Maybe I need a towel with a duck hood

‘Ducky isn’t hilarious any more.  Remember he hit his head on the book shelf?’ – Quote from the almost 6yo.

Hilarious Ducky used to be hilarious.  It was a snowy night about three years ago and the draft blew inside the glorified tent we used to call the apartment.  The small child had just taken a bath with his brother, floating fish, sinking army vehicles and expired syringes (without needles and never used).  He put on the yellow towel with the hood that looks like a duck.  He was now Hilarious Ducky, a super-hero for the modern age.

It was then that tragedy happened.  After running into the front room and running back, after running into the kitchen and his room without anything on but his clever disguise, after his mother shouted at him for the fifteenth time to come get dressed…he hit his head on the book shelf.

He wasn’t hilarious any more.

Tragic.

What I don’t understand is how the almost 6 year old remembers the incident.  I don’t have any idea as I didn’t see the crash…I didn’t even hear it…but it must have  been profound for him.  He remembers the book shelf exactly, he pointed out where Hilarious Ducky had hit his head so many years ago and ended his hilariousness.

He did this as he asked me, ‘Why did you put Ducky away?  I can’ t believe you put Ducky away.  Can we not put Ducky away again?’

He then busied himself running in circles with the towel flapping behind him.  He says, ‘Mom, I’m a cannon ball, watch me.’ And propels himself into the air, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping the towel around himself.  I watch him fall to the carpet without catching his fall.

I watch him come up laughing.

Nevermind, the bookshelf that ended the hilarious part is now right at the end of his runway and his uncontrolled descent. Nevermind, his mother’s heart stops every time he lands with a thud.

‘Mum,’ he says, ‘do you know why the cannon ball is yellow?  Cos fire is yellow…or some of it.’

Well, it is, I guess, even though I’ve never seen a yellow cannon ball.

The other day, I gave a kinda new friend of mine a copy of the title sequence of the screenplay to read.  I did this without explanation or cover art, so she had no idea what it was.

She was confused.

I’m actually ok with that.  I’m over trying to speak the ‘correct’ language or put things in the ‘correct’ format.  I figure that if it’s new and exciting…it’ll be new and exciting or totally misunderstood, either way I’m vindicated.  If I (ever) throw it up into the air and it falls like the Not-Hilarious Ducky cannon ball on yellow fire…well, I’m working up to being ok with that.  If I only ever get a limited audience who sees a reflection of themselves in it…well, I need to finish it first before I think about all that, but it sounds like a good result.

Every question that I get about the monster (i.e. the screenplay) gives me another bit of detail that I can put in.  I try not to get upset when I’m asked questions that have already been explained…if I had to explain every bit of blue eye shadow it would make the silly thing even longer than it is already.  I recognize that it is a completely obscure jumble of words and images, but I have to assume some level of intelligence in the reader.  The absence of something is often as significant as the presence, but not everyone will recognize that something is missing.  I know the monster is not for everyone though.  I get that.

So, I gave the copy to the new friend and after I explained that I am not in danger of jumping off anything significantly high, she asked me if I wrote a lot.

‘No…not really,’ I reply, embarrassed.

I mean, I don’t.  I don’t have a portfolio of (finished) stories, I don’t have novels I’m trying to sell (yet).

So, I don’t write, right?

Well, I do.  I just don’t usually let anyone read what I write.

Ducky continues to be hilarious, even though he doesn’t call himself Hilarious Ducky.  He was in very dangerous danger of becoming even less hilarious by hitting his head on the bookshelf again the other day.  The boy inside the disguise was and is still the most beautiful intelligent, sensitive, creative if a little unbalanced child.

I would like to stop vacillating between apprehension and courage.  I would like to stop equivocating because I fear that someone might get to know me and not like it.  …there are too many lessons to be learned and learned well.  There needs to be more time during the day and I don’t know, maybe I need a towel with a duck hood?

The 5 year old drew this picture to illustrate how to create Lego battleships:

He drew this:

and well, I knew what it was instantly and was impressed.  It may just be because I am his mother, but my husband said that it looks like the almost 6 year old has inherited my talent for drawing…

I wanted to fight and remind him that I haven’t drawn in a really, really long time…but what is is, right?  Accept the complement.  (I think it was a complement).  Just because I don’t call the Duck hilarious (I’m not allowed to), doesn’t mean he doesn’t make my day better.

Ok, I’m finished rambling.

I think my cat just ate a piece of wadded up tape.

Oh, and now she’s come to stick her claws into my thighs.

Joy.

xb.