My son woke at 5. I got up with him and we spent those first few foggy, sleep-deprived but somehow sublime hours of the day snuggling on the couch and dozing. I'm going to call him Sun because children are forces of freakin' nature, and he's sunny much of the time. And he's my son. So that should make it easier to remember. I like to keep it simple here at Torpid Trifling. Some might say stupid. Okay, maybe they have said it. But that’s not the point here.
The point is Saturday morning, with a baby-turning-toddler. I’m not quite ready to concede full toddlerhood yet. He’s still a baby sometimes! And mornings are his best times.
It's magic how time moves when you’re with a baby or a child, how it melts together or speeds up or slows down and when the baby is yours you’re always tired and you’re also falling in love, both of which fuck with your sense of time. I read an article on Double X
So then my husband gets up. He's going to have two names, at least. We all deserve more than one name to describe ourselves, we contain multitudes after all, Walt Whitman said so, and—yes—Sun will also be allowed to expand his repertoire as he grows into toddlerhood. I've got Storm lined up as a back-up, so I'm good there.
So my husband, MoodyPants aka SuperSpouse, gets up. We lead with the negative, follow with the positive here at Torpid Trifling.
I'll get to why, but right now I'm trying to blog about Saturday. Leading with the negative is my post about the name Torpid Trifling. The second post. Not the first. The first is supposed to be about Saturday.
Yes, I'm familiar with the fact that you're supposed to say 4 POSITIVES BEFORE A NEGATIVE; I'm a teacher; of course I've heard that. It’s like, basic teacher knowledge.
The fact is, you’re distracting me.
I want to talk about Saturday and that’s my whole impetus for finally starting here after ten months of fucking dilly dallying and now you’re going to interrupt?
I am sorry audience, I told my inner voice he was not invited to this party and his ass just didn’t listen. He never fucking listens and that is my major problem with him right now. He interrupts, he pipes up all the time with the most trivial ass shit, nobody wants to hear that shit! I’ve been told to meditate to teach his lil’ ass to sit the hell down and shut the hell up, but I’m telling you, he is bad. Bad! He NEVER shuts up, the whole time I’m tryin’ to meditate, ruins it for me. Fuckin’ ruins it for me each and every time. That’s exactly why I don’t meditate. That’s the exact reason right there. Asshole.
So ANYWAY I am going to talk about Saturday because I was alive in the details of Saturday and I need to preserve those details.
I mean, just ‘cause Saturday flowed nicely doesn’t guarantee The Story of Saturday will flow. Saturday and The Story of Saturday are two very different things. You might want to think about that before you get started.
Wait, now my inner voice is calling for some organization and structure here. Hold off on Saturday. Explain the blog’s name, do an About Me, maybe introduce the cast of characters. Include a pic of each. But cropped. Like, just an eye or something. Just a nose! Ha! That’d be funny. I’m still a little iffy about family pics on the Internet. I don’t even know how to crop photos. I did learn that one Christmas that we bought a scanner and photo printer and gave everyone photo collages for Christmas. I definitely knew how to crop then. But I can’t remember a damn thing about it anymore. Damn, that’s pathetic.
But my inner voice is so distractible. I mean, you hear it, right? It constantly interrupts; I’ve got this nonsense in my ear all day long! I can barely finish a thing around here.
Like motherhood? I could bring it full circle right here with some sort of tying together of the distractibility inherent in the inner voice and in motherhood, like mothering and thinking and writing and living are the same thing, all in the distracting details, and the interruptions, in the too-fast and the too-slow, in the trivial, in nonsense, and in taking the roundabout way. That’s why I chose the name Torpid Trifling. Two synonyms for lazy. Typically a pejorative, but sometimes a blessing, especially during these first few magical years of mothering.
Speaking of lazy…*yawn*…I haven’t successfully told you about either Saturday or why we lead with the negative/follow with the positive here at Torpid Trifling. But now it’s late and I’m exhausted and so my first blog entry will end like most of my days: messy and unfinished, filled with far more nonsense and interruptions than I ever intended, and …..to be continued...…