Wednesday, January 05, 2005

My name is Momy.

The house looks bare without all the Christmas decorations. And dark, without all the twinkling lights. And dusty, now that all the garland is gone from the tops of the piano and tables. The doorways look lonesome without the holly and lights.

I think I got all the indoor decorations, but every year I find things the next day or even week, that I overlooked. This year will be no different; tomorrow I'll find more and heaven only knows where I'll put them. I'm not a good packer and every year the same things seem to take up more space.

Oh, and we'll be stepping on ornament hooks all year. They weave themselves into the carpet and can only be found with a bare foot.

I'll have to wait till the rain stops before I can bring in the outdoor lights and wreaths. And I'm not sure it's ever going to stop. It's been pouring solid for three days now. I keep thinking what it would be like if the temperature were normal for January. We'd be buried in snow. But at sixty degrees, all we have is mud. I'm not even going to THINK about cleaning the carpets until this rain is over. I'm not even going to think about it because I won't do it anyway. Not till we have company in the daytime, that is. And even then, it depends on who the company is.

I love taking care of a house but I am not good at it. I just don't SEE things, like other people do. Oh, if they're pointed out I can see them, or if I actively make myself search for them, I can find them. Just tonight I noticed cobwebs of Addams Family proportions cascading down my family room wall. I noticed them because when I breathed in, I almost choked to death. See what I mean? Anyone from HGTV would have a heart attack if they saw my house. But frankly, I don't give two toots. Maybe one, but not two.

Last night Hub and I drove up to the City, picked up Zappa, and drove him out to the college to enroll. He's taking three classes. Whenever I look at Zappa, I'm blown away by how much that extremely tall man looks like a little baby I once had. . . . .

Those of you with small children need never fear that your babies will ever be entirely gone. All your grown child has to do is smile, and your baby's face will be looking out at you.

I looked at Zappa, nearly seven feet tall like his father, talking about college and electronics and music and his job, and I saw a little boy dancing on the foot of my bed, singing "Oh do you know the huggie boy, the huggie boy, the huggie boy, oh do you know the huggie boy, he lives on huggie lane. . . ." except he wasn't ever supposed to get to the end of the verse because by then Hub or I would have sat up suddenly and grabbed him, and brought him down between us and hugged the very dickens out of him. I'll always remember the giggles. You never forget your child's giggles.

And if you watch very carefully, you can see some of the childish gestures still being used. Only you will remember that tiny child using those same gestures. I guess because only you were so thoroughly familiar with every aspect of your child.

Zappa has a lot of tatoos. I'm not sure how many because I haven't actually seen his body for many years. It's funny. . . . I used to be familiar with every crease and fold. I can't pinpoint when I wasn't, any more.

Sometimes I'm able to look at my son objectively, and on those rare occasions I see a really tall and a really handsome young man with piercing blue eyes and bright red hair. But most of the time I see my little boy who has somehow gotten wayyy taller than me.

Oh, and if I occasionally refer to myself as Momy, that's because he spelled it that way for a few years and I loved it. When we moved out of our old house into this big house, I found it written on the wallpaper in the living room behind the sofa, several times. Momy. I have Valentines, and letters, written to Momy. (Both my kids loved to write 'letters' to me when they were tiny.)

My tall tough son. Everybody thinks he's all grown up, but I know better. Oh, he's an adult now, but behind his eyes, I can still see my Huggie Boy, dancing on the foot of my bed.

No alarm clock could ever compete with that.

Posted by Mamacita (The REAL one) @ 1:42 AM | |


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