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Tuesday, September 10, 2019

Do Nothing Support Group

Are your kids in one activity or less at a time and you're overwhelmed by the mere thought of the people you know who juggle multiple activities with multiple children?

Do you find yourself wishing you had friends you saw on a regular basis but the idea of cleaning and cooking to have someone over completely destroys you mentally?

Do you yearn for time laying on the carpet staring at cracks in the ceiling?

Do you miss showing up to your friends' houses with nothing and then cajoling them into going to the grocery store at 11 PM to buy poptarts and peanut butter so you can eat poptart sandwiches?

When someone asks if you've signed your kids up for soccer/piano/scouts/baseball/skiing/dance/theater/travelsports/4H, does it make you want to scream, "My sanity cannot survive doing any more things AND I can't afford it anyway!!"?

When someone invites you to go to a free concert/book club/painting night/selling some shit night/outdoor yoga class/dance club does it make you wish to never take flannel pants off, instead curling into a ball and never leaving your house?

If so, you should start a support group for people like us. I'm too tired to do it but I would really benefit from such a group. But you can't invite me. That'd be another thing.

Instead, maybe you could just show up to my house and tell me I'm in it.

What does Do More Nothing look like?

We lay on the floor and Do More Nothing. We don't put the kids to bed on time. Or bathe them nightly. Or draw or sew or fix shit or fill out field trip forms. They may have three day old marker on their necks. So be it.

We dig our fingers into dirty carpet and are fine with it. We do nothing.

I text you when someone asks me if I've signed my kids up for after school chess and snowshoe club with free hot chocolate and you say "DO MORE NOTHING."

You ask me to a "dinner party" and I show up in yoga pants with nothing. You have prepared no dinner. Instead we forage from the back of your cabinets and deep in your fridge drawers to eat popcorn and bagged lettuce for dinner on your couch. Yes, right on top of the laundry you haven't folded. Because I also tell YOU to DO MORE NOTHING!

When I ask you what you're doing for a long weekend, you say, "let's make a weekend of it," then show up and we watch TV for four hours and eat cereal for lunch with hard seltzer for desert at 11 am.

Do. More. Nothing.

Ahhhh, the mere fantasy is a reverie.

Thursday, August 1, 2019

Tooth Fairy Part V

Mars lost another tooth and received another letter from his tooth fairy!

Dearest Mars the Magic,

I am so pleased to collect your second front tooth. You seem strong and tan and well with summer and friendship in your smiles. This brings me joy and I have been in need of such joy.
I mentioned in my last letter that the other fairies had failed to waken. Well, it’s true. You see, fairies wake and must play the rhythm of the day. Normally fairies all wake and set the rhythm of our day together by our instruments. Without our instruments, fairy’s hearts cannot beat. I woke one morning to find mine was the only one. There can be only one reason for this: Mordvor—the curse.
I never played as long alone as I have during mordvor. It’s been a nightmare to be so lonely without my fellow fairies. I look on them and they lay still, neither sleeping nor dead but simply still. Without others, it’s difficult to find my purpose each day. And yet, the obvious purpose has been to find a counterncurse to stop Mordvor. 
I think I’ve got a plan that will work. I intend to craft new instruments for each fairy and use them to awaken them. It won’t stop the curse but it should buy us time.
I’ve helped the latest batch of dart frog eggs to hatch and mature into tadpoles and now must merely wait for the wood where they were eggs to finish seasoning. For only the wood where dart frogs have lain their eggs possesses the magic necessary to make the instruments to wake a fairy’s heart. I am waiting now for a month or so more to see if the instruments I construct will work to wake the fairies. 
I have you to thank, really. When you reminded me of your mother’s fairy, it shook loose this plan. She had once explained to me the means for crafting fairy instruments. Now I must hope and trust that it shall work. 
Until the next tooth, Mars, be well.


