At Least They're Committed

In the quiet of my bedroom I can scream “Ah-SHIT!” when I sneeze all I want. One more family tradition ready to be passed on. It’s bedtime as I write this and my neck has a crick in it from arching my body over Dez and chatting while he takes his bottle. It might say its Sunday on here, but it’s still Saturday — Dez All Day, in my world. There’s nothing like watching the corners of his mouth arch into a grin while he’s still sucking down formula. As vain as I am, I sit and think of how horrid and old I must look at that angle, then I smile because he doesn’t care and it’s my smile he will remember, not my double chin and sagging jawline.

I only got one email from work today. I noticed it when I dumped everything out of my purse when my personal phone rang (it was Bugaboo checking on her baby) and so Dez was very enthusiastic about helping me email my work back and I’m not entirely sure I caught all his edits, but I am sure I’m not stressing about it.

The email made me flash back to the weird fucking day I had on Friday. Sometimes I feel that if God put me in here to, oh, help others better understand regular folks, like, the people we’re here to serve, I’m failing miserably.

Did I mention how Dez was when he heard/saw Jimmy Cliff? It was this series called “Guitar Sessions,” and while Cliff performed, well, I’ve never seen a baby dance quite like that, certainly not Dez. And what was even more remarkable was during the interviews, when Jimmy was talking, Dez was nodding and smiling and chatting and when Jimmy didn’t acknowledge him he did his “bad cough,” which I admit I taught him, but which he’s picked up on with amazing zeal in that any time he’s not getting the direct, dramatic attention he wants from us, his eyes get intense, his little mouth purses and he croaks out just horrible, horrible coughs and when we lament his bad, bad cough he smiles and does that reverse laugh that babies do and . . . did I mention he has these deep, black eyes and elvish ears? I don’t boast about my family enough on here. But the truth is, my babies are everything . . . so much so that I keep a great deal about them private. I don’t want my other life to so much as touch them.

People seemed intent on making me feel small on Fucked Friday. I won’t feel small. Frustrated and defensive, but not small.

It occurred to me then and I still believe that even though I pay a lot for haircuts, I have to dress nice every day and I have maybe the most awesome job in the world, I am still “the least of your brothers” just as much as the cold, filthy homeless guy on the corner and I think it’s a mistake to overlook that. I am not, and never have been, anyone’s judge. But don’t think for even a millisecond that others aren’t watching.

Did I mention how precious Dez is when he gives what Edisonsblackdahlia calls his Di Nero pout? He is my sun, my moon, all the stars in my sky . . .