Transparent Tuesdays

Issue 192

You guys,

6:30am: The sound of Layla’s cries. Our alarm. 

I lie still and quiet until Sam gets out of bed. He lets me sleep since I have another concussion: the first from a car accident in March, the second from slamming the top of my skull into a windowsill in search of a pacifier last week. 

7:00am: Sam walks in the room with Layla, huffing. “We’re out of diapers. How are we out of diapers?” He plops the diaper bag and Layla on the floor, then pushes sweaters and baby wipes into corners of the bulging bag rather than take anything out. We’re at his parents house for the week and nothing is in order. 

I can only see the top of Layla’s 2-year-old head as she toddles across the foot of the bed towards me. I meet her and walk over to Sam, then reach in the bag and in one swift motion pull out a diaper. Sam looks at me like I’m Mary Poppins. 

7:30am: My mother-in-law and father-in-law prep our Thanksgiving feast in the kitchen. Jan has little notes written to herself all over the counter. Hank reads instructions on how to fry a turkey. 

George demands to watch Ms. Rachel beach day. I cannot watch this episode one more time. “How about Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer?!” I say, as chipper as I can. 

“I don’t like this one. I need Ms. Rachel,” George says. 

“Bud, you haven’t even watched any yet. It’s good, trust me.” 

I watch the beginning of the old classic and decide the claymation stuff is kind of weird. We compromise with a Christmas episode of Ms. Rachel.

8:00am: George bites the breakfast table. 

“George, do you want to take a break?” He bites the table again. “We’re taking a break,” I announce.

I carry George upstairs to the bedroom where he is staying this week at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. I tell him we can’t go back downstairs if he is going to yell at everyone. He tells me he wants to yell at everyone. 

He sneezes. 

“Bless you,” I say.

“Don’t say bless you,” he says.

8:45am: I do physical therapy exercises. After the first concussion I had headaches for six months and the doctor told me this concussion would probably be worse, the recovery time longer. She told me to not hit my head and to rest and said nothing about PT but I made an appointment, anyway. The therapist told me to do these exercises twice daily in addition to a 10-minute walk. She did not tell me to sit in a dark room and feel sorry for myself, although I had already done a bit of that. I asked how long the recovery would be. She told me 3-4 weeks. 

9:15am: I sit with George on my lap and try not to watch Ms. Rachel. “Say pop say pop say…….….. Pop! Good job!” I pop three Advil and hold my head. 

9:30am: Sam tags me out of parent duty like we’re a WWF duo so I can shower. 

10:15am: I ask the kids, “Do you guys want to go outside?” I direct my question to both of them but really I’m asking George. He tells me, “Later.” If it’s not “Later,” it’s “Soon.” If it were up to George we might not ever leave the house. 

11:30am: Layla eats lunch: peanut butter sandwich, grapes, and cheese. I stress over every meal, worry they’re not eating enough any vegetables. But it’s a holiday, so Sam and I agree to ditch the well-balanced diet efforts. 

George tells us he’s ready for lunch but won’t eat. He wants to change his pants. They’re too big. He screams when I try to take off his shoes but insists I take off his pants. I ask his plan and watch him pull down his pants and try to get them over his shoes. A valiant effort. Eventually he asks me to take off his shoes. We slide on a pair of black pants. They’re still too big. He’s in a Goldilocks situation with clothes right now. Nothing fits.  

George sits on my lap facing me and points to all the scratches and welts on my forehead. I hit the top of my head but from constantly pressing and touching my face I look like a teenager with shiny skin and acne and a couple places where I kept picking until it bled and scabbed over. He points to each one and asks where they’re going to go. I tell him they’ll get better, just like his boo-boos. He asks if he can kiss them, then gently holds my head and gives me little kisses all over. “Does it feel better?” he asks. “Yes,” I tell him. “Thank you.” 

11:45am: George announces he did not poop and we do not need to change his diaper. 

11:55am: George eats a potato roll and tells me when he finishes I can change his diaper. He eats the processed bun then runs away. I call Sam for help. 

1:30pm: The kids are down for their nap. I ask Jan if she needs help. “Not now, but probably later.” I will ask her this question three more times and she’ll say the same thing each time and I will be relieved each time. 

2:00pm: Sam’s sister and two kids arrive. I switch from coffee to Quintessa. It tastes too good and I’m drunk by 5:00. 

6:00pm: We make the kids plates of turkey, sweet potatoes, stuffing, carrots, cranberries, and a crescent roll. They eat the crescent roll and tell us they’re all done. I stop drinking. 

7:00pm: The four of us wear matching Christmas pajamas. We sit in front of the fireplace for a picture. George refuses to sit with us, so while the three of us smile with our arms around each other, George sits stoically to the side, next to a plant. 

8:30pm: Sam and I lay in bed. He asks what I’m laughing at. It’s Alex Dobrenko’s newsletter. Sam falls asleep within minutes. I read a chapter from The Liars’ Club by Mary Karr, take three Advil, and turn off the light. 

—

Happy Thanksgiving!

Charlie