I’ve never been sad about Fiona’s hearing loss until now. I see how she thrives with her hearing aids. How conscious she is about them and the difference between the two worlds she lives in, hearing and non-hearing. We take an afternoon walk down by Target, along the bay with Billy. It’s windy, so I don’t put on Fiona’s hearing aids. We finish our walk and head to Target. I have to pee so we go into the bathroom, it’s nice and big, the double stroller fits. It even has a diaper changing station. I take out Fiona’s hearing aids from my backpack. She looks at the little silver box and her blue striped hat. She lets me put on her hearing aids, and doesn’t try to pull them off. I say, “OOO, Ahhh, MMMM, Shhhh, SSSSS, Hi Fiona! Can you hear me?” She smiles and says, “Ahhh.” And a few other cute noises. I go pee, “I’m flushing the toilet now.” I tell them. They have it all here, food, baby stuff, cute workout clothes, it’s dangerous! I give Fiona a box of crayons to hold, I hand them each sippy cups with bunny ears. I feed them their dinner, a Happy Baby food pouch, “The Gobbler” and let them taste chocolate milk for the first time. At the cashier I put everything on the belt except the crayons, Fiona does not want to let them go. “Just for a minute baby.” I tell her. The cashier scans them super-fast and I hand them back to Fiona. She smiles, “Are you happy Baby?” I ask. She laughs. When I get back to my car there is a caravan parked next to me. An old pickup truck with a Texas license plate with old motorcycles and bikes in the back. Attached to the Truck is an old ratty tatty trailer filled with crap. There is a tall man with a long sweatshirt and beard, smoking a cig and talking loud enough so I can hear him. His voice is raspy, “I think that toys broken.” He says to his sons, who both have super blond hair and look between four and six years old. They roll around a yellow plastic truck. I want to take a picture of them but I know that’s rude and invasive. I know they’re tweakers. I imagine what kind of life events have brought them to this place. I wonder if the kids will grow up and be tweakers too. I’m also scared, I know it sounds crazy, but I know the tweaker mentality. There are so many scams they could try and pull. I even wonder if those boys are really theirs. I only saw the back of the moms head in the cab, I imagine she’s doing a line while he’s watching the kids play in the parking lot. I go between wanting to just be a peaceful human and think the best in everybody to wanting to get trained to shoot and buying a hand gun for protection. I want to take some road trips with the babies, but I think I want to have protection. I’m at least signing up for a self-defense class. We get home and I keep Fiona’s hearing aids on through the rest of the night, even bath time. When I go to take them off, I make sure to get eye contact. “I’m taking off your hearing aids now, I love you very much. You’re such a good baby.” I say and give her a big hug. lying deep, in warm rose petal bathwater I’m thinking about my Grand Aunt Betty who recently died. I found out tonight through Facebook. I haven’t seen her for many years. I recently got her phone number and was going to call her. I start to think about my grandma Jean, Betty’s sister, and my Great Grandma Ruth, their mom. They were so close. It felt like Betty came over to visit every day. The thing I remember most about Betty was her voice and the way she talked with her strong New England accent, her eyes and facial expressions. She also seemed the least damaged to me, the happiest and the most sophisticated. Sitting at the kitchen table my forearms stuck to the vinyl table cloth, it made me sweat. “Jen, have some tea and soup, sit down with us.” My grandma says. There was always a pot of tea, a pot of soup, a bowl of salad, and a loaf of bread at lunch time. The pot of soup was added to indefinitely, it sat on the stove and could be heated up anytime someone passed through. I can’t remember what kind of soup it was. The salad bowl was the same. After every lunch or dinner my grandma would add more vegetables to the bowl and cover it with Saran Wrap, then put it back in the fridge. I loved being with them and was bored at the same time, I had to learn patience, I was young. They would tell stories, talk about eye appointments and cataracts, and just spend time together. It was the only time I was with women from multiple generations in my family. My great Grandma was blind, she would pat the table, sometimes humming a tune. I would reach over and touch her hand, her skin was so soft and thin. I wish someone was still alive. If only I could have one more conversation with any of my deceased female ancestors. Now that I’m a mom. If only I could examine their traditions one more time, hear the stories, smell my grandmas kitchen. I need an elder and everyone’s gone now.
