Little Red says today, “Who wants to get hammered?”
Gaby: which is your school, Little Red?
Little Red: I don’t have a school yet.
Gaby: Why not?
Little Red: Because I suck my thumb. You aren’t supposed to suck your thumb at school.
A better woman would have had those toys picked up before we went to the Pioneer Picnic last night. Or at the very least have cleaned up before she went to bed.
I didn’t, but I did tell the boys that if they cleaned up the toys they could watch some Saturday morning cartoons. They stopped working so close to being finished, so I stepped in, congratulating them for doing such a good job and reminding them that they just had a couple of toys left to go.
Little Red began the negotiations, “just the ones on the rug?” (there were 3.)
I countered, “what about the toys under the futon?” (there were about 8.)
Little Red’s final offer, “how about just the ones on the rug and just the ones under the futon?”
SOLD! And the deed is done.
Little Red told me yesterday afternoon he was going to give Daddy all the pennies in his piggy bank. Then Daddy will have money and won’t have to look for a job anymore.
After I explained to him that we wanted him to keep his savings, and that Daddy needed a job, Little Red decided to pool all of his friends about their fathers’ jobs. “If any of them have two jobs I will ask them to share one with my Daddy.”
For nine months now I’ve been exceedingly emotional. I’ve also managed to gain 20 pounds without even trying.
If you ask me, that sounds like a pregnancy — so where’s my baby?
This is where Heather ceases to become Zen Mama.
We’ll be back later. Probably.
It’ll be a long time before I stop thinking “if I had just looked in the folder sooner.” We have spent so much time this week looking for that little blue book. Sifting through papers, page at a time; methodically searching places we know it can’t possibly be. And then searching again. And then a third time, because things always show up somewhere you’ve already looked.
I still don’t have that sick feeling that something is really wrong — not like I did the first time I went looking for my Ricks’ diploma after we left Hawaii. It was years before I could admit it, but the first time I went looking at and it wasn’t where it should be, in my heart I knew it was gone, and I could have thrown up I was so sick. I don’t feel that this time, so I keep holding on to the hope that we will find it.
Paul has accepted that it is gone. He has reviewed every possible scenario of what happened to it since he last had to get it out. He’s ready to expidite a new passport but to get it before we leave for Vancouver means he needs to apply today. He’s just waiting for me to acquiesce. I’m afraid this is one thing he’s going to have to do alone.
When we first discovered the passport was missing I was in the folder of important documents looking for something else, and ritualistically checked our passports. I didn’t get that sick feeling. All I felt was very deep annoyance. And my first thought was that I was not going to let this ruin my biannual trip to Canada. I’d go without him if I had to. I’d be sad that my father would be out all that money for Paul’s ticket, but what does make me sick is the thought of forking over the $200 it will take to get a new passport in a month.
As I was looking again last night, looking in the places I knew it couldn’t be, but looking and re-checking, stubbornly willing it there, I finally realized why I’m clinging so fiercely to the idea that it’s here, somewhere, and it’s up to us to look hard enough. I have to hold faith that it’ll show up, and we will be fine, because doing so also buoys my faith in this endless job search. If I give up on the forced optimism that this will work out, how many other things will crumble? Everything is so delicately tied together in the mantra that things will work out.
Today I just don’t know.