With Love,
Tobias Hawthorne Gigglefoot VonRassmusson, III

Wednesday, June 26, 2019

What I Did When my 6-year-old Boy Wanted Pink Sparkly Shoes

Gomez never gets new stuff. He gets the stuff that survives Mars. Clothes, coats, skis, and shoes. Except, I suddenly realized the shoes he was wearing were beyond unreasonable. They were torn. They were too small. They looked like a homeless person took pity and took of theirs and offered them. And because I'm cheap and awful, I briefly considered whether he might get through the summer with sandals so we could avoid buying him shoes until school started.

But Gomez heard me say he needed new shoes and wanted them before camp started this week.

"Please, mommy?"

The only thing I'm more of than cheap and awful, is a sucker for that boy's sweet cheeks and even sweeter please.

So we went to the shoe store.

I'd told him that he could look for light-up sneakers and he wanted them to be velcro so he wouldn't have to tie his shoes. It had not occurred to me that he might pick out "girl" shoes.

*I've always said that my kids can do what they like and I've always thought if we had a transgender kid that we'd be the perfect people to do that because we don't care about anything but our kids being healthy and happy and exactly who they are. I had this wonderful vision of myself as so progressive and willing to accept my child determining that he was she or that he likes boys. I've painted their nails and dyed his hair.

But somehow this felt different. He picked out a pair of sparkling, glittering, pink, purple, and teal light-up Sketchers.

What if kids picked on him? He was set to go to a different school the next day to start a camp with kids around the community, a camp run by teenagers. What if the camp counselor, a teen, said something stupid like "those are girls shoes?" What if the kids picked on him? What if this was his "thing" now instead of being smart and capable, what if all they saw were his shoes?

"Let's look at other shoes too."

"But I want to try these on."

"Yes, and you can try them on but let's make sure we try on more than one pair so you can see which fit best and which you really like."

We walked the "boy" aisle. The prices went up and I felt my chest tighten. There had to be a simple pair of blue, light-up, velcro boy shoes for around the same price.

Then we saw the Superman and Spiderman shoes. They lit up. A solution. I figured he'd be sold in no time but I was torn. I am supposed to be progressive, damnit! And also, an occasional snob. Ever since my childcare provider said that she wouldn't buy Walmart trash shoes for her kids with characters on them I wanted nothing to do with character shoes. Which would win? Gender norms or snobbery? What race to the bottom was going on in my head? Yuck.

He tried the Spiderman shoes. I checked the price. We were in range. I began breathing a sigh of relief. Of course he'd pick the characters. They were trashy maybe, but not any worse that the ridiculous mohawk he'd convinced me to give him combined with the horribly torn apart homeless guy cast-off shoes he'd worn into the store. A little of my heart let down and I felt both relief and a bit of shame at my own reaction. I told myself I'd be okay with him getting the pink shoes. I just needed a few minutes to adjust. But the need was about to be averted.

"They're too big," he said and I felt, in his whine, the desire for the other shoes. I suspected my reluctance had made them even more attractive to him.

Teal sequins and a blue and silver sparkle tongue. What would people think? Would Rob think I should have just said "no"?

I helped him pull out the cardboard and paper packing in the shoe and try them on. A grin spread.

Huge. A huge grin.

"You have to put both shoes on to make sure they fit." I could feel myself shifting as I began rehearsing ways to justify the purchase. He really wanted them! and then laughter that you had to laugh along with. That's Gomez! It wasn't really any different than the blue hair dye. I could do this.

"They fit!"

I softened, his delight contagious. "Walk all the way down the aisle and back just to make sure."

He ran as fast as his little legs would carry him.

blurred pink, teal, and purple sparkly kids shoes
I pulled my phone out and texted him a hastily-snapped, blurry photo. No amount of blur could undo all that shine and flash. "Gomez wants these shoes. Thoughts?"

No response.

"They fit! Can I get 'em?"

"What are gonna do if kids tease you and say they're 'girl' shoes?"

I flashed to his male kindergarten teacher telling the kids pink wasn't a girl color and how he'd worn pink to prove it. Maestro Martinez wouldn't be at camp though.

"They're not! I'll tell them there's no such thing as girl colors."

"Ok, but what if lots of kids pick on you?"

