Over the river and through the woods ...
Eleven thirty and all is well. Its been a busy day. I've spent the last couple of hours reading an episode guide for one of my favorite television series: American Gothic. (I found a link to Welcome to Buck Manor at americangothnik .) Now I'm happily creeped out.
I was terribly tired this morning. Not surprising, since I stayed up well past four in the dark. I barely remember Ch-- getting off to school. I went back to sleep until 11-ish before waking M-- so I could take her into town to begin working a four day shift. (She's going to be SO ready to come home on Sunday.) Mom is having her garage sale with Sister J's help. I know Sister D also helped out this morning, but I saw her only briefly. M-- and I are clearly in trouble. Apparently everyone thought it would have been more appropriate had M-- gone into Anoka on Wednesday night instead of Thursday afternoon. (The air was just thick with resentment.) Before we arrived, Mom walked down to the meat market (one block) and purchased an Amish hen and some potatoes. Then she had to "carry the damn heavy things" home. I asked why she hadn't waited for me and she said she didn't know I was going to show up.
I immediately jumped in with both feet. Damn I hate that. First I pointed out that I knew M-- had told her we'd be in on Thursday. Then I was overwhelmed with the need to explain why we hadn't come sooner. "I was on day two of my fifth period in two months yada ya ... M--had to organize all of her homework blah blah." Then I offered up tomorrow in order to assuage my guilt. "I'll come in extra early so we can go to the bakery before your tax appointment, and I'll stay until I absolutely have to leave to get Ch-- in order to give Sister J a break." Yuck. I just hate myself for being such a sniveling twit whenever I'm around them. The whole thing set me up for a day of irritation and apprehension.
I started to feel better later, as Ch-- and I drove toward our Thursday afternoon clogging class. The scenery along the way relaxed my shoulders and opened up my chest. (Rolling hills dotted with almost-blooming apple trees and creaky old cows nearly prancing in the new grass.) We stopped at the feed store and found just the rabit feeder I'd been envisioning. The shopkeeper, Mr. H--, took the time to come over to show us how to attach it to a cage and made sure Ch-- got his sucker.
Once class started, my mood, and the day, took another down turn. Our instructor is wrapped up in preparations for a show that the more advanced students are putting on next week. Though she was in the studio, she turned the beginners class over to an assistant who Ch-- and I really like. That should have been good, but the assistant ended up having to try to teach us a dance that she didn't know how to teach. Ch--, usually a committed trooper, ended up in tears of frustration. We came away without having really grasped the sequence. We could practice through the coming week, but we'd need to have a cue sheet to work from and the head instructor was clearly far too busy to find one. Arggg.
Ch-- bounced back very quickly. Within minutes, he was his usual talkative self. I was so pleased that he hadn't been "wounded" by the experience that I agreed to take him to the new playground on the way home. I know I baby the boy too much. Its just that I so enjoy his enthusiasm and cheerfulness. (There was another student there today, a girl of Ch--'s age that reminded me of M-- as a child. She didn't get upset ... but then she didn't seem to be enjoying it either. 'Sort of dull and lifeless and "do-I-have-to-be-here".) I didn't bounce back as quickly as my son. I didn't want to go to the playground. I was too busy feeling unsettled by the day. I found myself thinking how I'd organize the class better. And then feeling pretty disgusted with myself for falling into that familiar trap too. I imagined the car sounded funny. I anticipated the stress of tomorrow. I realized that I was feeling churlish and paranoid and anxious and angry.
When we arrived at the playground, we found ten or fifteen other kids already playing. My heart sort of fell. I was worrying that Ch-- wouldn't get along with them. At one point I heard him "teasing" a younger girl. I was all ready to go pull him away when I realized they were just bantering. She was It and was calling out "You're too fast. You're all too fast." Ch-- was chanting back at her, "What? I can't hear you." It turns out that he was pretending he didn't know that she was getting closer and closer to him with every exchange. He waited at the top of the slide until she was in arm's reach. I thought he was going to zoom down the slide but, instead, he held out his hand so she could tag him. She turned to run away but he reassured her that he couldn't tag her, "Its okay. There's no backs. I can't get you" Then he took off after the others. He also tried to get the 6th graders to join the game. They didn't, but they were nice about it. When I did finally retrieve him, the little girl, who had been It, fell while running. Ch-- called out, "You okay little one?" as we passed. Seriously. My nine year old called a 5-6 year old 'little one'.
As I watched them all play together, I thought about my experiences in the rustier, dustier schoolyards of my childhood. Why do I remember it as a horror show? Were kids more cruel? Was I incredibly awkward? Did my mama dress me funny? Why did I always feel so alone?
Enough of that. R-- will be home from band practice soon. I should sleep. Well. actually, I should crush cans, do dishes, tidy up, move laundry, put away all the clean laundry etc. Or I should meditate, immerse, do some yoga, eat some strawberries with vanilla yogurt, etc. I'm most tempted to get a start on the lists (and customizations) I want to add to this journal. I'd give a lot to avoid going into town tomorrow.