Tag: babies
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I find myself lying on the carpet, listening to the clicking of buttons tossing in the dryer. I hear the hum of the dishwasher, chirping of the blue jays outside and an occasional roar of an airplane. The baby monitor is quiet, Jack and Fiona are taking their afternoon nap. I want to lavish here on the floor, but I also want to paint today. Ramona arrived feeling very bad, I sent her home with a bottle of Nyquil and told her “Go rest! Straight to bed.” Ramona never takes a sick day. She is one of the strongest people I know. When I give a recommendation for her I say, “Ramona is like a ray of sunshine, she is a baby whisperer, when she arrives you’ll be able to fully relax, sleep, or do whatever you need to do, you’ll know your babies are in good hands.” With no babysitter on a babysitter day I have to figure out how to fit it all in. I had a productive morning, kitchen is clean. I already took Billy and the babies for a hike. “Mam excuse me do you have a dog with you?” asks a very clean cut, shaven, park ranger as I push the B.O.B. towards him. “I thought she could be off leash?” I say. “Get your dog and I’ll take your information and explain.” He says. My legs go weak, I feel like I’m in big trouble. “I thought dogs were allowed off the leash after that sign?” I say as I put on Billy’s leash. “Yes, the sign is in a bad location. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, I did not see you take your dog off the leash.” He says. I only took her off the leash a few feet early. I always keep her on the leash on that trail, not because I want to obey laws, but because it runs behind houses and Billy has a taste for cats. Today I took her off early because I’m pushing the B.O.B. over a rocky uneven trail, and Billy is stopping and sniffing everything pulling me backwards. During the hike I decided to let the babies have a taste of the trail. I’m teaching them to hike, the unfamiliar ground, dirt, mud, rocks, ups and downs. Jack runs along in his little baby shoes. Fiona stays close to the stroller. She’s not quite as confident as Jack on the trail. There’s poison oak to watch out for, hills to accidently roll down. If I lose track of Jack here the coyotes will take him. I have so much to teach them. I decide to go to my studio and try to paint for however long that monitor stays quiet. No pressure just to be creative for creativities sake. I examine the work from the previous day. I see something interesting, the orange paper with the trees on it looks like gauze when it’s back side up. I want to play with that. I prepare some paper. I rip up the orange paper by hand and adhere it with soft gel gloss. I hear Fiona cry a little. I get scared, I’m inspired, I want to work. She’s quiet again. I keep working, I draw with a pen, “Doodle.” I read that doodling is great for relaxation and helping with anxiety and depression. I’m having fun, the baby monitor is quiet. I add yellow and white paint. Just for fun. I get three pieces I like. It’s time to go back upstairs and get ready for the babies to wake up. I make fish sticks and mac and cheese. I’m happy to see Jack and Fiona. We play, eat, and get ready for bed. They go to sleep easily tonight. We had a good day. I go upstairs, Alan has brought me fresh spring rolls from Royal Thai. I just have to feed Billy and I can relax. It’s Walking Dead night. Yea!
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Our night lasted until 8:30, at which time we asked Gordon, the bartender at the Silver Peso to call us a cab. “Forty somethings like you, no offense, want a flat yard.” Says the real estate agent sitting next to us at the bar. Why would I take offense at being called forty something? I’m thinking. I am forty something. Should I be offended at myself? Before we started talking to our neighbors Alan and I were having a great time people watching. We get to the bar after leaving the restaurant and taking a stroll around the town. I feel like I’ve never been to a bar before. I order a vodka with grapefruit. I only had one delicious cocktail at Picco because I can’t drink a lot and I really wanted to get a drink after. I take a sip, it’s a one drink kind of bar. It tastes like pure vodka. There is a drunk woman next to us yelling at a guy, “You don’t even know how to order a beer in French and you studied French, I studied Spanish and I know how to order a Cerveza.” He’s gets very quiet. She gets upset, stands up and walks to the other side of the bar to talk to some other guy. Alan said she is the bar slut. I said “How do you know?” He said “Will ya look at the head on her.” It was entertaining for a minute. Then the scene seemed depressing. I twiddle my fingers until our cab comes. The babies were sound asleep when we got in. It was the latest we’ve been out since they were born. I wanted to see them so bad! I go in the nursery this morning, both babies are awake. I take them up and give them a big hug. I take off their pajamas and dirty diapers. Jack starts running around banging cabinets and drawers and peeing on the floor multiple times. I clean up the pee and dress both babies in outfits for the day, our Sunday trip to the beach. “Berries, Berries, they love to eat their Berries.” I sing over and over again. Sunday morning. Coffee, bottles, banana. Alan’s making eggs, bacon, sausage, and mushrooms. I take care of Jack and Fiona and type a few words, between questions, “What time did they get you up this morning?” Alan asks. Or between reading The Little Blue Truck. I Put the babies down to play, sweep up the cheerios, strawberries. Butter our toast. “Do you want to start serving out the plates?” Alan asks, “But your bagels not ready yet.” I say. “MMMMM” thanks honey, “Good breakfast.” I hear gentle little pre-words Jack and Fiona make in the play room while I eat my breakfast, drink coffee and write. Alan sits at the Island drinking his tea, eating his breakfast and looking at news on his iPhone. Perfection.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 