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August 10, 2007 Frances Friday: Random Countdown Stuff 
Frances taught me how to walk like a moose. First you have to put on your horns, by slapping yourself, once on either side of the top of your head. Then you have to walk around on your hands and feet; if you are the baby moose, you must kick your feet in the air as you go. If you are the Mummy moose, you must follow closely behind. Then the baby moose must stop, turn around, and say, "Mummy! Mummy!" Mummy must say "Baby moose! Baby moose!" "Mummy! Mummy!" "Baby moose! Baby moose!" Then they must have a hug. Then it's back to walking on the hands and feet. Baby moose's favourite part is the kicking and walking. Mummy moose's favourite part is the hugs and hugs and more hugs. ~~~~~ I had forgotten how boring Barbies are to play with until Frances got another one from my soon-to-be-ex SIL. She clearly has also forgotten, and is dying to be able to purchase these bits of unrealistic plastic for someone and thinks she can't get them for her boys. I say, buy the damned Barbies for your own kids and leave mine out of it; it is not going to make their penises fall off. Anyway, Barbies. Boring. All you can do is take their clothes off and put them back on again. I realize that this is excellent training for a substantial part of an adult woman's expected life role, but I don't want her to learn it. Fortunately she gets really excited about a new Barbie doll, takes the clothes off and gets me to put them back on for a few hours, then forgets she owns it. She got another one last weekend from the soon-to-be-ex SIL. We played with it for a while (I am not completely ungracious) and poor Barbie was shivering in her altogether when Frances looked at her bum and said, "Look! She matches my tushie!" She thumped her wee bum with her right hand. "See? Right here!" ~~~~~ On Tuesday I sorted through the Frances clothing. Ten large boxes were somehow reduced to one small one (plus another small one I will send to my brother). Little onesies and blue jeans and sweaters and t-shirts and dresses and shoes and slippers and pyjamas, all crammed into black garbage bags and shipped out the front door to Goodwill along with my expectations of having another child one day. I know. I know. I'm young, 32, plenty of time, yadda yadda. But not really. It's going to take a while before I can even think about trusting someone new without breaking out in hives, I have no idea how long; and going down that road myself seems too fraught right now. It's not that I think it's impossible. It's not that I think it can't happen. I just think it probably won't, I don't expect it. It's not something I ever had so why it turned out to be so hard to bag up those expectations, say goodbye to the mental image of the family-of-four when I thought I'd done so back in March, I don't know. And I have Frances, my perfect tiny girl, her sweet high voice and small soft hands. Still. Goodnight, Nobody. Posted by Andrea at August 10, 2007 7:41 AM under Frances Friday EMAIL this entry (comments fields are below this section) Comments Love the moose family images! We still have boxes of baby clothes because I can't bear to part with them... I can only imagine how difficult a task that must have been. Posted by: Miche at August 10, 2007 8:17 AM
Playing moose with Frances sounds like fun. I smiled reading about the lines they say to each other. When I knew I would never have another child with my ex, I pared down the amount of Kid L's stuff that I kept. When I left him, I made it smaller. By the time I got around to getting the stuff out for Not-So-Baby H, I was left with only my favorite Kid L things. Should you ever add to your family, that one box will be enough. Posted by: ccw at August 10, 2007 8:32 AM
Your "goodnight, nobody" made me so sad. I'm sorry you're going through such a difficult time. I do think you're coping in a healthy way, though, doing positive things, getting organized, but letting yourself be sad sometimes. I also know it's hard when you want another child, but it doesn't look like it'll happen. I just turned 44; I have a wonderous 3-year-old. I want another, but it ain't gonna happen, for many reasons. But sometimes I pretend it will -- you never know, right? Posted by: Mary Lynn Smith at August 10, 2007 9:47 AM
At least you achieved perfection with number one! Posted by: yankee,transferred at August 10, 2007 10:06 AM
I was also saddened by the "goodnight, nobody" line. There's always Frances to snuggle up to, and say good night to. This is a difficult time for you. I'm so sorry that you are having to do all this, but I hope that it turns out happy for you in the end. Frances will remember having a strong mother, and that will help her become the strong person that she is also destined to be. Posted by: KLee at August 10, 2007 11:44 AM
I can't cram enough hugs into this text box. Posted by: liz at August 10, 2007 11:49 AM
I am sure her tushie matches PERFECTLY! Posted by: Emily at August 10, 2007 1:11 PM
In a similar place, for different reasons. "Goodnight, nobody" is the perfect way to put it. You've made me teary, but it's probably good for my long-term acceptance of the situation. And the best thing about Barbies? They slip to the bottom of the toy bin so easily. The one benefit of being so skinny, I guess. Posted by: Madeleine at August 10, 2007 1:38 PM
Don't give up on the idea of 2nd baby just yet... I didn't have my 1st (and only) until I was almost 41. It's okay to put it to the side until you find someone you trust, but never give up on a dream until you absolutely have to. Posted by: arline at August 13, 2007 5:51 AM
No, there are lots of things to do with Barbies! You can cut off their hair, and pop their heads off, and swing them really hard and let them fly. ;-) Posted by: Sandy D. at August 13, 2007 6:07 PM
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Change is God (Octavia Butler, Parable Series) "If the writer is a socially privileged person--particularly a White or a male or both--his imagination may have to make an intense and conscious effort to realize that people who don't share his privileged status may read his work and will not share with him many attitudes and opinions that he has been allowed to believe or pretend are shared by 'everybody.' Since the belief in a privileged view of reality is no longer tenable outside privileged circles, and often not even within them, fiction written from such an assumption will make sense only to a decreasing, and increasingly reactionary, audience. Many women writing today, however, still choose the male viewpoint, finding it easier to do so than to write from the knowledge that feminine experience of reality is flatly denied by many potential readers, including the majority of critics and professors of literature, and may rouse defensive hostility and contempt. The choice, then, would seem to be between collusion and subversion; but there's no use pretending that you can get away without making a choice. Not to choose, these days, is a choice made. All fiction has ethical, political and social weight, and sometimes the works that weigh the heaviest are those apparently fluffy or escapist fictions whose authors declare themselves 'above politics,' 'just entertainers,' and so on." Ursula le Guin Email Frances! frances AT athenadreaming DOT org You can email her mother too (that's me):
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The title of this blog was taken from the short story "The Language of Nna Mmoy" by Ursula le Guin in her collection, Changing Planes. I won't tell you why or how, because I want you to read the story and figure it out for yourself.
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