If I Were A(n) X Twitterer

I never use it, that X Twitter thing. But being on social media it's impossible to avoid it entirely. Not that I'm trying to avoid it...I just don't use it.

Is it for short little bursts of writing? 

Like:

Someday I'll be old (and lonely?)...but I'll have a clean house!

Summer: when 9pm is just the beginning. Summer: when 9pm is the most magical hour of the day. Summer: when it seems like everyone is out having their dusk walk, and sometimes I am too. But not enough!

Remember when you used to bring your stuffies, kids? On road trips? Having a little one, with big ones around, offers more opportunities and gaps and spaces to reflect together. Wasn't it just our last road trip that they all brought stuffies? And we had to limit the number they brought? And they spilled out of the car as doors were opened? Got dirty, accidentally? Some kept in bags in the trunk and others designated for the car ride? Oh yeah, I remember that...they say. I'm glad they do.

Oh! I remember playdough! I love playdough! Having a little one, with big ones around, offers more opportunities and gaps and spaces to reflect together. It does. Only...I don't remember you loving playdough! Did you? Or wouldn't you have rather gotten up after two minutes and needed to go outside to run around? Maybe?...maybe you love playdough, now?

Sometimes when I'm so very tired, so very tired of being a Mama, of hearing Mama, of being needed of bending down and staying in that position for far too long or having to sit on the floor and get up and then feel all creaky and older each time and of changing diapers or going to places like Play Palaces or getting someone their millionth piece of "I want toast!"...well, I think of Joey, at age 42. The age I had him. Joey, as a 42 year old. And how cute he will be in my memory. Just as he is now, wanting toast every morning.

"How old is your son?" the lady asked me, knowing he was a boy, unlike most strangers. "He's almost three." "Oh! He reminds me so much of my son when he was that age. Now he's 17 and never wants a hug...you know how they get. I wish he was little again, I love this age. Enjoy," looks back whistfully for just one more glimpse...

Sometimes when I'm so very tired, I imagine them all as grown ups. And I hope they come to visit. So I'm not in a clean house for too long, and I'm definitely not lonely.

***

Speaking of clean houses...what about hotels? Recently we went on a little meet up trip with family. I booked a hotel in advance, and when we went to check in we were all oooohing and ahhhhing over how nice the hotel was! The lobby, so posh. The hot chocolate dispenser (in summer! my family is weird!) so full of the most amazing hot chocolate! The furniture and lighting so shi shi. Ok, I guess I'm doing alright--my thoughts. Ok, my turn to check in...what will the room look like? Oh ok, they can't find my name. Oh ok, this hotel has almost the same name and location as the one I actually booked, but that one is "over there, across the highway, on the other side"...(of the tracks!). Yeah, on the other side.

What about hotels? Sometimes they're posh, and they make me envious of that other life some people lead, where they stay in posh hotels. Maybe for business trips, cause they're so important. Or maybe cause they're so important they get great time off and have so much money to spare and their life is like some kind of envy inducing advertisement or movie, and they go out to dinner so much and eat seafood or sit overlooking the waterfront. (Trying ever so hard not to work on their vacation.) And they order room service or visit the place where people get classy massages. I don't know...is that a thing they do?

Hotels on the other side of the tracks, though, are where...people escaping abuse might flee to for the night. I mean, sure they could flee to posh ones too, depends, right? But. You know, the tropes. The correlations. Or, the family is homeless and it's cheaper to just live in a hotel. Or maybe someone was just kidnapped or someone is running from the law or a couple is having a cheap sleazy affair or a gang member is biding his time or a drug bust is trying to be avoided or sex is being sold or bought. Am I going too far here? Hotels on the other side of the tracks. They smell like the indoor smoking ban was never put in place. They are often on the other side of the highway. Facing abandoned family fun bowling alleys. We should've checked that place out, too, though.

Cause, 

ahhhhh, bowling. 

Bowling. It's the best when the bowling alley still smells like smoke. 

And you're there, to tell me how cute I look when it's my turn. The spark of romance just in sight, or tingling, or re-emerging. 

And I'm there, bowling turkeys. With big balls and 10 pins. 

Bowling is a date.

Bowling is a gathering with friends. 

Bowling is a family reunion.

Watch his stance! Isn't it great?

How did you do that?! 

It's come back time!

Oh, we have so much fun together. I'll remember this. 

We'll remember this.

When you're 42. And I'm 84.

When we finally get out of the house together, just us, for a date. 

When we see each other next summer, at that family meet up. 

Smelling the smoke again.