I’ve been away from this blog, and yours too, if you have one. Writing, thinking, and blogs pretty much only happen when the kids are asleep. Lately, the kids have slept less, and writing has been winning my few and far between minutes. THe result is not so great for blogging, but I’m thrilled with how the writing is going. YEA!
The other night we took the boys to a high school baseball game. The son of some long time friends is a great pitcher, but we hadn’t ever been to a game. It started at 7 pm – meaning the kids would be up past their bedtimes – and it was cold. To my completely ignorant eye, and to those less ignorant around me, he pitched great. (I include that detail for you men, and for my cousin, in case she’s reading. She’d care.)
On the way home, the boys were exhausted and frozen. Ethan-7yr’s huge brown eyes stared straight ahead, unblinking. He really is quite comfortable with adhering to a bedtime, and it shows up in his big brown unblinking eyes whenever he’s up too late. If he is up for any reason more than 20 or 30 minutes later than usual, he FEELS it. He complains. He asks if he can go to bed. He hints that we are doing him a parental disservice by not respecting his bedtime. It’s just one of his little personality quirks, and we almost always accommodate it, because hello? That’s fantastic. If he could pass it on to his little brothers, we’d be thrilled.
Mike and I were talking about vision correction surgery in the front seat, and the frozen, staring boys weren’t discussing anything. I turned to Ethan-7yr and said, “Hey, didn’t you tell me that you friend’s dad is an eye doctor?” (I specified the friend’s name.)
“No.” No blinking still.
“I’m really sure you did. His mom is an orthodontist, and I thought you said his dad was an eye doctor.”
I’m turned around in my seat at the very front of a seriously large vehicle, and he’s still not blinking in the very back of the seriously large vehicle. I’m getting concerned about the dry state of his eyeballs by now.
“Oh. Huh.” I turn back around for a minute, and then try one last time. “Well, what does his dad do?”
“He’s an eye doctor.”
Mike and I look at each other, trying to make sense of that. Maybe more than his eyeballs have dried out.
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“Yes.” He’s in his seat, still staring, barely moving his mouth when he speaks due to exhaustion. When Ethan-7yr is tired, he is TIRED.
“Then whaaaa? Why didn’t you say that?”
He gives his head a little shake, blinks, and sighs. I can tell he’s annoyed at the extra effort this response will take from him. “Mom. You didn’t ask if he was an eye doctor. You asked if I told you he was an eye doctor. I didn’t tell you that.”
Isn’t that so strange?
“Of course you did! How else would I know that?”
At this point, Ethan-7yr just scoots over, so I can’t see him anymore. He’s had it. He wants out of this insane conversation with me.
My assertion that I wouldn’t know it any other way is true. I don’t stand around talking to other moms and making small talk about what the parents of classmates do for a living. Or stand around talking about anything with anyone. It’s not the standing around I object to. It’s the talking that wigs me out. Gah.
Incidentally, Ethan-7yr recently went on a field trip to this same friend’s mother’s orthodontic office. At our house, we call that The Day That Changed Ethan-7yr’s Life. All things orthodontia and dental have taken over since that day, and this particular mom is a bit of a SuperHero We Actually Know. (I’ll get to writing that post later.)
Right now I have a character with a career crisis and I haven’t figured out how to write her out of it. Fun!