Now his eccentricities are glaringly obvious. At a year and a half old he is still largely non-verbal, showing no desire whatsoever to communicate his wants or needs. He doesn’t point or show interest in things and unless you have managed to catch and hold his attention his face remains an inscrutable mask. He seems trapped in his own little world and sometimes I have to call his name several times before he’ll acknowledge me. As for getting him to come to me when called or to follow simple directions, it hasn’t happened yet.

People have commented on how odd he is and suggested I get him checked out but I’ve been putting it off. As far as I’m concerned there is absolutely nothing “wrong” with my son. He’s beautiful and difficult and enigmatic and all the little traits that seem to indicate some condition or another are to me just facets of his complex personality.

If in the end it seems he’s struggling then of course I will do whatever needs to be done and get him whatever assistance he needs so that he can function with more ease out there in the world, but he does not need to be “fixed”.

Tristan had a lot of difficulties as well and is definitely a little peculiar in his own way. He’s always had the habit of lining things up or stacking them and like me he seems to have sensory issues that make it unbearable to have any kind of sticky substance on his skin. His schedule is absolutely sacred and any change in routine turns him into a miserable tantrum-throwing mess.

This is a boy who answers questions like “How do you feel this morning?” with an exuberant rant about rocket ships and volcanoes.

He’s clever, creative, perceptive, and sometimes his turbulent emotions are just impossible to comprehend. Theatrical, an incredible mimic, an intricate labyrinth of colorful boyish emotions. Quite often I don’t know how to respond to him, how to handle his inevitable meltdowns. Remi is more straightforward. Happy, smile. Upset, cry. And of course any emotion he feels is usually fleeting, though he has been starting to throw more tantrums lately. Getting closer to those terrible twos.

I think part of what helps me to handle that in their personalities which others might consider atypical is that I can relate so much to them. I see so much of myself in them. I mean, really! Given my own eccentric nature it’s unlikely that I would produce typical children.

I love them all the more for their quirks.

I took the boys outside to play and when Tristan showed an interest in my iPhone I showed him how to take pictures using the Hipstamatic app and he snapped away at everything, even managing to get a few artsy shots of me.

The boy has talent!

Anyway, I’ve been toying with the idea of DATING. Oh my God, I said the “D” word. How positively naughty. To be honest it’s been so long I’m not really sure how to go about it.

For so long now I’ve been single, just wallowing in solitude and the kind of self-indulgence that allows. It’s a kind of gratification that one gets from wrapping up even the most mundane tasks in a blanket of secrecy. When it comes to privacy I am an absolute glutton. All of this, all of these little things, they are mine and mine alone.

I’m not sure I can give that up. Not for just anyone, anyway. Not when I already give away so much of myself to my children. It’s exhausting to think of.

Yet here I am, standing on the edge, nearly ready to dive in. I think I’d just like to have someone take care of me for a change. I think I damn well deserve that. And if someone is asking, why not say yes?

It’s just hard for me to imagine that anyone could hold my attention for very long, or put up with my difficult nature. We shall see.

I should have known it was brewing. It had been for days. Dizzy spells and ghostlike hallucinations fluttering in and out of my field of vision with cat-like grace and swiftness. My version of the migraine aura. It was shaping up to be one hell of a headache. Still nothing could have prepared me for the intensity of the migraine that slammed into me and sank me into such a listless fog.

Two Imitrex and one hydrocodone later the pain had eased somewhat but I couldn’t seem to move myself off the couch for longer than it took to change a diaper or put out some snacks for the boys and then I’d crawl right back into the little nest I’d made for myself and retreat deep into my head, far, far away from the discomfort.

After not eating anything but a few crackers and some grits (yeah, still trying to get rid of that stuff) over two days I feel weak and sickly today. I knew I had to get out, though. After the worst migraine I’ve suffered in years, I knew I had to get up and out and pull myself back into the routine, out of the fog, and start making sense of my thoughts again. Shake off all the dust and get moving, even if it all felt dream-like and I spoke nonsense.

