We’re off to the movies, A and I, to see “Pirates of the Caribbean,” to see Johnny Depp in all his wacky glory. Got a pair of tickets in my pocket, candy in my purse, cell phone turned to vibrate. Last week D and I saw the worst current movie on the face of the planet, a thing called, “The Break-Up.” Now, I know what you’re thinking. Why the hell would you see a movie that looked like crap in the trailers?
Because “The Devil Wears Prada” was sold out.
I really have to get on board with the online purchasing of tickets. I’m so behind the times. Today was a perfect example, actually. A and I flew across town to the multiplex, waited in line, only to learn at the window that the showing we were there for was sold out. All in 100 degree heat.
So…we’re waiting for the six o’clock showing. I’m posting while I’m waiting.
As I sit here, J chatters away, sitting on my desk. He’s not coming because he’s too involved with his friends. He wants to hang out with the neighbor kids, which is fine with me. I smile as I type, as he rattles off, “You know, those pills aren’t doing a damn thing for my tics. Fuck the pills!”
Now, I know what you’re thinking. My god, where’s the soap when you need it! Wash his mouth out! The thing is, he’s in a cursing phase. He tries out these bad words whenever he can. “Mom, can I have some goddamn eggs?”
“Hey! Did you see the shit?!”
“Now what the hell was that?”
We’re all hearing it. We all just say, “Watch your language!”
He just chuckles. The whole thing makes him laugh. Though I’m not laughing at his insomnia. He completely has his hours turned around. Up until 4, asleep until 1. It’s up to us to keep him awake now so that he’ll drop off at a reasonable hour, like 10. ‘Cause D and I so need that quiet time without the children around. They really are sucking the life out of us.
I had a long conversation with D about our lack of intimacy that’s going far beyond the sexual thing. I realized a problem when the two of us were lying on our bed and there was a perfect moment for him to reach over and touch me, give me a hug, whatever it is married people do, only he didn’t. After he woke up, he simply got up and left and I lay there in wonder. A few minutes later he was back on the bed and he did reach over…but instead of caressing me in a warm, affectionate way, he sort of rubbed the top of my head in this weird, dog-like manner.
“Woof,” I said.
Fireworks ensued. So yeah, I cornered him later that night.
“The hell? Does this satisfy you? Are you happy like this? Forget the sex, I'm talking about the three feet between us on the king-size bed.”
Then the diatribe came and he used words that I understood and I was so sad. He said to me, “The kids have dulled me to everything. When they’re not near me, all I want is to just sit there and embrace their absence. I don’t think about anything beyond that.”
I saw what he was talking about, I could understand the dullness. He left me alone to watch a movie about a girl who bashes her hand in drawers, the daughter of brilliant writers, with Ed Harris and Will Farrell, called, “Winter Passing.” A quiet, odd film that left me staring at the opening screen of the DVD, saying, “Hmmm.”
God, it’s hot outside…hotter than a motherfuck. Time to go. Need to line up so we can get decent seats to watch the drama unfold.
Update: Saw "Pirates," last night and enjoyed the visual gymnastics. Really, the pictures were pretty, Johnny Depp was perfect, but that was pretty much it. The best part of the movie was running into the ex-husband of a very good friend of mine. It was sweet to see him there with his family - a bit of a flashback to unbelievably more innocent days, before "divorce" meant anything, before the kids could ever talk back, before our parents died...before...before...before...
Last night I dreamt of opening a dress shop in a mall with some girlfriends. The thing that kept getting in my craw was the late hour we'd have to stay open, the every-day-ness of the store. I kept envisioning the long drive home after dark, kept trying to find a way out of it. The girls said, "We'll rotate the hours. Don't worry...just look at these beautiful dresses." Except the dresses weren't beautiful, they were plain, the only difference being in the color.
I think it was the late-night hummus with wheat pita bread that did me in. I might be thinking of the upcoming school year where I'll be teaching two night classes.
7 comments:
When our kids were hardest -- pretty damn hard, but not as hard as yours are right now -- I remember I always dully thought, "what the hell good would a single day, or a weekend, do? We'd need months to recover from this. Years. There's no point in taking on more pain to try to set up time away."
But if we did it anyway -- an hour later I'd remember I was a human being. Two hours later I'd remember M was too. And another hour later we'd be remembering to reach for each other. It really didn't take that long. But of course carving even a day or a weekend out together can be damnably hard.
To really recover, yeah, to tell the truth, it does take years. But just a few hours, or a day or two, always did more than I could have believed. You do just get so damn tired.
Oh, I so feel your pain, bud. And yet...I don't. 'Cause you have THREE. I only have ONE and I feel totally drained by her. Love her, but she's an energy vampire. I think all kids are.
Long term relationships are a mystery to me, obviously, because I live alone, vicariously raising your children through your writing, wondering if I’d be able to share a king sized bed with anyone for more than a few nights, Ok, more than one night. As for intimacy, I suppose that you’re not talking about phone calls or even highly suggestive emails, I tend to utilize the hell outta those moments – when and if I actually let someone get that close. Years of tremulous relationships have left me numb, mostly my doing of course, so in these last few years of my life I’ve not hurried to get too attached, waiting instead for something that feels right, not wanting to have to go through that courtship dance all over again. Hmmmmm, sorta went off the subject – self absorbed? No wonder I’m by myself. It’s just that I too value my time “off” from the world as D seems to do. But then no one’s in bed with me as I stare into space asking if I’m Ok, hell, no one’s not in my bed asking me if I’m Ok.
Sorry, got go, Italy just one and it’s time rush out into the streets, over turn some cars and set them on fire – ah, the World Cup!
Rodger, exactly so.
Dale, yes, you're right, it takes years to recover. However, a small dose of aloneness is a necessary. We've tried the night out and we're never surprised that it just isn't enough. The best times for me, personally, have been spending at least two nights away.
Lori, I do think some parents are more prone to blood-suckage than others. I think you and I are definitely on the high-suckage list...sort of like how some people are loved by mosquitos. LOL
Patrick, I do admit that when thinking on the dating scene, just thinking of the courtship dance, I get tired. It's partly what keeps me married. LOL Better the hell you know... As a note, at least your blogger-mates want to know that you're okay. :) I know I do. And yeah! The World Cup is the most exciting action-packed game there where nothing gets accomplished! Scores of 1 to 1! It's awesome. And so much testosterone...nothing matches it.
By the way, the years when my daughter was hardest we still refer to as "the Lost Years." We have only the vaguest idea of what we were doing or how we lived through it. (Major sleep deprivation, among other things!)
I've been reading your blog for a while. I've got a teenage daughter, and am in those years that I suppose later I might refer to as the "lost years," as Dale dubs them. Reading about other people's challenges helps. I'm not alone. Thanks.
Cause D and I so need that quiet time without the children around. They really are sucking the life out of us.
We're there sometimes... and we only have one!
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