Friday arrives and no matter how optimistic we were last night, talking about how the week was over, Saturday almost here, when the bell rings you can't immediately figure out where you are and what you're supposed to do. Laying there in the dark it comes to you a second later; this is Friday. Every cell in your body complains you have to get up and do this thing once more.
On bad mornings after the alarm has quit you still hear the ringing in your brain.
I wake the little ones, and feel pity for them. 3 hours of bus riding every day of school. Now here's my five year old and they want him too. This screwed up world wants the five year olds full time Kindergarten. "We love it," many parents say with big smiles. Not me. Not my kid. I'm glad we're still on half time here in Sticks Montana. A day on and a day off. We should run the world that way. I could vote for the presidential candidate who got behind that, though I suppose that would make him French.
The night before there was a pants crisis in the middle kid. My fault, these crisis. Spent so much time depressed and overreacting, now the middle one cracks under slight pressure. Geeze. The pants. Who cares? The school doesn't accept ripped pants. Horray for the school- reinforcing these important things, holding my children 8 hours each day, yet when they come home they still have homework. Couldn't get it done in eight hours? What goes on there? Too much attention to torn jeans no doubt, and to proper kneeling position in a locked classroom prior to every school shooting. They'll be kneeling on jeans without holes, Brothers and Sisters, and they'll look respectable as they die.
I'd done the wash with the miracle pants, and found a basket full of clean clothes in the laundry room as well. "Did you check the basket?"
But we had to march to the laundry room for a shirt. "No shirt in your room? You only own one shirt and I cleaned it last night?" I asked.
We're looking through the machine, socks and towels, and hear a scream and a crash-bash. Keith took a fall. Damn. I can just imagine his brains leaking over the wall. I've told them a million times not to lean back on those chairs. I get to the room and he's on the floor and crying. "What happened?"
"He fell on the rake." Damn plastic kid's rake laying in corner with the real brooms and dustpans. I forget why. I think because a baby once used it to pretend to help around the house. I open the door and throw the rake out into the night. It has a new home in the acre of trees outside. Let the deer trip over it.
Keith is shook up, I dont' know why. Well, it's damn friday and he's dead beat and it's black outside and we're going to school. La le la le la for us.
I pick him up and look him over. No real damage I can see, but he can't always tell me what's going on until later. As I sit there, on the floor with him on my lap, half mad and half unknown...I think; 'this is it, this is what defines you as a father. You can get mad, you can remain calm, these moments they'll remember, and so will you."
I set him on his chair and watch as he sobs into his cereal. Real big tears. Must have been a fall. I knew he was just shocked. You weren't awake, let alone ready for a major upset. The middle one walks into the room with a red shirt on.
"That it? That's the shirt you had to have?"
REal snot ass remark, I'll have to do better. They each have about 10 shirts, socks, sweaters, and pants they won't wear for one reason or another. As a lot of the stuff is free from neighbors and handmedowns, I don't complain too much about it, though I think back to when I had no choice as a kid and wore what I had.
I take one of my dragons, Ironscales, and put it in front of Keith's bowl.
"What's that?" He asked.
"He wanted to say goodbye to you this morning, and wanted a little milk too."
Keith smiled. He knew this was silly. He was big. Dad knew he was too big for this. I dipped the dragon's head towards the milk.
"You try cleaning up the basement of their toys and then think about buying more Christmas presents." She'd said just before she left on the boat to the Island. She was heading to an island, name forgotten, no; name never attempted to be recalled by me. She was heading to a island I hoped would do her some good, away from me and the boys. I could have gone. But taking a cruise seemed a real waste of time.
It was true they had too many toys. Another tale, started when we were down and out in Wyoming and had the various Goodwill's and freestores to get gifts for our babies. That plastic oven is still out there, too, in our yard after all those winters.
She'd bought a big screen HD TV and plopped it home for me to set up. There's been no owner's manual. The signal wasn't right, standard and not HD, and America looked squat, like a nation of gnomes on my set, a new breed. I liked it. The scrunched features seemed closer to our real hearts than what I saw on normal TV. And she took her CRUISE. She thought maybe a hundred bucks would do it for the kids for Christmas. You got to be kidding. A hundred bucks was nothing. She hadn't counted on me being sober and up for Christmas, either. Usually, drunk or sober I just let her wander through the holidays, but this season was different.
