and began a collage at the dining room table. They left me alone and I was able to do a bit of writing. Everyone was so civilized.

And then…I sent Zeca up to get ready for bed.

Zeca went in Miguel’s room. He asked her to leave. She ignored him. He got increasingly frustrated. She continued to putz around touching all of his things until he snapped and started yelling for her to leave his room. She proceeded on her Tour of Touching. He threatened her and she finally moved to the doorway. He demanded she leave and she maintained that she wasn’t in his room, she was in his doorway. He lost it and hit her. She threw herself to the floor.

The parenting gods smote me because I mentioned my perfect evening on Twitter. 

The next 15 minutes were filled with tears and shouts. Zeca cycled through sadness and fury. Miguel cycled through anger and frustration. I cycled through outrage and fatigue. I talked to Miguel for a long time about his behavior and he finally seemed to understand that he cannot hit his sister, no matter how annoying she may be. I then spent time with Zeca comforting her but also laying it out – listen to people when they tell you to stop or when they need space. I then said goodnight to both and went back downstairs. When I sat down at the computer, there was a note covered in hearts from Miguel that said:

Dear Mom-

I am sorry it went this way.

Love, Miguel

And he had placed a Reese’s peanut butter cup on top. He then came downstairs and sat by me on the couch and said, “It must be stressful to be a parent. I am sorry that I am part of that sometimes. I love you.”

Is this a 9 year old thing? If so, please send me a truck load of 9 year olds!

I am full of words but I have only fifteen minutes to write. Fifteen minutes. I can do many things in that time…linger over a cup of coffee, listen to music, write an e-mail…but I cannot write you a story. A story requires that I stare for awhile. I need to hear the words and then sit back and watch as they wrap around each other. Write. Edit. Write again. This week time is limited. Luisa is in Atlanta and I am here with those two little beings that require my custodial care. But, I feel like writing. So, this week, I’ll give you all I can – fifteen minutes a day – and we’ll see what that looks like.

Steeling Myself – a haiku

This cup of coffee

Must sustain me for the day

What more can I add?

With one minute to spare…