I’ve been reflecting on my conversations in the last two days. They included trying to persuade staffers in two Senators’ offices to help host an event for the PAC on whose board I serve. I also talked with my therapist about how, when I was in elementary school, the new girl in school apologetically beat me up to prove that she was okay.
These things are not unrelated. I’m still trying to find my place on the playground. Mostly, I don’t feel like I belong there. But, I keep trying.
Today, I am wondering whether I will ever break out of the insecurities and the immaturity that hold me back. Will I ever feel right enough?
If I were going to write on an ongoing basis here again, what would I say?
Back to work.
I’m told I went to high school with Mo’nique. (She had two names back then.) Can’t say I actually recognize her from her photo in our yearbook.
I only know this because another high school friend revealed that Mo’nique used to bring her to tears on a regular basis in drama class, teasing her mercilessly for being… Fat.
Butternut, up since 5 am, fell asleep on the bathroom floor while I was showering. I don’t have anywhere to be, and, except for my numbing butt, I feel little urgency to leave.
It’s kind of nice, actually. Quiet and warm, with Internet access (at least while this battery remains charged) and some pretty good reading material.
What do they say? People plan, G-d laughs. (it sounds better in Yiddish: Mensch lacht, G- tt lacht.)
So, we cut my son’s hair for the first time about two weeks ago.
He went from this:
My beautiful, wild baby is now an ordinary little boy. Beautiful, but tamer. I expect quieter, more settled, more mature behavior. I’m shocked that he’s still three.
Nothing, of course, has really changed, except that he no longer has all the hair he’s ever had. But the haircut also marks a transition into his childhood of formal schooling, with its reading, ‘riting and ‘rithmatic, as well as expectations that his moral training begin.
I fear that he will be cut less slack for being incapable of understanding, empathizing. But he is still three, despite the haircut. The internal changes will not come as quickly and dramatically as the external ones.
Can’t seem to sleep. Been meaning to write about my son’s Upshirin, about cutting his hair for the first time, about taming his wildness, finding my expectations of him changing based on his new look.
Not going to do that. At least not right now.