"I don't care." he twisted confidently sideways as if to ward off the comments and protect the beautiful shoes from the fictional children picking on him. "I'll tell them to stop. And if they don't, I'll tell on them!"

I wished the camp counselor was going to be his Kindergarten teacher, knowing he'd already gone back to Spain.

"Ok."

As we approached the counter to pay, I felt excited for him, at the same time as a little of me hoped he'd change his mind. And then I regretted my hope. I'm supposed to not care about these things. There are no girl and boy colors. Something I'd repeated to my children many times.  Do you operate it with genetalia? Yes, Then it's not for children. No, then it's not for girls or boys; it's for both. Yet, here I was, fighting myself, not wanting him to wear the "girl" shoes, wanting him to not get picked on or seen as "a gay kid." Which is extra stupid since I really think I'd be unsurprised and perfectly pleased to find out someday that he's an actual gay kid.

"Gomez, if we buy these shoes, these are the shoes. If kids tease you and you come home and don't want them anymore, there's no going back. Once you wear them, these are the shoes."

"I know!"

I thought of a relative who had recently denied her three-year-old son the sparkly shoes he wanted to wear so that he wouldn't wear them at school. And those were gold, not even pink. Not to mention how far superior I think of her judgment as compared to my own.

"So, you want them? You're sure."

"YES," he handed the woman the box and grinned from ear to ear as I handed her my credit card. His excitement was so palpable no one could resist his smile.

I watched him run, RUN all the way to the car with the joy of his purchase.

That evening, I watched him speed off on his red bike wearing his red shorts and his red long sleeved fleece shirt, with his pink and purple and teal sparkle light-up shoes--his favorite outfit was complete. I thought of my own parents not allowing me to leave the house mixing red and purple or red and pink together.

I let him stay at the park by our house and walked the few houses down to ours. I saw our 18-year-old neighbor (male) wearing pink shorts and told him about Gomez's new shoes.

"I'm so glad to see you wearing those right now," I told him.

Four days later, he's still going strong on his love of the shoes. He gets up each morning and puts his clothes on so he can put his shoes on before he's even peed yet. He's still that excited about these shoes. And the unexpected part for me is, I feel this tremendous pride at his individuality. It swells in me every time I see the shoes. He's braver than me. I'd never have known I might face teasing and gone toward it.

Maybe, Gomez just is who he is and I'm awfully proud of the fact that he is willing to follow his own tastes no matter what anyone else thinks. And that's what I really think about when I look at his new shoes.

Friday, May 31, 2019

The pad of my thumb covering his pointer

Last night I could barely stand to leave Gomez's bed. A 6 year old boy was killed. Hit by a car. He'd been riding his bike that evening. Just like my six year old had been riding his bike that evening.

So I lay there, and held him close and smelled him and kissed him and ran the pad of my thumb over every crease of each digit of each finger that lay so small and limp asleep in my palm. I considered him as long as I could.

The sharp juts of unexpected six-year old elbow contrasting to the softness of the formerly infant flesh. That squishy delicious shoulder against the crook of my arm is a remnant of his baby body, it's the ghost of what I know in my bones of his lifetime. That it is deepdown good. The way his cheek has always had this plump kissability, buoyant as shamrock-green love against my lips.
That his giggle has lit up my heart in every movie night.
That his mischief has bounced me from sleep as many times as I've coaxed him back to it
and will many more. I considered every detail, every memory I could muster until...

I took a deep breath and I left. 

I know you have to let them go into the world. They have to struggle through their own strife and they have to fall and get up again and again. They fall. But they shouldn't die.

We, their mothers, we need them too much. And in the simplest of terms. We just need them to exist. Exist hungry and angry, struggling, bruised, snuggled in asleep and fresh from a bath, or greasy and smelling of the earthen sweat of children. We don't care. We need them to exist as simply as we breathe. We need them to exist in impossible circumstances. 

I'm sick for this family and especially his mother.

