Me, taking off my shirt, to Teresa: “Hey, you’re not watching.”
Teresa: “Well, I’ll see the aftermath.”
Me: “That’s a pretty good name for my body…”The Aftermath.”
Teresa Marie Bullard has officially completed her first garment. Ever since she started crocheting I’ve told her she has until winter to make me a beanie. She kept putting it off, thinking it was beyond her skills. Then yesterday she found a pattern, and at around 9pm she started it, and by 10:30 I had a sweaty forehead. Hooray!
Note: No, I am not dying of a wasting disease.
Another installment of the rare quote post. Once again from the beautiful Teresa:
Next time you want to have fun with Noah … Well, at Noah’s expense …
Sidenote: Am I crazy, or does Q come way to early in the alphabet? It seems more like one of those “after T” letters.
Sidenote 2: I’ve always hated S because it comes before T (the first letter of my name), like it’s all special or something. I’ve also always considered R to be the force that keeps them from fighting about it too much.
So Teresa’s Birthday just passed on the 15th, and with her out of town the week before, I figured I had a good chance to write her a song in secret. Procrastination and lack of singing ability ended up making the whole process very very stressful and hurried. But she likes it, and that’s all that matters.
Take a listen:
“Without You” by Tony Bullard
Like what you hear? Check out the song tag for more free music!
I stepped off the train with my bike, ran down the length of one car, and tapped on the window rapidly, trying to get my son’s attention. He had his usual “I’m just here, doing my thing” expression. Teresa had her over-joyous mom smile on, “Say bye-bye to daddy!”
I hate when she leaves. It always feels like a tragedy. I’m always convinced she’ll be kidnapped at a rest stop, or in this case, the plane will crash. Something.
So now I have 4 lonely nights ahead of me. I tried to fill them with nights out with friends, but Juan has been struck down with the grade school plague known as Pink Eye. Yeah, I know, next thing will be chicken pox and maybe lice. He should get cool adult illnesses like me. Prostatitis is where it’s at.
So my mother-in-law and both sisters-in-law are visiting for the weekend, and they brought with them my nephew, Aidan. He’s at the 5 week mark currently and I must say, it’s scary how quickly I have forgotten how those little versions work. Aidan is tiny and fragile, and he seems to constantly let out a rusty squeaking sound, like a small metal device that’s being used wrong.
When these visitors first pulled up in the driveway, I swooped right in for the baby, wanting to get my first live look at him. I pulled him out of the car seat, and I was instantly greeted with terror. I couldn’t remember what 5 weeks meant. Can he support his own head? Is he going to be squirmy, or will he be too weak to fight against anyone holding him? I don’t remember being this nervous holding Noah for the first time.
Watching Teresa hold him, I’m glad to se she doesn’t have that, “I need another one of these” look in her eye. I guess Noah is enough of a monster for both of us right now.
I pretty much haven’t held Aidan since last night. I feel sorta shell-shocked. Baby-shocked? It’s no critique of Aidan when I say this, but I sure don’t want another one of those any time soon.
Today marks an anniversary. 10 years ago I pinched a girl for not wearing green on St. Patrick’s Day. My motivations weren’t solely about the enforcement of old-timey dress codes, there were ulterior motives.
This girl happened to be an ex-girlfriend. I didn’t mean her any real harm, but it was one of those high school â€œyou’re my ex-girlfriend so I have to antagonize you a little more than other girlsâ€ kind of thing. The intimacy gained from having dated this girl, in my mind, gave me some form of permission to use less social caution around her than I would any other girl. I grew up with 2 older sisters, so annoying girls is sorta in my blood.
So I pinched this girl. I pinched her on her upper arm, a fairly sensitive part of the body. I pinched her too hard. What I saw as slightly over doing it, her body saw as a good reason to bruise.
The day went on, classes came and went, long bus ride home…
My father approaches me and says he needs to talk to me in the living room. Mind you, the living room, while not a â€œthis couch is not for sittingâ€ style living room, was pretty much empty all year except for Christmas morning. A talk in the living room wasn’t something to scoff at.
â€œWe need to talk. It’s about your friend Teresaâ€
Two things: First, my pubescent, away from school mind had completely forgotten about the day’s events. School is at school, home is at home. They stay in separate parts of my brain. Second, my father delivered this line in a very â€œthere’s been an accidentâ€ tone of voice.
â€œWhat!? What’s wrong?â€
The concern in my voice is noticeable. I’m preparing myself to hear that something terrible has happened.
â€œHer father called me today…â€
This isn’t helping any. Who else but her father would deliver the call to all the ex-boyfriends after a girl has died?
â€œ…he says that you left a bruise on Teresa. That you pinched her.â€
I’m not mocking the situation, but to go from â€œyour friend is deadâ€ to â€œyou’re in trouble for pinching a girlâ€ is quite a swing.
My father is taken aback. It’s either surprise, or unhappiness that I’m not responding the way he probably imagined.
I try to explain to him how the last couple minutes had sounded, and he seemed to appreciate it, but didn’t waiver far from his original intent: to give me a talking to about pinching girls. We tried to salvage the conversation, and I assured him that I meant no harm, that I’m not a bully and that I understand the gravity of giving a girl a bruise.
The next day I show up to school and Teresa is afraid to talk to me. Apparently she was very mad at her dad for calling mine. While she didn’t like being pinched until bruising, I don’t think she was ready for what she would see as the embarrassment of getting me in trouble.
I certainly understand her father’s point of view. If any punk kid had left a mark on my daughter, I’d be making some calls too. Imagine his surprise if someone had told him that in a year or so his daughter would bring that same boy home, bright pink hair and all, calling him her boyfriend. Worse still, in a few more she’d bring a ring home and tell her parents she was engaged.
I don’t know if my father-in-law has ever heard this side of the story. It makes me wonder if Noah will ever cause some poor girl’s parents this much drama. Or if I’ll ever flub up a few words and make him think his friends are dead.
Hmm…I should probably try that at least once.
just to let you guys know, my girlfriend is awesome. consider yourself informed.