Don’t I usually speak nonsense anyways? All bad poetry and song lyrics and movie quotes…

So out we went, into the sunlight, and it winked brightly at me through the leaves and I squinted at the boys as they happily made themselves dirty and sought battle among trees and bushes and thorns. Remi was the first to fall, his wound a grave (to his concerned mother) scratch across the back of a chubby arm. It was a deep scratch and bled quite a lot so that I ran in a circles a like an idiot before I was able to gather my wits and go for cotton and rubbing alcohol. He didn’t even flinch, the little soldier, when I cleaned his wound.

Tristan, ever the obsessive, strolled around the front yard blowing bubbles as if there was no other possible reason a person could want to go outdoors. He trailed bubbles, grew them on his hands, inhaled them, spluttered them out.

He would have been perfectly content to spend his time outside entirely focused on bubbles but Tesla would not have it be so. She pounced on him and weaved between his legs, nibbled his ankles, and pretty much did every possible thing a puppy can do to torment a child. Poor Tristan, he threw a fit.

And as he came to me, a dog attached to his shorts, his face all twisted up, his day, no, HIS WHOLE LIFE JUST RUINED you’d think by his vociferous lamenting, I started to feel heavy and achey and old. I unceremoniously removed the dog from my son’s ass and we all went back inside, the boys straight into the bath and me straight into my secret stash of chocolate. Migraines be damned.

Not a great success, the day, but not a total failure either.

I originally scribbled this little entry in a small notebook that I carried in the pocket of my winter coat during my early days in New York City:
 

The New Routine  -  02/25/2005

I called the temp agency as soon as I woke up, since that’s the routine. Good ol’ safe routine. I call, ask if they have anything for me, then when they say “no” I curl up in bed or some other such comforting activity.

But this time it goes differently: What’s that? You have a job for me? Well, give me the info. No problem, I’ll be there shortly.

Then I was standing there in my pajamas, with sleep in the corners of my eyes, morning breath so thick I could taste it, and my plans for how I’d divide up my leisure time slowly beginning to fade.

Shit.

I realized I’d have to dress, brush my teeth, and eat something, and I’d have to do it quickly.

Shit.

It occurred to me that I should inform Brad of my sudden change of luck. I went in the room and tossed my phone and the envelope, which had the information I’d need scribbled on it, onto the bed.

“Shit.”

Brad looked up questioningly from his drawing.

“Shit fuck dammit hell piss fuck SHIT!” I answered.

He saw the envelope and positively beamed. I couldn’t help but smile back before turning into a whirlwind of preparation. I had to hurry. This was the new routine.

-  +  -  +  -  +  -

I scurried down into the subway with a half eaten sandwich in one hand and my metro card in the other. My face and hands still burned from the biting cold but the sting quickly turned to a tingle as the warmly pulsating underground air wrapped around me.

I reluctantly bit at the sandwich until only a lonely corner remained. I knew the day would be a tummy ache for sure. The train came and I allowed myself to be a part of a human sandwich, comforted briefly by the distorted buzz of music coming from someone nearby. Wow, that has to be doing a number on his eardrums! I think. When I started to pick up lyrics I couldn’t help but sway and hum softly along.

We spies, we slow hands, put the weights all around yourself…

I love the pull and push of the train stopping and going, but only if I’ve got a good hold on a pole. Then I just let my body go, pushing back or leaning forward but never losing my balance. That’s the key to this place, I think. You have to merge with the masses, going your own way but always with the flow. It can be a tricky process, especially if you’re not entirely sure just where you’re going.

I reached my stop and made my way to the surface. Unsure and hurried, I passed my destination, and unwilling to double back I circled around and entered the building. I got lost. I really hate asking for directions. I have masculine amounts of pride and I can’t bear asking for help, unless there is no other option.

Once I swallowed down my pride (adding to the aforementioned tummy ache) I found my way to the desk where I was to spend the day. Things went somewhat smoothly for a while.

“Have you done reception work before?” inquired the woman at the desk, shivering in her mint green fleece jacket. I wasn’t cold at all. In fact, I was sweating a little.

“Yes, a little bit.” I answered. Does having a friend who did reception work count? Well, after today I’ll be able to answer that question honestly at least… I thought to myself.

