March 5, 2013

by jkatejohnston

Dear Max,

“Hey, Mama-Kate, wanna try a Cheerio sandwich?”  He holds up three neatly stacked HoneyNut Cheerios between his thumb and middle finger.  The middle Cheerio is the filling.  He has sniffles.  His hands are grubby. 

“Sure.”  He puts the sandwich in my mouth and watches me expectantly. Crunch crunch.  It is delicious.

His hands and feet are the only part of him that’s still a little plump.  Where did the wrist-rolls go?

*

In my 1995 Diary I was so read-y and think-y, in a good way, my god, I miss and admire that.  Reading about Freud and Erroneously Carried Out Actions makes me think of how sometimes I’ll try to unlock the house with the electronic car opener, pointing it at the front door, pressing the button and looking puzzled.  Or I’ll stop at a stop sign and just sit there patiently waiting for the light to turn green.  Then I’ll realize it’s just a stop sign and wonder how long I’ve been there and sheepishly pedal through the intersection.  This has happened to me twice at this one stop sign about three blocks from work.  You don’t have to be a genius like Freud to figure out that I just don’t want to go to work.  The house thing, I can’t explain.

Reading over what I’ve just written I wonder if it is possible to pedal sheepishly.  I’m getting this image of a sheep on a bicycle that I actually kind of like.  I’m keeping it.

 *

Last night I was reading Enzo a book about elves, fairies, trolls, gnomes, and all the rest (god help me), a kind of encyclopedia that describes their habits and powers.  We got to fairy god mothers, who visit newborn babies and give them blessings and abilities.  “What do you think your fairy god mother gave you when you were a newborn baby?”

“She gave me the abiliity to not like macaroni and cheese, and be immune to venom.  Black widow venom.”

This last bit may be because, when he was about two, we were hanging out in the back yard and he toddled up to me and handed me a black widow.  It was big and shiny, the real thing, and it didn’t bite either one of us. 

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