Yesterday in the mail, I got a hefty Christmas check from my grandmother. It's for all of us, and for Thing Three's and my birthdays as well. So, as of now, the kids will have Christmas gifts and a tree.
********
Last night, Fort Awesome and I were sitting around my kitchen table talking to Thing One. "Describe Friend Two," Fort Awesome said to Thing One.
"Well," said Thing One. Then she took a long pause to consider the question.
"Don't try to be funny," I said. "Try to be honest."
After a moment, Thing One said, "He always looks like he has a secret he doesn't want to tell." Then she mimed shoving her hands in her pockets, bent her knees slightly, and flitted her eyes around. It was exactly like Friend Two. Exactly.
********
Back when we were still dating, Jon would text me things like "I'm worried about dating you," or "I don't think I am ready to be a dad," literally out of nowhere, and almost always right before I was to teach or go to workshop. I ended up making the rule that "You are never allowed to text anything important! Texts are not for the discussion of a relationship!" And he was pretty good at following this rule. Until a few weeks ago.
Jon went in for surgery on the 29th of November in Seattle, and texted me the entire morning, up until they took his cell phone away. They started on him around noon, and he was in for 3 1/2 hours.
Jon texted me again at 5:30pm. The text said: "I just woke up. They got all the tumor. It was 25-30 lbs!"
It was the exclamation point that made me know he'd be okay. You know how much extra work it is to text an exclamation point? Then add recent amputation and morphine? I don't even do that extra work very often.
I was right: Jon had surgery on a Wednesday, was discharged that Friday, and a week later was off pain meds, doing most of his regular routine. He went back to school yesterday. He's going to be just fine. And I decided to rescind my "texts are not for anything important" rule. Sometimes, you know, they are.
*******
Listening to Nick Drake's Five Leaves Left and loving it. Friend Two and Singing Love brought the CD over for me this week. Later, Friend Two said he considered giving me a Yo La Tengo CD, but then decided that was happy music. And apparently, I only listen to sad music.
Pfft!
But the Nick Drake is divine.
*******
Last week, Fort Awesome tried to define the word "certified" to Thing One. Sounds easy, no? But it's terribly difficult. Especially since I was in the car, being a jackass, throwing in things like "Well, sometimes when you say someone is certifiable, it means they're crazy."
Last night, though, Fort Awesome and I were talking about IQ tests, that sort of thing, while eating pizza and wrangling children. We laughed about scores, about IQ tests themselves. But I mentioned that I was still sort of hung up on the number. "I know better," I said. "But I am. It's stupid."
Later, after dropping Fort Awesome off at the Nebuchadnezzar,* I came home to discover this note she left in my notebook: "Terrible Mother, you are a genius, a certifiable genius." Then, under "certifiable," she noted all the words she tried to define it with for Thing One, a week earlier. "Legitimized." "Consecrated."
The note is already on my bulletin board, reminding me not to be so goddamned insecure.
*******
Drinking coffee, eating toast, in pjs still, and ready now to start the busy day. Fatally Hip Mrs. Friend Two is throwing a Giingerbread House Decorating party this afternoon, and I've still got to finish preparations for Thing Three's birthday party, which is tomorrow. But it's a lovely day here in Oregon.
*tm
Glad to hear Jon's back on his feet and doing well.
Posted by: Marilyn | December 09, 2006 at 04:39 PM
Wait--Mrs. Friend Two? Is that new? I'm confused (although I agree with you--I can't text an exclamation point on a good day myself and if he could then more power to him, he'll be just fine).
Posted by: Liza | December 09, 2006 at 06:11 PM
My name's actually Tragically Hip Single Mother, but if you read a ThanksEarly entry, you'll learn how I got my moniker.
Incidentally, tm's like a freaking drug pusher--when she was first telling me about her blog, she explained that everyone had pseudonyms, and said, sweetly, "I'd make one up for you, like Super Hip Single Mother." Shucks, thought I. It's like the first one was free, or something. Once she gets you addicted to this blog, she can make merry with the monikers!
Dammit.
Off to the Opry. I'm planning to lapse into a diabetic coma later this evening on account of all the FRICKIN' CANDY YOU LEFT OVER HERE!!
Posted by: Tragically Hip Single Mother | December 09, 2006 at 08:11 PM
Oh, Things Two and Three are four kinds of insane right now, and I'm about to crash as we speak (or as I type, natch) because of the combination of high-carb party food/candy from this afternoon. My stomach is all shrimp and hershey's kisses. Blech. I blame you and Bling Melon.
Liza, the names can be confusing, but once I have the Acme Super Improved Cast of Characters List up and running, it should be easier to follow.
Hi M.
Posted by: Terrible Mother | December 09, 2006 at 08:49 PM
"Glad to hear Jon's back on his feet and doing well."
Well, on his foot, anyway...
Have a great Christmas!
Posted by: Friend R | December 10, 2006 at 08:33 PM
speaking of that legend, i see i am still persona non grata here, not even ranking as an uncredited extra.
i was so distraught by this that i went ahead and ate the birthday cake i made for you.
Posted by: Kari | December 12, 2006 at 03:43 PM
Well, fuck me.
You people and your demands!
Sorry, I've only had 8 cups of coffee today instead of my regular 13.
Posted by: Terrible Mother | December 12, 2006 at 08:33 PM
I don't have any secrets. My face is an open book. Or, my face is a face that you can read like an open book, assuming the book is written in a language you're fluent in reading.
So you see, what Thing One is describing is an issue of decoding. The formula works as follows:
Friend Two's half-smile=
open book=
benign compassion=
onegoddamngoodlooking-
ethnicallyambiguosandperhapsalittlemetro
butnonethelessstunninglyhandsomedude
And that's the last word on that. You can tell Thing One I said so, though she'd probably hold up both hands, make quotations in the air, and say sarcastically:
"oh, yeah, riiight--
'Stunningly handsome'?"
Posted by: Friend2 | December 13, 2006 at 01:38 PM
A little metro? A little? A LITTLE?
It's like metro globs off of you in thick, gooey strands, affixing themselves to anything that will hold still long enough to put on black square glasses or nonchalantly wear a turquoise sweater with the tightest jeans ever made, ever.
Posted by: Terrible Mother | December 13, 2006 at 04:25 PM
Never worn a turquoise sweater.
A turquiose ring, perhaps.
And turquoise necklace.
And sometimes a turquiose belt with matching wing-tip shoes. And earrings. And BMW.
And if that were true, beyond never having had a sweater and having a ring, I'd go get in my BMW and drive, drive, drive away into the sunset blowing cute little metro kisses.
As it is, I suppose me and my size 29 levis will remain unpretentiously seated on '96 Subaru seat-fabric.
Also: for the record, it's not my fault I look like I do. I'm vaguely ethnic and unfortunately elfish. I'm muscular because I have a dark, sordid past as a collegiate athlete. I'm manneristic because I just can't help it-- "there's a way in which," I talk and move, and it's how I am, without artifice or affectation. You could put me in hammer-pants and 80's GAP and I would still look more pretty than anything else. To quote Tim-Tim: "The reason you seem metro is you're well-dressed and well-spoken. And those are the two gayest things ever."
Posted by: Friend2 | December 13, 2006 at 09:10 PM