I stared blankly at the mess of names, numbers, and buttons before me.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

After saying several times “What was that?” and once “Oops, I’m sorry about that!” I realized that my hearing impairment might be a problem when working these kinds of jobs. At the least, it’ll make things more interesting than I’d like them to be.

I started daydreaming about a job stuffing envelopes… Or perhaps a gig filing papers in a stale, dimly lit room in the basement of a soaring sky scraper. When they finally thought to come check on me I’d be bug eyed and disheveled.

“Don’t scare the rats! They’re my friends! Look, that one’s Tinker, and that one’s Moe, and the one who’s missing part of an ear is Fredrick G. Santiago. Show them the trick I taught you, Santiago!”

Yes, I have a tendency to daydream. I’m also a hopeless (and apparently masochistic) clock watcher. I try to make this terrible habit more bearable by telling myself things like “In an hour and a half there will only be two hours left ’till I get off. I’m almost done!” and then “In only ONE hour it’ll be two hours ’till I get to leave! My, how time flies!”

This thought is often followed by gurgling and some head to wall action.

Things were going peacefully when I looked up and to my right to see a window. It was snowing. It was absolutely inspiring. The snow twirled and danced downward, caught in the unruly wind the sweeps between the maze of buildings. I’m going to freeze my ass off when I get out of here. I think.

-  +  -  +  -  +  -

I looked at the clock for the millionth time and realized something interesting had happened. The clock was telling me that I could leave. Huh. I saw that other people were leaving and my heart began to race. So that was it? No bloodshed? No heart attacks? People even stopped to talk to me and thank me for filling in for their regular receptionist. Some asked me hopefully if I’d be back the next day.

Wild. Crazy.

In no time at all I found myself on the street and moving homeward, heavy snowflakes pelting me in the face. I had survived. I kept telling myself that it had been a hellish ordeal because I hate answering phones and I didn’t know what I was doing, but it just wasn’t that bad.

Maybe I’m not as hopeless as I’d like to think. Maybe the easiest way to be a properly functioning human being is to just go out there and function. Had it always been that simple? I guess so.

Navigating the twists and pitfalls of the human mind, that’s the tricky part…

 
Recently I started to form a plan of escape, a way back to New York City, even though I had just started to accept the idea that I would never go back there. It all came apart, of course, because the plan relied mainly upon the steadfastness of Kostyantyn. Unfortunately steadfastness is not one of his character traits. He is absolutely changeable.

I’m a little disappointed. I think I can convince myself of anything, and I had just managed to convince myself that the boys and I would really thrive in New York City when our plans fell through. I told Kostya to fuck off and blow his excuses right out his lying ass and now I’m making new plans.

Crapstink, Arkansas is choking the life out of me.

Eh, maybe one day when I’m very old and withered and no news is good news and my blood flows thick and slow and my eyes are glazed over and cloudy I will be perfectly content to exist in a place like this. To just exist, and that’s all.

Or maybe I’m fooling myself and I’ll never be content where ever I go.

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I didn’t think I’d be getting a pet any time soon, seeing as how caring for two young children keeps me busy enough as it is, but when I spotted an ad for German Shepherd/Siberian Husky mix puppies my interest was piqued. Those are two of my favorite breeds of dog and I’ve always wanted a mix of the two!

It was my sister who urged me to text the number and request pictures and when I asked if any of the puppies were particularly laid back the lady sent me pictures of two puppies, one male and one female.

It was the female who caught my eye. She’s just beautiful. The lady told me the pup is somewhat serious and prefers to hang back and observe rather than bouncing around with her litter mates and I just knew I had to have her.

My sisters husband was good enough to pick the puppy up for me since he was going to be in the area anyway and the moment he lifted the fluffy, cream and black pup out of the car and put her in my arms I knew I had made the right decision. And now I know what that woman meant when she said the puppy is serious! She’s so subdued and seems to hang back and carefully consider everything before making any moves.

She seemed so scared the first night but has quickly warmed up to us and, most importantly, seems to have struck up quite a friendship with Tristan. She follows him around the backyard like a shadow and Tristan loves his doggy!

