a stream of consciousness update

This is what I’ve missed telling you…

Penis graffiti in our back alley. Violet says, “What even is this? I like this one.” I try to steer her away from the purple scrawls before I have to explain. Then there’s the man who adds his collections to the shrine on the fence—plastic beaded necklaces and an assortment of miniature stuffies that endure all the elements.

Violet is making us a playlist as we drive through the County. Reception is bad and she can’t play a song. She calls out unKnown error—pronouncing the “K.” I say, “Oh, it’s unknown—no “K.” She says she just likes to pronounce the K. I’m not so sure.

Later, we argue as I try to help her study for a test on “lumière.” I’m learning along with her and at 10:30 p.m. I’m not in the mood to learn. So we fight and then she cries and I feel like a shit mom. (Did you ever listen to our episode on shit moms?)

Another day she’s upset because her teacher made them present their Minecraft projects and she wasn’t done. She’s been waiting all day to tell me this, she says urgently. Sometimes I’m not a shit mom.

She whispers before she gets on the bus, “Do I have anything on my face?” Grade 4 is the year where you start caring about things on your face.

She has so much fun with Simon at the park they almost pee their pants. Then they go and get ice cream Sundaes from McDonalds. “Actually, no we didn’t. Actually, yes we did.” This back and forth takes ten minutes. Finally, “Mommy, you’re so gullible!”

Yes, I think, whatever you say I’ll believe. That goes for everything in my life. If you say it I’ll believe it because why not? Why couldn’t that be? The most unbelievable things have happened to me. Just this morning a bird catapulted off my face while I was walking.

I convinced Violet NOT to do her violin recital so we could go to the County and she could tell me about the unKnown errors in her playlist.

I dreamed about a huge salmon. My grandpa, whose body was a wash board, is there to help me pick it up and chop it into pieces to put in the freezer. He’s in the backseat. I’m in the front seat. I don’t know who’s driving.

My older one asks why Simon and I switched sides of the bed. “Because of his arm I say. Remember the kayak that flipped upside down and dislocated his elbow? That’s why.” “I don’t like it,” she says. “Me neither, but now we’re in because look at the side table.”

Things that have collected on my side table: a coffee cup, a wine glass, my skincare regimen, a scrunchie, John Truby’s The Anatomy of Story, two kinds of creams—one in a glass jar, one in a tube—one eraser, one pencil, one homemade beaded bracelet, one reusable face pad, an old iPhone, old floss. This is not an exhaustive list.

Violet comes home to say “we” missed the question about why light runs in a straight line. I suggest we look up the answer now. “What’s the point?” she says. “The test is over.”

The older daughter and I eat bad donuts at the mall. We’re happy to eat bad donuts together and tell each other why they’re so bad.

1. Cakey

2. They remind us of Tim Hortons but cost $7 each

3. Dry

We would gladly eat more just to keep talking. When we walk back to our car, we discover we are pulling on the handles of someone else’s car. We laugh. How could we?

On the drive there, I asked how many songs were in her playlists and she looked at me like I was a fool, “Why would I know?” I was wounded and thought, “This is the bodily sensation of feeling stupid.” And then the feeling passed. Moving on.