"You're obsessing, your acting just like when you drink only it's on those stupid dragons." She was upset I'd spent 260 dollars on Christmas for three, and particulary mad about the last two dragons, 9 dollars each. I liked them. In fact, I liked them so much I have four of my own.
"And this is terrible, why?" I asked her. "I'm not drinking. I"ve not spent too much money. The 60 dollars more or less you didn't want spent is not going to make the difference between a new home, career, or the poor house. Just be glad it's dragons. What's the matter with dragons? We should have expected I'd go crazy on something. It's not exactly shocking news, is it?"
We had dragons everywhere. Since she'd left for her CRUISE we had the livingroom as a kind of war-plain. About 10 dragons, troops, two castles, and all the toys over the years that looked sufficiently evil to be cast as bad guys now. The dragons needed someone to fight.
Keith is not eating much of his cereal. He'll crash later at school. I didn't like that, but to give the place credit, they do pretty good about noticing hardship and taking care of the kids. It wasn't like LA. Yet.
The oldest had left his glasses somewhere. He wanted another dragon set instead of a gameboy game for Christmas, and I calculated quickly if he'd lost them there'd be resistance from his mother about getting it. I hoped he'd find them on the bus. He was a lot like me. He daydreamed all the time. He forgot things.
We got down the drive to the top of the hill overlooking town, and the bus was gone. You could see it parked in front of the cafe, about half again further they'd have to walk. My kids were the only ones on the route who had to walk. What would happen come winter and the deep, unplowed road full of snow? I didnt' want them walking to the cafe. Bob was in there having a cup of coffee. He hadn't walked; he'd driven the bus.
Well, I'd have to wait and see how that came out. Even Bob would see the kids couldn't be walking that far at 20 below. But it was a nice morning, right now, weather wise. I had a short sleeve shirt on. The middle kid stopped in front of me for a pat.
I gave it to him. Wished them all well, and watched them walk in the half dark towards the bus in the distance. Some men were working on a truck on the road, and I saw the tiny figures pass by the headlamps light.
munk
On bad mornings after the alarm has quit you still hear the ringing in your brain.
I wake the little ones, and feel pity for them. 3 hours of bus riding every day of school. Now here's my five year old and they want him too. This screwed up world wants the five year olds full time Kindergarten. "We love it," many parents say with big smiles. Not me. Not my kid. I'm glad we're still on half time here in Sticks Montana. A day on and a day off. We should run the world that way. I could vote for the presidential candidate who got behind that, though I suppose that would make him French.
The night before there was a pants crisis in the middle kid. My fault, these crisis. Spent so much time depressed and overreacting, now the middle one cracks under slight pressure. Geeze. The pants. Who cares? The school doesn't accept ripped pants. Horray for the school- reinforcing these important things, holding my children 8 hours each day, yet when they come home they still have homework. Couldn't get it done in eight hours? What goes on there? Too much attention to torn jeans no doubt, and to proper kneeling position in a locked classroom prior to every school shooting. They'll be kneeling on jeans without holes, Brothers and Sisters, and they'll look respectable as they die.
I'd done the wash with the miracle pants, and found a basket full of clean clothes in the laundry room as well. "Did you check the basket?"
But we had to march to the laundry room for a shirt. "No shirt in your room? You only own one shirt and I cleaned it last night?" I asked.
We're looking through the machine, socks and towels, and hear a scream and a crash-bash. Keith took a fall. Damn. I can just imagine his brains leaking over the wall. I've told them a million times not to lean back on those chairs. I get to the room and he's on the floor and crying. "What happened?"
"He fell on the rake." Damn plastic kid's rake laying in corner with the real brooms and dustpans. I forget why. I think because a baby once used it to pretend to help around the house. I open the door and throw the rake out into the night. It has a new home in the acre of trees outside. Let the deer trip over it.
Keith is shook up, I dont' know why. Well, it's damn friday and he's dead beat and it's black outside and we're going to school. La le la le la for us.
