I believe Ruth’s father’s funeral is today; if anyone out there has spare good thoughts, I know she’s probably having one of the worst days of her life today. I’m wishing that I was just a friend, today, so that I could call and be an ear without being a stressor in and of myself. Not my role, I guess. I got an email from her, and it’s sounding like she might still want us to come on Saturday. I know that I’m an introvert and therefore constitutionally unsuited to understanding her thinking on this one, but I am deeply surprised—I can’t think of anything I’d want less than company while I was grieving. My husband, sure, maybe a parent or a sister, but that’s it. But Ruth is different. I sent her a reply that included “If you want us there on Saturday, if it would be a comfort or even if it would just be a relief to have us bring food, we will absolutely come. But if you’re more wanting not to cancel a visit and trying to manage everything you’ve got going on right now, we can see you at Passover.” And now I wait. And plot what I could cook for them, of course—tofu spring rolls and frushi are probably a go, with a couple of other complimentary things—cold food that can be eaten straight from Tupperware while standing in front of the fridge. I guess that’s me projecting my ideas onto her grief again, but it’s a harmless projection, right?
I’m past my mad. And Jennifer, you got it in one; I get angry at myself for getting angry, silly as that sounds. I think it’s half a desire to not be like my mom, who was terrifying in her angry when I was a little kid, and half knowing that I am a less pleasant person when I’m angry. And it’s not as though I’m getting angry and using that to, I don’t know, fight corporate pollution—I get mad, I sulk for a bit, I get over it. The fact that I don’t scream at people or kick the cat is pretty sorry consolation. Oh, well. The lame little storm has cleared. Now I am sending out a round of cheerful begging letters looking for freelance work and trying to decide whether to make Napoleons or financiers to bring to the birthmother support group on Thursday.
Ruth and Nora are planning to visit here in May some time, at which point Cricket will be seventeen months old. What do little kids play with at a year and a half old? I have baby and toddler toys, but I don’t want to put out too many things for fear of looking obsessive and creepy—and I don’t know what he might like at that point. I’m assuming that’s too old for rattles. How about stuffed animals? Pull toys? When they visited in October, he really loved that Vulli giraffe toy that is recently popular; he’ll be too old for that, right? He said “Pants” last week. Now that he can say “Pants,” is he too old for baby toys? I so have no idea what he’s like right now. I know kids aren’t supposed to watch videos before age two. Help, please, mothers!