Of course, my reason for getting a dog and taking on the extra work was not to provide Tristan with a playmate. Well, not only to provide Tristan with a playmate. I like the idea of having a large, loyal companion in our midst, watching over us and our home. Being a single mother, I think it’ll be nice to have an extra set of eyes around, and this watchful, serious pup seems to be a perfect fit for us.

Oh, but naming her! That gave me some trouble. I’m all about names. The incorrigible smart ass in me briefly toyed with the idea of naming her Bast, as in the Egyptian cat goddess, Bast. Ha ha. Then I messed around with different variants of Lupus but I thought that was a little too on the nose. I eventually narrowed it down to three names, the two losing names being Arwen and Circe. Both pretty names, if a little nerdy. Hey, nerdy is good.

I settled on Tesla. As in Nikola Tesla, the brilliant inventor and electrical engineer. Okay, odd choice, I know. I’d actually been saving that name. I meant to use it if I ever had another child, whether it was a boy or a girl, but very soon after having Remi I realized that I wouldn’t be having any more children.

Probably would have been a bit much, anyway… Meh.

Oh well, Now I have my Tes!

The air was thick and in the half-light of the setting sun I had the eerie feeling that some strange and altogether otherworldly plot was afoot. Of course I made a mad dash for my iPhone so I could snap some pictures.

I see the world in pictures…

Lately I’ve been feeling more strongly the urge to get my drivers license. Absurd that I’m 31 years old and haven’t obtained it yet. I don’t have the excuse of living in New York City anymore. And there’s so much I want to go out and DO.

One idea that I can’t seem to get out of my head is photographing all the gorgeous decaying buildings around here. The ones nature has sunk her teeth into, sending out her steely tendrils to patiently pull them apart bit by bit, until they sag and crumble and fall, all swathed in verdigris.

This stagnation is KILLING ME. That’s a bit dramatic, I know, but since I’ve had the boys I feel as if I’ve been compressed into a tiny, unstable package and I’m likely to detonate at any moment now. I’ve been saying it for ages but I really do need to find myself again, to reclaim some of the creativity that allowed me to release this pent up energy in the past. Energy which is currently in danger of causing me to tear everything apart, to just rip it all to shreds and dance around in the mess like a lunatic.

Nope, not I’m not dramatic, just BORED STIFF.

I’m not unhappy, mind you. My children are absolute treasures. Rotten, difficult, unpredictable, perfect, beautiful, entertaining, exhausting, amazing, and so many other things. They remind me so much of me. Sometimes that’s not a good thing. Sometimes it is.

They’re still trying to teach me patience.

I’m a shitty student.

It was life changing to suddenly become so aware of my body. Before starting my AT lessons I didn’t give a damn what was going on in my body, only that my body did as I asked of it. The result was a painful muscle condition that I still struggle with to this day, though it’s much more manageable now.

Lately I’ve realized how unaware of myself I’ve become. The same old thing. Shoulders pulled up and curling in, so tense. I’m always balling up, as if trying to make myself smaller, as if trying to make myself disappear. Tense, nervous, hurrying, don’t notice me; The story of my childhood. Only I’m not a child anymore, I’m a woman.

It’s just so very hard to stay rooted here in this moment, in this body, which is stuck in this particularly pedestrian reality.

It’s really no wonder that I’m such a wan and slender little thing. I hardly feel hunger at all, swept up as I am in all my little distractions. Too often I just plain forget to eat. I’d rather read a book or watch a movie or bury myself in my latest project (which I will never finish, most likely, such is my attention span). That’s not to say I don’t feel any hunger at all, because I do. In fact, that’s the problem: I’m absolutely ravenous. However, this insatiable hunger is most often not for foodstuff.

I can’t seem to cram enough knowledge into my poor aching head but, unfortunately, in my zeal I often jump to a new topic before the last has had time to commit itself to my long term memory. I bombard myself with new information on three different topics at the same time, so desperate am I to escape the tedium of the day-to-day.

GAH! I am bored. It makes me want to sleep for a long time. So, as I’ve done this past week, I bury myself in study and in little projects. It would be nice if I could actually finish something, retain some of this information.

