Friday, 19. December 2008
All She Can Talk About Is Her Kids

The phone rang yesterday afternoon while the boys were at school. It was Emil.
"Mom! I talked to Ms Bindig and she said she's going to take me out for supper tonight!"
"Good news," I said. "You'll enjoy that."
"But-but-but—" he stutters when he's excited— "is that all right with you? I thought you said we have to do baking tonight." He was supposed to bring a dessert for their Christmas dinner at the school today, and I meant to include him in its preparation.
"Don't worry about that," I said. "We'll do it after you get home."
"Okay. I have to phone Ms Bindig now and tell her. See you later!" And he was gone.

When the bus dropped him off he had only one thing to do: get ready. Would he bath? No, he'd do that after he got home. I found a Christmas card for him to give Sheila, and put together some small gift items to accompany it, then slipped a 20-dollar bill into his pocket and told him to go shave. He did a stellar job — his face looks so good when it's cleanshaven, which isn't often because he usually does a crappy job with his electric razor— and was in the porch with his braces and boots/shoes on when she arrived to pick him up at 5:30.

Sheila, who used to be Emil's aide at school, dropping him off after their supper out

Everett: "You know what some kids at school told me? They sneak into their parents' closets and find their own Christmas presents."
Me: "That's not so unusual, I don't think."
Everett: "But these aren't little kids, they're practically grownups!"

He has high expectations of kids his own age.


We meet their dad on the highway halfway between here and Edmonton tomorrow, and they won't be home till school starts in early January. Everett's looking forward to getting to his dad's and "away from you," he keeps telling me. I'm "annoying," apparently. I "sing all the time, if you can call it that."
Emil, hearing this, will chime in: "I like being with you, though, Mom. I like being with you." Bless his heart.


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