Here's something old and dusty. Merry Christmas!

I found this in my blog-writings folder today. Apparently I wrote it! Who knew! Anyway, happy Christmas, and merry seasonings, and I am going away now.

***

Dear prospective parent,

Thank you for considering parenting me. As my current situation is somewhat wanting, I am, as you know, looking for a new arrangement. Below is a list of my demands.

I. FOOD

1. For breakfast, there will be only MILK from my SIPPY CUP while watching TELEVISION (see section II).

2. From “breakfast” until what you probably call “lunch,” I will be provided with an unending supply of cookies. No arguments.

3. For LUNCH, I will eat YOGURT. Anything with FRUIT ON THE BOTTOM will make me pick out the fruit and throw it on the ground, or else throw it up on your carpet.

a. So no FRUIT ON THE BOTTOM.

4. From LUNCH until DINNER, I enjoy having something to lick. Why not a LOLLIPOP? Why not seven?

a. Between licks, I may place the LOLLIPOP upon your grandmother’s Turkish rug. This will be OKAY by you.

5. For DINNER, I have MACARONI AND CHEESE. Any attempts to offer me vegetables in addition to the macaroni and cheese will result in TEARS.

a. And don’t you dare hide anything in the cheese sauce, because my god, how you will RUE THE DAY.

6. After dinner, you may provide me with ICE CREAM.

a. No frozen yogurt—I know the DIFFERENCE.

II. TELEVISION

1. Will be ALL THE TIME, unless I say differently. While watching TELEVISION, you are to sit by my side, quietly, hands folded in lap, whilst I enjoy my shows.

a. You may arise to fetch me a SNACK or a DRINK.

2. No DIAPER CHANGING or PLEAS TO ENGAGE IN PHYSICAL ACTIVITY will be tolerated during the watching of the TELEVISION.

3. Turning off of the television will result in much SCREAMING.

III. TOYS

1. There will be many.

a. They will always be strewn about the house so that I may simply reach down and pick up a toy, no matter where I am.

b. They will be loud, complicated, and contain many small bits. I enjoy the SHOOTING NOISES that go w-shooooop or zim zim zim.

c. Nothing that results in LEARNING, please.

IV. FRIENDS

1. Should be available should I be in the mood to use someone else’s TOYS or ingest someone else’s COOKIES.

a. They may not ever so much as look at my toys or cookie supply.

b. Ever ever ever.

V. SLEEP

1. Is when I say, where I say, and how I say. If I want to sleep UPSIDE DOWN with my legs locked around your neck, then that’s how it will be.

a. And you will enjoy it.

VI. AFFECTION

1. Occasionally I enjoy being hugged and kissed. I stress OCCASIONALLY.

2. I will not be pelted with wet-mouthed assaults on an hourly basis. Should you feel the need to HUG or KISS, you must provide me with a written request, and then wait for me to offer you my pudgy cheeks.

3. Should I feel the need to be HUGGED and KISSED or SERENADED by my original “parents,” I reserve the right to call them and have them come over, just for the HUGGING and the KISSING and maybe a SONG.

a. After that, it’s vamoose, bozos—you had your chance.

One more about the drugs.

I have been completely Effexor-free for, oh, a little over a week now. My emotions are back to normal; I believe that my term as Crazy Crying Lady has ended. This would be good news were it not for the fact that I happen to be dying. I think there was a little heroin mixed in with the Effexor and no one told me. I’ve been enjoying a fascinating variety of physical sensations. Hot! Cold! Hot and cold at the same time! Queasy! Starving! Racked with stomach pain! Nauseated and starving and trembling like a damp Chihuahua! Today has been spent curled up in various locations around the apartment. Next to Henry’s train set. Abutting the Galaxy of Star Wars Guys. And, of course, on the couch.

I’m so tired that I fell asleep in mid-sentence while conversing with Henry, who did not appreciate this. He has told me, in no uncertain terms, that he is not pleased with my performance lately. The mother of yore, who would take him to the playground and/or build Jedi starfighters out of play dough, has been replaced by weird shaky mom who lifts her head from the pillow to ask him if he wouldn’t mind watching a little more TV. The answer to that question, incidentally, is “Normally I would relish the opportunity to watch television until my brain falls out through my slack mouth, but today I would rather force you to rise from your prone position and make you twirl around with me, so start twirling, queasy lady.”

On the other hand, Henry basically potty-trained himself last week. I brought up the topic, and he put his hand on my arm and all but said, “Why don’t you let me take care of that.” I wasn’t sure if I needed to provide a reward system, some stickers or M&Ms or maybe some Effexor capsules, but as it turned out, for Henry the reward was in the doing. All I had to do was rush to the toilet whenever he had done his thing and provide the appropriate accolades. Then Henry flushed and I returned to my lovely couch.

