Ewte Talk

I haven’t been able to post lately due to a nasty virus that landed my oldest son in the hospital for a two day spa treatment, complete with round the clock bloodletting, which induced a completely new emotion in the seven year old boy: despair. A second completely new emotion was also added to his repertoire when he arrived home. Like Despair it started as a seed and bloomed, growing, growing to a sizable affect. Though quite unlike Despair which had the poor chap defeated in his hospital bed in his hospital gown in tears unable to express much of anything, this second one, Gratitude, had him bouncing around unable to keep his mouth shut. To this mother, it was music of the spheres.

“This is the best day of my life so far.”

“Isn’t this the most special thing you’ve ever seen Mom?”

“I am just so happy today.”

“This is the best day of 2006.”

“What a beautiful day it is. The weather is so beautiful. Isn’t it so beautiful today? We should all go outside on such a beautiful day.”

And then, I was within earshot of:

“Here Max, do you want a piece of my hospital candy?”

??????!!!!!

After examining myself closely for earwax buildup upon hearing that last utterance, and finding none, I can confirm a positive utterance, March 2006, in my house by my oldest son, Quinn, executed on his own volition in the direction of his younger brother, Max. Motive ascertained: none other than Gratitude.

Witnessing this miracle, this near-spectacle, caused my knees to buckle, sending me rump side down on the nearest couch to stare upwards towards the heavens (also towards the electrical wiring my husband still hadn’t covered since we moved in five years ago.) Was I in prayer? Was this a stunning revelation about the innate goodness in man? Could I hear angels? My departed grandmother?

All of it.

And I was lulled. I thought perhaps for such a magnificent day, after our two previous hopeless weeks, the three of us, Quinn, Max, and I, might start literally lifting off the floor a bit and hovering, floating through the house. Kind of like witches and angels and birds all at the same time.

Could our moods lighten us that much? I stepped to the edge of our steps leading into the living room. Looking down at my feet I placed my arms slowly straight out at my sides into the air assuming an ornithic stance, and just then, with a palpable enchantment welling inside me, as I thought I might have perceived the slightest sensation of lift in my lower sections, it was over. All of it. Everything. The Gratitude. Beautiful Day. Hospital candy dole-outs. In the next room our historic truce had come to an end.
My arms dropped. I sighed. I went to go see the boys’ card game strewn across the floor, my fledgling housemates arguing, the sunny day streaming in across their confused faces. Quinn was still so pale. He could have used a good nap.

There went my one shot at house-floating out the window, so I made the guys a snack and put it on the kitchen table. They pecked at it here and there, flitting in and out of my periphery, while all of the miniature witches and angels and birds who fly invisible around my house blessed us the rest of the day with a quiet contentment.

Emily likes Max because he loves cats. Max very much loves Allison, whom he will marry because of her smile. Allison, however, has options here, and is deciding on Husband #1, Max, or Husband #2, David. I have no idea her reasons for either. Now Luke, the one with the fancy stuff in his hair that makes him look like a Gap Kids model even when he’s running at the speed of sound, will get a Jeep someday, the same car as Emily’s mom. Yadu is new and as such isn’t quite discernable, but appears to be of similar ilk to the rest of the boys because Max saw him one day simply walk up to the little legos and sit down and play. This is the hang-out spot for the boys, and this act of Yadu’s bodes well for him. Last, and most important, Marlee’s pet rat has no name yet.

We’ve been the Sick House this week, days melding to the point of bedtime transducing into a deja vu experience: haven’t I been here before?

Will it ever end? No doubt. However, these things require a certain amount of patience. All things in time. At the outset of your child’s illness, you are keen to the sick signs: fever, poor coloring, loss of appetite, sniffles, low energy, the like. But by the time the devil has run its course, you are looking for the well signs, which are simply the reverse of the sick signs. It’s easy. We’ve all done it. I am doing it now. Looking for the well signs. Observing. Keeping an eye out.

Until this morning, when I heard it. It was an auditory sign, a loud crack, more specifically a smack, followed by a piercing cry from my youngest son. It was then, as I stood glazing my bathroom walls a serene blue, that I knew Son #1 was on the mend. I could reach my arm outside my front door and rip off the quarantine sign.
My youngest son appeared around the corner in tears. The evidence was irrefutable.

“Mom,” he wimpered, “Quinn was in a bathroom mood so I was using bathroom words, but then he wanted me to stop using them so he hit me.” His face was flushed, tears stuck to his cheeks, eyebrows gathered in a tale of sorrow. He was still in pajamas. Wasn’t it nearly lunchtime?

I put down my brush, stroked Max’s hair and held him close. I looked at my half-glazed bathroom as I cleaned up my paints, not knowing when I’d have the time to return to it next. After I spoke to Quinn I went downstairs to put up a new sign on the front door, in case there was some confusion:

Viruses Welcome Here.