I haven’t given anything up for Lent. Since I’m technically not Catholic I don’t suppose I’m breaking any rules. Sister Pietrina would be very disappointed, however.
I just finished journaling after a journaling drought so now I’m feeling a little talkative. All of my work has been submitted to every print magazine listed on Poets and Writers. My next venture is Duotrope but I’m going to have to write some more stories in the event my current stories gets accepted somewhere. I’ve been resisting starting anything new because I can’t decide what I want to “say.” I don’t want anything to appear anywhere unless I’m “saying” something. My last published piece was not the revised version I wanted published so I’m not even gonna share where it is. My next work is going to appear in the Turk’s Head Review.
My PT test is this weekend but to avoid building up anxiety, I’m going to talk about my son’s birthday party. We decorated a somewhat forest fairyland with flowers and vines. The cake was red velvet with black fondant. We had every single iPhone video we took of him since the day he was born playing over Otis Redding Radio (it was kind of intimate). My eighty-something year old grandmother surprised me and provided her cynical commentary the entire party. Ellis refused to walk until the minute everyone left his presence. He still won’t walk but there’s a bit of relief knowing he can.
On Monday, I stood him up on our way to the car and he cried instantly. Three complete strangers commented, “Oh, he’s spoiled.” I figured they were using “spoiled” in the “cute” context. Well, yesterday at the WIC office, a woman waiting on her checks commented, “Spoiled..” over her shoulder when I sat him down and let him whine about not holding him (I can’t do it with his dense baby body all the time and I’m becoming one of those mothers who’s deaf to his irritating shrill). She looked at me and asked me if he was spoiled. I wasn’t sure if “spoiled” meant “babied” or “mollycoddled” anymore.. and I wasn’t sure how to answer her question. I guess he’s spoiled. He’s our only at the moment and he just left infancy six days ago despite his two-year old stature. He’s accustomed to being taken care of by both parents because we make ourselves available to tend to him. We’ll also do absolutely anything to not have to listen to his huge mouth belt out that ear-bleeding cry. My husband and I have low tolerance on being irritated.
I opted out of complaining about how spoiled my son was with a complete stranger and wondered about the effrontery these strangers have calling my son spoiled in the first place. I mean, I know they think it’s just a thing to say. “Oh, he’s spoiled! What you need to do is–” but it’s kinda rude to provide any blanket insight on anyone else’s behavior/choices/way of operating life. In my opinion, we’re all spoiled by what we’re accustomed to. My mother grew up in a third-world country where she had to eat her own pets. But I grew up in America so I need like hugs and stuff.
Back to PT and a little bit about hair: I’m down to 117 these days but my arms and abs are giving me the Air Force minimum on pushups and situps. I’m going to have to lose some more weight and reduce my waist to make up. My run is alright if the weather turns out to be decent and I don’t have to suck cold air into my swolen tonsils. My son has royally fucked me with whatever he has. Meanwhile, AJ is floating on by scot free. #foreverjealous
I got a blowout from a hair salon in town that doesn’t allow kids. I didn’t want to go there but I did anyway and they did do a good job. I haven’t done a coconut milk wash or a deep condition in a while. I will for the next two weeks to get its strength back. I really need to put my wigs to use so I don’t have to spend $140 on box braids. I’m just apprehensive about having to smile at baffled compliments about my wigs’ luxuriousness. My stressed cavalier doesn’t fit with its glamour. I might even have to put makeup on every morning. That wouldn’t be good.