“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.”Gilda Radner

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Mean Mom

Today I had a lot of things to do, but it seemed like every time I turned my head, Noah's face was right there in mine, ready with a long list of things to say.

"Noah!" I said finally. "Do you know you talk too much??"

"Oh, yes," he said. "I'm a very long talker. I always do that."

Still, I couldn't help but expect him to run out of things to say at SOME point, but I tell you it just wasn't happening. Perhaps part of my stress is due to the fact that we've foregone naptime in favor of stronger, better night sleep time. And it works great, it's just that it means there is a loooooong stretch during the day where I'm used to letting my brain rest, and that is now gone.

After too much of this for any person to take, I said, "Noah, stand here." And I positioned him "just so" beside me. I gestured to the air between us. I put my arm around the air, like a person was there. "This is my friend Steve. He'd like to be your friend."

"Mom, there's nobody there."

"Shhhh!" I hissed. "He doesn't like to talk about how he's invisible! It makes him sad."

Noah curled up one side of his mouth and lowered his eyebrows. In a low voice not meant for my ears (or Steve's, it would seem), he muttered, "I really don't think anyone's there."

"Steve likes Angry Birds!" I went on. "And he loves drawing in journals and making pictures. But most of all, he loves hearing other people TALK ABOUT their pictures and journals. It's perfect, Noah! Can you take him over to where you were sitting and show him your journal and talk all about it? To STEVE?"

Noah looked sideways at the air between us. "I guess." His voice was doubtful.

For effect, I leaned in and whispered, "And remember, it makes him sad that he's invisible. Be careful not to sit on him!"

For all of three minutes, Noah sat with his drawing journal and talked to Steve. Suddenly, he jumped out of his chair and charged me.

"MOM! MAWM. I know Steve's not a real person. There's nobody there! YOU made him up because you don't want me to talk to you anymore. And you know what? That isn't very nice!"

It was another three minutes, during which I clutched my stomach in silent gales of laughter (silent because I couldn't breathe from laughing so hard), before Noah looked up and glared at me. In a sing-song voice, he called out, "Steve isn't real! You're a mean mom!"

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