I spend an inordinate amount of time stuck in this "Office" wishing I had a Power book, ibook, or hell for that matter, an Acer from PC Club...but I don't, not yet. The time away from Mer-boy , separated by the distance of what seems to him like a football field, has weighed heavy the last few days.
So last night as I was tucking him in, I made a promise I may soon come to regret. One that means the world to a small fish-like-child...but may in fact push me right over the edge of motherhood.
We are watching cartoons together at 8:30.
Not just any cartoons, but the Saturday Morning All Star line up.
I'm not maternal by nature, and parenting is always done John Wayne style if possible..."Pardner, you better do your homework...or else." imagine the mentality it takes for one, large, dirty, cowboy, type individual to sit down and watch cartoons with a small child...I said imagine.
I would rather eat glass than do this. Rather vacuum out the Pathfinder. Rather weed eat. Rather ANYTHING, than sit in front of the TELEVISION with a kid who knows every theme song to every cartoon made, every jingle to every commercial shown while watching every cartoon made...anything.
"Is it 8:30 yet?"
At this juncture I'm tempted to pull the old he-can't-tell-time-worth-a-crap-yet-so-tell-him-it's-still-7:00-trick...but I don't.
"Almost honey."
Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in the guilt of letting him watch so damn much T.V. while I'm in here on my LOVER...perhaps. And perhaps it's just as simple as I hate television, therefore Mer-boy loves it, is addicted to it, Betty Ford type shit. Goes into convulsions if he misses one of "His shows". Hard to watch, but what can I do? His disease is stronger than my recovery.
"Is it 8:30 yet?"
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