the.wednesday.whistle

dear mikki and katie…

it’s ridiculous really. it is. life. it’s silly. sometimes. still, in all its nonsensical nuttiness, it isn’t pointless.

i hadn’t laughed in a while. i mean…really laughed. milk come out your nose, almost pee your pants, side tummy cramp laughter. i don’t know why. i hypothesize that the computer is starting to rot the funny cells i have left in my brain, and since i have been editing non stop for the last month, i probably have very few slapstick synapses left. it seems easier to blame it on my electronics, so i am sticking with that.

this week has been challenging. both of you home with an epic cold, too sick to go to school, but well enough to be absurdly annoying to each other, and to me. i had just started into a great editing rhythm in photoshop. open, sharp, pop, sharp, close. open, sharp, pop, vintage, sharp, close. and on and on.

i hear foot steps vibrate on the hardwood floor, but don’t look up.  open, sharp, pop, sharp, close. then i hear it.

insert whiney voice here: “mommy, can i have a drink of water?” i think about telling you that we are out of water, but  instead of that sarcasm, i get up and get the water, hand it to you all maternal like with a rub on the head, and sit back down at the computer.

open.sharp.pop.vintage. sharp.close. 2 pictures pass {out of over 2,223 that i have left to edit}, and i hear the foot steps again. i keep working but turn my head to look at you dramatically with eyes popped out like an insane insect. this look is supposed to deter you from asking for something you can get yourself…because while you are still under the weather, you are by no means helpless, and you have no fever, and you have been running up and down the hall, and you have been eating and drinking every 40 minutes, and playing dress up, and putting on a puppet show with our REAL LIFE cat.

the insect insane eyes don’t work: “mommmmyyyyy?”  the y drifts off quietly at the end of your lips. “can i have a juice box?”  i raise an eyebrow. the i just got a drink for you 5 minutes ago eyebrow. my expression is as good as the spoken word. “but, i’m really thirrrrsy.” i get up, open a fresh Juicy Juice, hand it to you suspiciously, and head back in to work.

open.sharp.pop.close. {one photo}

“MMMMMMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY, my juice box is gone. now what do i do?”

since you are 6, and since, i reiterate, you are feeling relatively well health wise other than a nagging cough, i ask you to throw it away…as nice as possible. which, as it turns out, isn’t that nice at all.

“but the trash is full, mommmmmyyy.”

of course it is. of course. our tiny family of four is responsible for 99% of the trash in the Rumford/Mexico landfill. i leave my precious seat, my photo rhythm, my sanity…..to change the trash. to change the trash… again. and while i am changing it and thrashing about trying to get it out of the can, i secretly wish that even though i know that this may set back the womens lib movement a few years, i would really like it if your daddy changed the trash more often. or all the time. i am pulling on it, and pulling, and since SOMEONE crammed it solid full it is stuck (okay, it was me who did that, but that doesn’t make pulling the darn thing out any easier), and i’m swearing (not quietly), and yanking. suddenly it breaks free, and naturally, i was too busy employing expletives and pulling to really notice. and yup…it spilled all over the mud room floor. i close my eyes and sigh. i feel you watching me. i feel you already knowing that i am about to cry or scream or swear more or all do all three. i can feel you bracing yourself for it. i open one eye at a time and then we stand staring at each other for moment {perhaps 3 pictures worth of time}.  and i laugh. i laugh hysterically. a tears run down your cheek laugh where you aren’t sure if you are crazy or just plain silly or both. you aren’t sure if you should laugh too; you aren’t sure if that is allowed,  so you still stare until the corners of your chapped lips cannot take it another second and your bursting giggle falls out.

that is just ridiculous.

all my love darlings,

mommy

p.s. daily mantra: laughter is an instant vacation….{milton.berle}