I'll just pretend that last sentence was perfectly normal because, um, it is. In my head, I'm just glad LE has a little circumcision buddy.
I don't know yet if I'm expected or even invited to attend the festivities following the Big Snip. I told BE if they didn't want to invite me, that's cool. I know this divorce is a huge embarrassment for certain parties (BE and MIL), to the extent that a lot of people in the families maybe haven't even Been Told. And to be honest, I'd really rather have nothing to do with any of this thing other than cuddles and hand-holding.
LE is growing like crazy and he's cappuccino brown from the sun and as wriggly as ever because that's what little boys are like. When he succumbs to holding my hand in the street, he has this incredible property of being six places at once yet somehow next to me the whole time.
I say "succumbs to holding my hand" because the boy has become this social animal all of a sudden. He's
terribly worried about what his friends will think of him in that supremely self-absorbed way only a child is capable of, like believing his friends care if he holds my hand, or thinking they'll find out about his elaborate bedtime business, with the kissing and cuddles and the "Good night, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite, and have sweet dreams or no dreams and I love you very very very very very very very very much," while still not having the slightest embarrassment about wearing his Spiderman costume out to play football or explaining the nature of his poo in elaborate detail.
When I was 7 or 8, I watched this program about a Vegas hypnotist. After that, I became convinced that my life wasn't real because a guest-speaker hypnotist had hypnotized me in front of my second grade class and I
|It was laden with double entendre.|
I'm still not 100% convinced I won't wake up one day in second grade, with everyone laughing just in time for recess. I wonder if I'll suddenly be a grown-up and totally able, psychologically and linguistically, to deal with their bullshit, or if my idea of being a grown-up is warped by having lived a fake life in my mind at age 7 or 8.
C is in love. He's 8. LE has developed certain behaviors lately, like a wide-eyed reverence when talking
about God and a shy smile when talking about boy-girl love. The God thing comes from a neighbor kid at MIL's who goes to Koran school, and the love thing is probably a combination of influences from cartoons and real life. The other night I told BE he'd better hurry up and explain their religion to LE, since right now all the information he's getting is coming from a Sunni and an atheist.
|I'm sure it's very meaningful.|
No one has explained it yet. All I can do is promise him that when they tell him they're going to cut off his penis and eat it with the pilav (a hilarious joke for Turkish people, don't tell Freud), they're not really
|I'll turn up if these guys do.|
"C has a girlfriend?" I asked. "What on earth do they do?" LE wasn't sure, or he was too shy to say. "Do they kiss? Do they hold hands? Do they text message? Does C even have a phone?" He does. He's pretty spoiled. I asked if C really has a girlfriend or if there was just a girl the grownups were teasing him about. LE didn't seem sure about that either.
I'm not sure what to do about social pressures on my kid. On one hand, I don't want him to be that kid who
So I found myself telling LE about my first love. 3rd grade. Scott Shepherd. He sat next to me in class. I don't quite know how it came about that we were in love, but one day at lunch everyone was pressuring Scott to ask me to go with him. And he did, mutteringly, and I accepted, and maybe we shook hands or something. After that we were going together, perhaps for a couple of weeks. We barely spoke the whole time, though there was probably at least one lunch-sharing event while everyone snickered around us and pressured us to kiss or something. There was copious mooning about the whole thing, on my part at least, because maybe I was showing a precocious talent for creating fabulous love affairs out of nothing. Then one day, right after lunch and just before the filmstrip, Scott held up a piece of paper that said, "Our love is over between you and me."
I was devastated. The thing about having an ability to create fabulous love affairs out of nothing is also the ability to be devastated when the love affair ends into nothing. I didn't even enjoy that afternoon's Brownies trip to Chuck-E-Cheese, and that was before I realized Chuck-E-Cheese sucks and their pizza sucks and those mechanical animals they don't even have anymore also suck.
I sung this song to myself a lot, because what is a devastated love without songs?
I often think it's a good thing they didn't have Marilyn Manson when I was a kid, because things like "I kill myself to make everybody pay" might have been taken altogether too literally. That thing I did when I was 12 with all the Tylenol doesn't count, but it could have with the right music. I didn't even know about Depeche Mode or Sisters of Mercy when I did that thing with all the Tylenol. When I puked the charcoal the emergency room doctors had given me all over the carpet next to the toilet, I was sure the boys from my class were filming it and laughing.
I didn't tell LE about that last part. But when I told him about my star-struck relationship with Scott Shepard, he seemed relieved that there was no kissing or holding hands.
I hope he understood the part where falling fabulously in love all the time is great, even when it sucks.
Right now he's asleep in this fort he's built in the living room.
And I'm given to understand the Americans have decided bombing the shit out of Syria is a good idea. LE's armed to the teeth in his fort. He also laid in some plastic food supplies, and a blanket in case he gets cold.
I hope he falls fabulously in love, over and over, and gets sulky and devastated when it doesn't work out. I hope circumcision is the worst thing that ever happens to his body, ever. I hope he never outgrows the Spiderman costume, in whatever iteration. I hope he gets that tattoo of the flying CD he came up with today. I hope he can have an allowance.
I hope he has the luxury of being himself one day.