WORDLESS WEDNESDAY: WHO'S ON THIRD?

ON A DARK DAY

“Hi, Jonah’s Mommy,” they whispered as I entered the classroom. 

“Hi, everyone,” I said quietly with a little wink directed at Jonah.

When I dropped him off at school in the morning, I asked his teacher Mrs. S if she needed any volunteers later in the day. I have volunteered a few times… and though it almost inevitably means my son will misbehave more than usual (I suspect because he’s 5, and is excited that I’m there and therefore, “showing off”), I had an urge to be there… Even if it meant watching Jonah squirm when he should be listening, or me witnessing a flaw in the school and “the system.”

While the children finished story time, my assignment was to cut paper and put together packets for Earth Day. How appropriate…  They will draw their world in the circle I cut out…

It was hard for me not to see this as a metaphor. After watching the coverage from the Boston Bombings, I had a fleeting thought… A thought that shocked me and unnerved me for even having it escape my conscious:

Why are these heinous acts of violence happening (again) and why would I ever want to bring another child into this universe?

My eyes popped the second I thought it. Me?? Not bring another child on to this earth? I have always wanted more than one child… Two, three, heck, even four. I love children. I want a family. A BIG family. I love being a mother and nothing, not war, or natural disasters, or even the tragedies on 9/11 or the deranged and unthinkable acts in Newtown, has EVER made me question whether it was fair or not to bring a child into the world…

But last night, there I was. Flooded with the darkest and most dismal thought I think I’ve ever (consciously) had.

“Jonah’s mommy, um, my mommy has a friend who’s name is also Jennifer,” one little girl said tapping my shoulder.

“It’s a pretty cool, name, huh?” I said… only to be interrupted with:

“Um, Jonah’s mommy, does Jonah want to go trick o’ treating with me again on Halloween?” said another little girls (I’m not gonna lie, the little girls looooove them some Jonah.)

“That sounds like a plan,” I said, stacking the Earth packets in a pile.

It was time for “Reading Buddies.” Every week, a 2^nd grade class comes to read to their class. Jonah’s

buddy was a girl with a bob haircut and a face full of freckles. Some of the buddies seemed totally into the assignment … carefully explaining each word and speaking with animation and exaggeration. Not Jonah’s buddy. She stopped periodically to go chat with friends at another station. But he sat there anyway. Listening closely to her words… even when they trailed off.

Our home earth… I love…

It sat with me. These words. These children.  The boys and their eagerness to play basketball at recess... The girls and their barrettes... falling out of their hair and their mismatched leggings and tee shirts… The row of lunch boxes filled with meals carefully crafted and packed by a tired adult that morning… The calendar and clock on the board with clear-cut letters, numbers and pictures of seasons so they learn to tell time and why, someday, it will matter.  These things, being there, it made me happy and hopeful.

My fleeting thought has since left my body and I’m back to wanting to have another child pronto (Oy, I can totally hear P’s heart racing as he reads this. LOL). As cliche as it sounds, Monday’s event was sadly another reminder for me, though, that during a dark time, to turn to something bright for a reminder of the future. 

LANGUAGE BARRIER

Here's the thing: I like sports. I do. I like watching sports. I do. And it's probably mostly because I like men... and chips (...and dip...and beer), but still, I like sports. I do. However, it's a language, that doesn't come naturally to me. I hear the announcers speaking. I hear words. English words, even... Yet, I simply do not comprehend. SIR, I DO NOT KNOW WHAT YOU ARE SAYING. In fact, without fail, every Superbowl, I have to relearn what is happening. Generally speaking, of course, I know the importance of a touchdown or a defensive tackle (just kidding, I really don't), but when it comes to following the game and the intricacies of the sport- I'm lost. I don't follow.

I've always attributed my inability to comprehend sports talk with the fact that I grew up with a single mom and I sang Dionne Warwick songs in the shower... and for anyone that would listen. But lately, I realized it's something else. I am a female. (Yes, there are those women who GET sports and understand what Al Michaels is saying, I know.) But there is a chemical, I think, missing from my brain- a deficit in the lobe or hemisphere or whatever of my brain where language comes from, that it simply down for the count.

It occurred to me recently that THIS language barrier though doesn't stop at sports. The other day, Jonah begged me to buy him a Transformers book. First off, isn't he a little young? Second, I said yes. I want to be the cool mom that can talk all things Decepticon and Opitmus Prime. Except, what the F is a Decepticon ?! As I read him this book, and his face lit up, I expected him to ask seven thousand questions about what was happening and why Autobots are firing missiles (missiles?! really? He's not even 4!) BUT, he said nothing! He listened as if he actually understood what all this meant. In fact, the only thing he asked was what a "Corvette" was (Apparently "Sideswipe" turns into a Corvette?? I don't know. It's confusing). ANYWAY, my point is, I'm relieved... because though he has a single mom and we may watch Mary Poppins together, at the end of the day, he has been born, and maybe even blessed, with a gene that I will never have... He will understand the world of the Galactic Empire... he will appreciate Middle-Earth, and he will find movies like "Caddyshack" and "Fletch" funny until he's well into his 30's....

Inherently, I have a boy. And apparently, he's already from Mars....

Well. Okay... Go Lakers.