The kid who was driving the car? He was just 19. 19. The 19 year old's mother needs him to exist too. And how can he exist now? He has to be hollowed out, not at all the greasy living sweating being he was the day before all this.

All us mothers can do is imagine these boys, how impossibly broken they are. And how immeasurably grateful we are for our own, laying in whatever state they are tonight.

The many more creases of knuckles to come
and how the pad of my thumb has traced every one

Friday, May 3, 2019

The Fourth Tooth

Dear Tobias,

So far this is the shortest time between two teeth I have lost. It is also the fourth tooth that I have lost! Anyways, I want to know how you are doing. I know I am doing well! How evern I want to know my mom's tooth fairy, Waterlilly. Also I want to know if you know my dad's tooth fairy's name and if you knew him.

Bye,
Mars



Dearest Mars the Magic,

I am afraid I must be brief this night as there has been a problem with the fairies in my vicinity. We normally wake to each others’ instruments and the instruments are the song of our day which sets to motion the beating of our wings. However, about two weeks ago, I found myself the morning's soloist. No one else woke. Their instruments were all missing and each fairy lay motionless in bed that morning. My song has not been enough to wake my dozen closest neighbors. Worse still, I did not mind the frogs that morning and so they did not properly hatch. I am furiously working to find a way to make new instruments and rouse my fellow fairies, but the solutions will take time. I am glad you brought up your parents’ fairies. Perhaps I might visit them each for a remedy. Surely one of them will have ideas!

Mars, I am so glad to see you thriving and planting a garden. Until next time when I hope to share better news!


With love,
Tobias Hawthorne Gigglefoot VonRassmusson, III

Friday, March 29, 2019

Mars & His Tooth Fairy Part III

Mars lost a front tooth. This is what he wrote to his tooth fairy.

Dear Tobias,
I have been waiting to chat and I was wondering if your house was on earth. I am interested in your height because I think that it is so cool to lear about. I was also wondering what Gomez's* tooth fairy is named. Do you know how my friend Damien is doing?
*(my little brother)
Also, do tooth fairies have families or are they multiples of Queen Toothiana queen of the tooth fairy armies? As always, it is a joy to have you here at our house and talk to you. But all good things always come to an end. Until next time & bye!
-Mars
P.S. Who is Donald Trump's tooth fairy?

What his tooth fairy wrote back:

Dearest Mars,
Front teeth are momentous and so I’m thrilled to come and fetch yours this night! You asked how large I am and that answer is not a simple one as it depends on which dimension I inhabit. I live on earth, yes, but it is as though time and space wrinkles apart for an instant to alert me when you have lost a tooth so that I may slip between worlds to come to yours and retrieve it. When I slide through, my body becomes the precise size necessary to carry the tooth and letter away, no bigger. But I think I am smaller here in my world and that if you could see me, I’d be about the size of your pinky nail. There’s no way to confirm this, of course.
And what of me? Well, I have busied myself of late with guiding the dartfrogs’ eruption from their eggs. I hasten the process and protect them from would-be predators until their poison is ready to do the defending and their feet are ready for hopping. When they lay glossy and helpless, I watch over them.
You asked of family. Fairies are formed inside geodes. Each time a child pretends especially hard, with a meandering purpose and a strong vision, a crystal forms inside a rock. The force of pretending bursts through time and space and splits a section of rock, forming a small crystal. The more pretending, the more fairies. When we are born from geodes very close to one another or at near the same time, we feel closer perhaps to one another. Perhaps we’re more like you and your friend Damien, so closely connected, so joyfully bonded that we are forever specially related. All fairies feel this way though. We adore playing and being together.
I cannot tell you much of other fairies as there is a final special bond between a fairy and his or her human that forms for the first time at the instant when a child loses his or her first tooth. I couldn’t possibly tell you of Gavin’s fairy as he hasn’t lost his first tooth yet. These things are unique and one never can tell just what will happen until it does.
Magnus, you are growing into a fine boy, strong, tall, and determined. Until next time, I can’t wait to see what you’re up to by then!
With love,
Tobias Hawthorne Gigglefoot VonRassmusson, III