And here I sit, shaking out the tension in my wrists so that I can finish typing this without too much pain, trying to remember to let these poor mistreated muscles release (it’s not their fault) so that I can move freely instead of balling up like a frightened child. If only I could retain this information. Stay here in this moment, in this reality, however much it irks me. However much I want to float away in music or in art or in literature.

I need to put my feet on the floor and keep them there.

“I’m not afraid of anything!” She said out loud to the Dark.

And the Dark, as always, gave no reply.

My poor little iPhone clung there for dear life until she picked up speed and then it flew off and onto the road where it rang, crying out for help I imagined in my silly brain, when Carissa tried calling me later. Carissa came back to my house when she couldn’t get a hold of me and when she called my phone it was still ringing, until suddenly it wasn’t. That must have been when it happened. I found out about it the next day.

I told myself the battery had just died and I insisted on going for a walk down the road to find my phone, even if I had to walk all the way to my sisters house. Then Vanessa called to tell me she had found the case on the side of the road and she came to pick me up so I could help look for it in that area. We searched everywhere near where the case had been found but it wasn’t there. Vanessa ventured further down the road and then I heard her call out that she had found it. My heart jumped! Of course as she came walking up I realized she wasn’t holding an iPhone, she was holding a twisted lump. The thing had been folded in half, its insides torn out.

And yes, as you can see in the picture, my case has a tire tread design. Haha. SHUT UP.

OH, and guess what? No insurance! Luckily I managed to get another iPhone on ebay but for about a week I mourned the loss of my Little Buddy. Yeah, I felt silly for having grown so attached to a little electronic device, but lets face it, as a single mother who gives everything to her children that iPhone is probably one of the only luxuries that I allow myself.

And it’s damn useful! That phone was my internet connection for my computer. While I was without an iPhone I didn’t have anyone to remind me to take out the trash. I didn’t have a way of keeping track of my bank accounts or of looking up recipes or checking the temperature real quick before I picked out the kids pj’s before bed. It’s funny the hundred little ways I came to rely on that phone for reminders, for entertainment, and endless information. I had just found an app that let me read through all the Sherlock Holmes books when I lost the phone. LOVED it.

The really funny thing is that I missed that individual phone. I have a new phone and yet I’m still sad about having lost my old phone. Ridiculous, I know. Like I said: Little Buddy.

So, farewell, Little Buddy. I’m sorry I let you down.

I hereby challenge that bitch to a quiche-off!

And in the meantime, I am in search of new recipes to perfect because, yes, it’s true, I am sadly inept when it comes to culinary finesse. My sisters regularly put me to shame with their full on meals including delicious appetizers, entree’s, side dishes, and of course someone is bound to bake something insanely delicious for dessert. Oh yeah, these ladies can bake.

Remember the time Carissa made that Red Velvet Cheesecake birthday cake? The show off…

Yesterday I decided to give meatloaf a try because it seems simple enough to master and because I’ve always loved meatloaf.

I failed to take into account the sensory distress it would cause me to make something that requires me to stick my hands into such a cold, slimy, awful mixture of substances. I added all the ingredients into a bowl and gingerly stuck a few fingers into the mix, poking at it gently at first and then plunging my whole hand into it when I finally decided it was best to just get it over with. It was cold. It was wet. It was sticky. It looked like brains. I screamed. Yes, screamed. A lot.

“Ahhhh! Oh god! Eeeeew! AH HA HA!”

“You okay, Mama?” Tristan asked, popping his head into the kitchen.

“My BRAAAAINS! They have fallen into this bowl!” I cried, holding up my slimy hands.

Then back to mixing and squealing in disgust. *Squish squish squish*

“It’s okay, I clean you.” Whereupon my little knight trotted off and fetched a box of wipes.

After my graceful and mature preparation of the meatloaf I popped it in the oven and set about cleaning my house. I figured that as long as I was tending to domestic duties… I managed to get the kitchen cleaned before the meatloaf was finished and whipped up a side of (instant) mashed potatoes to accompany it. Maybe it was a little sad, my being so proud of a sad little meal of meatloaf and instant mashed potatoes, but I thought the meatloaf came out nicely and it’s a big step up from a frozen dinner.

We’ve all got to start somewhere, right?

What to tackle next… I’ll show her…