My Beautiful Wickedness

Battered by words.
November 10, 2007, 9:25 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

Some days, I don’t know how Kid’s teachers put up with not just my incessant loud talker, but twenty other ones besides. The up side is that I am usually interested in what she has to say. The down side is that she never slows down until she sleeps. She’s reading Philip Pullman’s Dark Materials series (she likes it, husband’s reading the second book and is engrossed) and she’s writing a book about a flying girl who gets derailed on a messenger run from the Star realm and winds up on a planet that I think is probably going to turn out to be a post-apocalypse Earth. She really really REALLY wants me to write my own story at the same time (my husband’s time-traveling spy thriller, set in 1894 Chicago, is pretty hilarious…) but this parent just cannot. I took her to dance and I played two games of Stratego and two games of Sorry, I took her bike-riding and by 6 pm I was begging for a little “leave me the fuck alone” time so I could get some grading done. (John was doing laundry and tedious home repair.) I had hoped that Mr. Pullman would be good for an hour of peaceful fixation, but nooooo. The book is so good that she has to share. At length.

This is a good problem to have. She’s a good kid.

Still, I can’t describe the relief I feel to know that, at last, she’s sleeping and her little active brain is happily stuck on interior monologue (mostly…she talks in her sleep too, but I am not in the room to hear it) until tomorrow. I’m so sproingled that I think I’m going to watch a little football and just go to bed. I plan to get up early tomorrow and do what I need to do when the house is quiet so I can enjoy her without the conflicting imperatives hanging over my head.

Bonus monologue:

“Mom, are change and growth synonyms? I think they aren’t. Everything changes. That’s just how life is. Even dead things change. My pumpkin has changed since I carved it, right? It’s gotten a little wrinkley and moldy and — hey, do you think the squirrels would eat that pumpkin? We should throw it in the backyard so that it can go back to the soil one way or another — but like, my pumpkin is dead and has been since the picker chopped it off the vine. So it’s not going to grow any more. But if you’re alive, you can change and you can grow, right? So if you can do both at the same time, it can’t be a synonym. And I think that you can’t choose whether or not you change, but you sometimes you can choose whether or not you grow….”

Imagine listening to stuff like this thirteen hours straight. Wonderful. Crazy-making. I wonder what she’ll be like when she finally turns nine.


3 Comments so far
Leave a comment

Heh. I’m still like that. Just ask Breviloquence. =p

Comment by Magniloquence

That explains the ball gag. And you thought it was all about kink.

Comment by bridgett

*laughs* I know, right?

I think my dad wishes he could’ve fit me for one without someone calling CPS on him. My sixth-grade (!) graduation speech was ten pages long. His toast at the after-party was something to the effect of: “I have no idea where she gets that. It definitely wasn’t me or her mother.”

Comment by Magniloquence

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