Tubside Chat
I couldn’t do it today. I had set my alarm for 4:30 AM, my usual strategy for writing without interruption. But all my body knew was that I had been up at midnight, watching Tommy Lee Jones on a talk show. After pressing snooze for an hour, I finally tried to sneak away to my computer. But I heard Gavin’s familiar refrain: Where are you going?
Where are you going implies so much more than the obvious. It translates to Don’t leave me; I’m afraid; I need you. Sometimes Gavin reminds me of a mother-baby Koala toy I had in grade school. The baby attached itself to the mother’s back by means of a vice-like grip. Cute and cuddly, but tenacious.
So now I am on the floor of the bathroom, leaning back on the vanity. Gavin and I have dropped 4 colored tablets into the tub water, and now he is a graffiti artist with his new bathtub crayons. I am jotting my lines between frequent offers of “cold tea” from the faucet, and requests for art critiques.
The bond of parent and child is a funny thing. This morning I wanted nothing more than for Gavin to roll back over to sleep, with a parting See you later. On the other hand, I wrote a whole martyr-like essay on my struggle when Gavin stopped accepting my hugs unconditionally.
It boils down to this. I know that someday soon Gavin won’t need me, at least not in this koala baby sort of way. And I know that, as much as I grumble, I will miss that connection when it’s gone.
I have called this blog Digging with a Spoon because of countless scenarios like today’s tubside composition. I usually picture myself with a teaspoon, but today I relate more to my newest set of measuring spoons, labeled tad, smidgen, dash, and pinch.
So, digging with a smidgen spoon, today’s blog is short and unambitious. This morning I will sort party favors and pick up the cake for Gavin’s first real party, "real" in that kids from daycare are invited. I will try again for 4:30 tomorrow morning.
Where are you going implies so much more than the obvious. It translates to Don’t leave me; I’m afraid; I need you. Sometimes Gavin reminds me of a mother-baby Koala toy I had in grade school. The baby attached itself to the mother’s back by means of a vice-like grip. Cute and cuddly, but tenacious.
So now I am on the floor of the bathroom, leaning back on the vanity. Gavin and I have dropped 4 colored tablets into the tub water, and now he is a graffiti artist with his new bathtub crayons. I am jotting my lines between frequent offers of “cold tea” from the faucet, and requests for art critiques.
The bond of parent and child is a funny thing. This morning I wanted nothing more than for Gavin to roll back over to sleep, with a parting See you later. On the other hand, I wrote a whole martyr-like essay on my struggle when Gavin stopped accepting my hugs unconditionally.
It boils down to this. I know that someday soon Gavin won’t need me, at least not in this koala baby sort of way. And I know that, as much as I grumble, I will miss that connection when it’s gone.
I have called this blog Digging with a Spoon because of countless scenarios like today’s tubside composition. I usually picture myself with a teaspoon, but today I relate more to my newest set of measuring spoons, labeled tad, smidgen, dash, and pinch.
So, digging with a smidgen spoon, today’s blog is short and unambitious. This morning I will sort party favors and pick up the cake for Gavin’s first real party, "real" in that kids from daycare are invited. I will try again for 4:30 tomorrow morning.
posted by Katherine H | 4:20 AM
2 Comments:
DEAR TUBSIDE MONMA,
I ENJOYED THIS BLOG AS I HAVE ENJOYED EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THEM.
I COULD PICTURE YOU SITTING TUBSIDE AS GAVIN BATHED IN A PICTURESQUE WAY WITH ALL HIS ARTISTIC BATH UTENSILS. I REMEMBER ONLY YOUR LITTLE DUCKY IN YOUR BATH! ALL THINGS WERE SIMPLER THEN, I THINK!
YOUR BLOG WAS WELL WRITTEN, AS USUAL, AND I DETCTED AN UNUSUAL NOTE OF MELANCHOLY WITHIN IT.
BEING A MOTHER, AIN'T EASY!
LOVE, M.
Mine's almost five. I deeply empathize with the "some day he won't be needing me so much but right now it feels like he needs me a little too much" dilemma. He's beginning to grow out of it, but large transitions in his life currently create unsteadying waves in this process. Keep collecting the joy, it's immensely useful in those times of need.
--aas
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