If he laughs while he's reading, I know I've hit it right. Or, at least I know I've found his ticklish spot.
But, if he squints, puts his hand by his eyes, shakes his head and starts quietly re-reading the words out loud, I know I've crapped it out big time. Which is pretty much what happened when he read about the skating party.
"What? What part are you on?"
"This thing here about getting in the car. I don't get it. You make it sound like we didn't want to go."
"You didn't."
"I never said that."
"You mean when you started jumping up and down screaming 'Please don't make me! Please don't make me!' that didn't mean that you didn't want to go?"
"I didn't do that...and don't write that either."
He doesn't understand why I like to do this. The creative process that I go through and how it connects me with the outside world. The bigger picture that evolves and puts my place in the universe in perspective.
"No. You just like the attention."
Which is totally not it at all. I mean, sure. I don't see my mom as often as I used to, but that doesn't mean she's not paying attention to me.
"You see? That. What does that even mean?"
"It's a joke. You know, like, my mother is the only person who reads this. I'm trying to be funny."
"Oh...Okay....I guess."
I'm trying to tell a story, and not be the worst story-teller in the world like I know I am. My brother is a great story-teller. He can put you right in the moment every time. Give you all the details, and the nitty-gritty, and the funny, and the serious, and the crux of the situation so that you feel like you just went through the whole thing with him and you want to run out and tell someone about the amazing thing that just happened to you.
Me? I start telling the story, then realize that I forgot to mention something before, so I have to go back and tell that part of the story again, then jump forward to where I was before I remembered what I forgot, then your eyes start to glaze over and you look like an American Idol judge when someone really bad comes up to audition and you just want to put your hand up and say, "Okay. That's enough. Thanks for comin' out."
Then I decide that I shouldn't so much try and tell the story. I should just write it the way that I would say it if we were having coffee together. Did you want coffee? Are you sure? It's no trouble. I have brownies, too. Or how about tea? Pot roast? I could throw one on. It would only take a few hours.
The whole thing ends up being an exercise in the stream of consciousness that goes through my head and the only person who finds it remotely sensical at all is me. Is sensical even a word?....'cause my spell-check doesn't recognize it. It didn't recognize nitty-gritty either. It tried to change it to titty-gritty.
I guess I feel like I just need to defend the fact that my postings lately have been more like the rants and ravings of a psycho mom who doesn't get out enough and spends her spare time doing things that require minimal thought, like reading Ellen DeGeneres books, and less like the college educated, former teacher turned Momtographer that I'm trying to be. I have less and less time to spend crafting my thoughts into something meaningful and worthwhile, so rather than try to converse, I'm just trying to get a quick laugh.
I know. I hear what you're saying. Really, I do.
Hmmm? Oh. Did I not put a picture in here? Sorry.
Ummmm....How about this one? I took it of my kid a couple of weeks ago and I really like it.
Orrrr....uhhhh...this one? I took this one with my kid last week, and I kind of like it.
"I don't understand. Why is the glass upside-down?"
"Because it's interesting. It doesn't look the way you'd expect it to."
".................What?"
"It's art. It's creative. It's an outlet for me. You know, like you and the Golf Channel."
"Did you write a blog about golf? You didn't show me that one."
"What are you...."
"And don't even write that because it's not what I said at all."
He's going to hate this one.
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