I pick him up and look him over. No real damage I can see, but he can't always tell me what's going on until later. As I sit there, on the floor with him on my lap, half mad and half unknown...I think; 'this is it, this is what defines you as a father. You can get mad, you can remain calm, these moments they'll remember, and so will you."
I set him on his chair and watch as he sobs into his cereal. Real big tears. Must have been a fall. I knew he was just shocked. You weren't awake, let alone ready for a major upset. The middle one walks into the room with a red shirt on.
"That it? That's the shirt you had to have?"
REal snot ass remark, I'll have to do better. They each have about 10 shirts, socks, sweaters, and pants they won't wear for one reason or another. As a lot of the stuff is free from neighbors and handmedowns, I don't complain too much about it, though I think back to when I had no choice as a kid and wore what I had.
I take one of my dragons, Ironscales, and put it in front of Keith's bowl.
"What's that?" He asked.
"He wanted to say goodbye to you this morning, and wanted a little milk too."
Keith smiled. He knew this was silly. He was big. Dad knew he was too big for this. I dipped the dragon's head towards the milk.
"You try cleaning up the basement of their toys and then think about buying more Christmas presents." She'd said just before she left on the boat to the Island. She was heading to an island, name forgotten, no; name never attempted to be recalled by me. She was heading to a island I hoped would do her some good, away from me and the boys. I could have gone. But taking a cruise seemed a real waste of time.
It was true they had too many toys. Another tale, started when we were down and out in Wyoming and had the various Goodwill's and freestores to get gifts for our babies. That plastic oven is still out there, too, in our yard after all those winters.
She'd bought a big screen HD TV and plopped it home for me to set up. There's been no owner's manual. The signal wasn't right, standard and not HD, and America looked squat, like a nation of gnomes on my set, a new breed. I liked it. The scrunched features seemed closer to our real hearts than what I saw on normal TV. And she took her CRUISE. She thought maybe a hundred bucks would do it for the kids for Christmas. You got to be kidding. A hundred bucks was nothing. She hadn't counted on me being sober and up for Christmas, either. Usually, drunk or sober I just let her wander through the holidays, but this season was different.
"You're obsessing, your acting just like when you drink only it's on those stupid dragons." She was upset I'd spent 260 dollars on Christmas for three, and particulary mad about the last two dragons, 9 dollars each. I liked them. In fact, I liked them so much I have four of my own.
"And this is terrible, why?" I asked her. "I'm not drinking. I"ve not spent too much money. The 60 dollars more or less you didn't want spent is not going to make the difference between a new home, career, or the poor house. Just be glad it's dragons. What's the matter with dragons? We should have expected I'd go crazy on something. It's not exactly shocking news, is it?"
We had dragons everywhere. Since she'd left for her CRUISE we had the livingroom as a kind of war-plain. About 10 dragons, troops, two castles, and all the toys over the years that looked sufficiently evil to be cast as bad guys now. The dragons needed someone to fight.
Keith is not eating much of his cereal. He'll crash later at school. I didn't like that, but to give the place credit, they do pretty good about noticing hardship and taking care of the kids. It wasn't like LA. Yet.
The oldest had left his glasses somewhere. He wanted another dragon set instead of a gameboy game for Christmas, and I calculated quickly if he'd lost them there'd be resistance from his mother about getting it. I hoped he'd find them on the bus. He was a lot like me. He daydreamed all the time. He forgot things.
We got down the drive to the top of the hill overlooking town, and the bus was gone. You could see it parked in front of the cafe, about half again further they'd have to walk. My kids were the only ones on the route who had to walk. What would happen come winter and the deep, unplowed road full of snow? I didnt' want them walking to the cafe. Bob was in there having a cup of coffee. He hadn't walked; he'd driven the bus.
Well, I'd have to wait and see how that came out. Even Bob would see the kids couldn't be walking that far at 20 below. But it was a nice morning, right now, weather wise. I had a short sleeve shirt on. The middle kid stopped in front of me for a pat.
I gave it to him. Wished them all well, and watched them walk in the half dark towards the bus in the distance. Some men were working on a truck on the road, and I saw the tiny figures pass by the headlamps light.
munk
Only then is how life's supposed to be.