I’d like to feel better soon, but on the other hand if I keep this up he’s going to teach himself how to dress himself. And cook. And read. And start a blog called “My Deadbeat Mother.”

If you’re trying to make me cry, son, you’ve picked a good week for it.

I.

Henry: Do you want to see my happy dance?

Me: Lay it on me, boy!

He holds up one arm like he’s Dracula hiding behind his cape, and then waves the other hand in the air, like he’s Dracula trying to get someone’s attention. At the same time, he sticks his tongue out and rolls his eyes comically, gets up on his toes, and twirls around and around and around. It is, for lack of a better word, spazzy. I clap and clap. Finally he slows down and then stops, panting.

Me: Don’t stop now!

Henry (shrugging): That’s all I have. I have no more dance left.

II.

Henry (eyes filled with tears): My Stormtrooper is lost.

Me (rummaging through one of 10,000 piles): I know it's here somewhere.

Henry (lower lip quivering): No. It’s gone. And there will be no Christmas.

Me: No Christmas? Don’t say it!

Henry (voice cracking): And Santa won’t come. And there will be no presents.

Me (also beginning to choke up): But why?

Henry (casually): Because it’s not time yet.

Let's get physical.

I’m beginning to think Henry’s preschool teacher doesn’t like him.

I know what you’re thinking. “Someone not like Henry? Impossible! I will hurry to her classroom and beat some sense into her!” And so I am glad I never told you which school he goes to, because I’m beginning to think you’re a little nuts. That said, I am also puzzled as to how someone could not like Henry. Yes, he can be… challenging. He knows what he wants, and he’s not easily swayed. Sometimes his motives are baffling; there’s a lot more going on in his head than he lets on. Also, he can be shy in group situations. I can imagine that when you’re faced with eleven children clamoring for your attention, the enigma in the corner might not be your favorite.

But my God, woman! Have you seen his cheeks? Have you ever looked into those blue eyes of his? Have you no soul?

He got through his transition into the World of Preschool with flying colors. But then, about a week later, whenever I arrived to pick him up, the teacher would greet me with this preschool-teacher frowny face that made me want to kick her. When I asked her what was wrong, I invariably got such comments as:

“Henry was a little sad today.”

“Henry was low-energy.”

“Henry didn’t want his snack.”

“Henry was low-energy, and sad.”

“Henry was a little…quiet today.” Frowny face. “I think he was tired. And he wouldn’t eat.”

You have to imagine all of this conveyed in this high, babyish, mock-sad voice. I’m not sure why she does that. Because oh, the urge to kick.

Anyway. So, okay. My child is apparently sad! And tired! That’s not her fault, is it? That doesn’t mean she hates him? Although when he gets home, he’s whirling about the apartment like they gave him crack! Except, whoops, that couldn’t have happened, because according to his teacher he’s a certified snack-hater.

I didn’t think too much of this the two teacher’s assistants came up to me after class, and told me what a delight he is. “He sings the Star Wars theme all day! He’s so cuddly and affectionate and funny!” “Yes, yes,” I panted, “Give me more.” They handed me a list of various things he had said throughout the day. Apparently he spent the day shouting, “Surrender, Earthlings!” They found this hilarious. Because they’re human.

Then the teacher walked by, and I said, “He had a good day, huh?”

Frowny face. “Well…” she sighed. “It was hot in the room. Everyone was a little low-energy. It wasn’t just him.”

After that I just avoided her at the end of the day. But I couldn’t help but notice, when I dropped him off, that her behavior toward him was a little… chilly. I wouldn’t say she was cold, but there was a definite nip in the air. One morning, he was unhappy, and I didn’t want to leave until I got him settled in. The teacher headed for him. I waited for her to join him, and instead she gave him a tight smile, and then turned and sat down with two other children, who were already playing with one of the assistants.

And at the last pick-up, she approached me. “Henry was very physical today. We had a physical day,” she said. Oh, I thought, she’s telling me there was a lot of running and jumping and playing? So I should put him down for a long nap?

“Yes,” she said, “there was a lot of pushing and shoving and bossing around the other kids.” “HENRY? WE’RE TALKING ABOUT HOW YOU HAD A PHYSICAL DAY, DIDN’T YOU? REMEMBER, WITH THE PUSHING AND THE SHOVING? AND WE DON’T DO THAT AT SCHOOL.”

On the way out, I said to him, “So you were pushing other kids?”

“I had to,” he said. “She told me not to yell.”

His logic is impeccable. What choice did the boy have?

Of course, on the one hand, I’m glad to know he was “physical,” and I don’t fault her for sharing a concern, blah blah blah, but on the other hand, would it kill her to once share something positive with me? One thing? Would the turning of the frown into the upside-down position cause her pain?