Beauty Dish

Friday, May 28, 2004
 

still haven't found those shoes...

I bought new sneakers for both little boys tonight, identical pairs of black and red racers with flashing lights that roll across the sole when you beat your feet on the pavement. 9 wanted to keep wearing his older brother's Nikes. Apparently the girl with the auburn curls and perpetually scabbed knees across the classroom told him they were "cute." I've seen this girl operate. She stares at her subject like a spider eyeing a fat fly, calculating words to say, slowly walking forward with small hands behind her back. I've never learned to do this, to snag men with words like cute.

My Campaign 11 order is in the hands of the good people at Avon. I have two weeks to get the rest of those infernal 400 brochures out to the public and collect orders before Campaign 12 comes due.


8:38:17 PM    doorbell  []  


Two steps outside my place in the world

My son, 9, made everyone late for school this morning. He couldn't find his shoes. I organized a search party, sending 16 to scour the laundry and the dog house, 9 to check under every piece of furniture and inside the tree house, 7 to peek in the folds of the hammock, and I rolled through the garden, the garage, and the cat litter box. Nothing.

9's the anal-retentive member of the family. He worries about homework and ghosts and lunch and his little brother and the weather and the guinea pigs and the cat and, and, and everything in his known universe. He never misplaces anything. His section of the boys' bedroom sparkles, dust free, and all of his toys, treasures and books lay neatly in categorized rows, a suburban museum. All I can figure is that wild boy 7 gave the shoes to the gypsies.

I pulled out his smelly old sneakers from the shoe box in the garden shed. They shined, slimy with mildew, and I wiped them with an old denim rag. The sole flopped away from the heel and I hovered for a moment, trying to remember the location of the rubber cement.

9 tried to pull them on, but they no longer fit. He'd grown a good three inches taller in the past six months, and it looked like his feet grew four. I gave him an old pair of 16's running shoes and told him to stuff the toes with socks. His forehead wrinkled with concentration.

"Mom. I can't wear these. What if I fall down?" The 'th' in these sounded like a "d" due to the orthodontic expander in the roof of his mouth. His eyes, brown like the hard clay of our backyard, angled toward the ceiling.

"I could skip school today. I could help you. Can I help you do Avon instead?"

"No. We'll get new shoes after school. Let's go." I barked this in my Don't Mess With The Mother voice and the three boys ran for the van.

I'm organizing my Campaign 11 order, checking off boxes, adding Skin So Soft orders and contemplating which samples to purchase, but my mind keeps tripping to my sweet worried boy, clomping around school in those big shoes.


12:15:50 PM    doorbell  []  


don't know where I'm going, don't know where I've been

I met with an adoption issues therapist last week. I have another appointment today. I signed and notarized the release of information forms last week and sent them to Catholic Charities and now I wait. I don't know what I'm waiting for - a call? a letter? an email? I expected something to happen by now. I'm afraid to be too pushy and call the caseworker and ask about it, ask what's normal. Sorry, this is coming out in a jumble, but it's in my brain as a jumble, it's a scab I thought was healed but the call two weeks ago picked it off and now it seeps and oozes into every corner of my life.


5:22:26 AM    doorbell  []  



lips lips lips
 
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Last update: 11/26/07; 5:28:15 AM.


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