Natural Disaster

http://polaroid41.com/natural-disaster/

Friday, April 2nd, 2021 - 10:51am.

I was a kid. I remember being a kid. Certain joys, thrills and embarrassments from childhood are still fresh in my mind. I remember a group of girlfriends I had in third grade. We spent our recess time swinging as high as we could and then jumping off the swings into arms-raised-Olympic-gymnast poses. We practiced our landings over and over. The rest of our time was dedicated to very seriously preparing songs and skits to perform for our class (I have a special place in my heart for that teacher who always made time for our performances). I remember riding the bus after school at age five with my friend Brianna. We would sit one row behind the other and press our backs to the windows to let our hair whip around outside, then we’d sit back down admiring our amazing ‘volume.’ It was 1986 and life was good. I remember countless hours of play with my sister Angie, the worlds and storylines we invented and were fiercely devoted to. I remember my parents there through it all: constant, steady, loving. I remember loving my parents intensely, sneaking into their bedroom to get a t-shirt of my dad’s to sniff on the rare occasions a babysitter was putting us to bed. Sometimes my dad would say things like, “There is nothing like the love a parent has for their child. You’ll see.” At the time I felt kind of annoyed by these statements. I thought: “Daaaad! I get it already!!!” But nope. He was right. I didn’t get it. Having parents doesn’t feel the same as being parents. I thought I knew about mothering because I’d been mothered, because I have a mother, but parenting has been full of surprises for me.

The surprises started when I was four months pregnant and the midwife told me: you’re having a boy. A boy?! I grew up as the oldest of three sisters, my middle sister has three daughters and my youngest sister has two daughters...and I have a SON. Now, I only have one child, so I can’t compare him to his sisters or brothers, and honestly, I hate gender stereotypes, but sometimes he’s such a boy. A few weeks ago he asked me, “Momma, what’s your deepest wish?” I looked at his sweet little face and replied, “I think my deepest wish is that you, me and papa all get to laugh together when we are all old. What’s your deepest wish, buddy?” “To fly around on a jetpack powered by my own farts!” This cracked me up and I sent a message to my dad about it, to which he replied: “Of course! Every boy’s dream!” Ha! I would be doing Elliot a great injustice if I didn’t say he is a very sweet, sensitive boy. He’s thoughtful, poetic even. But his joy at perfecting armpit farts is just something I can never understand.

This morning, just as my alarm went off and before I’d even opened my eyes, Elliot bounded into my room with a book. He almost always comes and gives me a cuddle in the mornings, but not usually with a book. “Whatcha got honey?” “Natural Disasters!” Yup. A book on natural disasters. “How joyful,” I say. “Mooomm! It’s interesting!! LOOK!” So, I looked: earthquakes, tsunamis, volcanos, tornados, hurricanes, floods, avalanches, meteorites, annnnnddd epidemics.

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The complete 'polaroid' (text, minicast and polaroid photo): http://polaroid41.com/natural-disaster/