About me: I'm 40 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 8-year-old Junior, our 5-year-old Everett, our baby and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Bug-eyed, batty lovey goodness
Junior drew this person. I love it because it looks exactly how I feel lately: on the verge of losing my shit. (If you're new here, I recently went back to work after an extended maternity leave, we've been dealing with a flea infestation and lack of power due to Hurricane Irene, and I'm out of wine.)
I also love the drawing because it's a little glimpse into the inner workings of my four-year-old son's mind. Everyone shits rainbows over babies and yes, they do smell nice after a bath, but to me this is one of the most beautiful times in my child's life. In my life.
Junior picks up the guitar and makes up songs. He tells knock-knock jokes. He tells me he wants smicken smocken smooken for breakfast. He draws freaky ass people with bug eyes.
He makes me laugh.
I never told my younger brother this, and I probably should have, but the only reason I survived my parents' divorce was because he made me laugh. He farted with his armpit. Incessantly. He'd play the cello from the closet while everyone was trying to sleep. He'd stealthily mock the tour guides on the horrible museum visits on which my father dragged us—to the point that my father would abandon us for another group.
They were the best of times, they were the...
Oh, right, you know how it goes.
So that's it. I'm in love with Junior and his drawings of people with bulging eyes. I want to freeze time. I want a guarantee that I'll live to be 100 so I can spend the next 64 years marveling at his accomplishments, the man he'll grow to be, and the glorious gift of creative expression we've all been given.
Can you do that for me?