Neither option appealed to me. A little secret about me? I have an overactive imagination. In one sense, it's great. I adore fantasy. I make up stories in my head. I think I'm creative. But, for me, it has a dark side. Every horror movie that I have ever watched or even heard about roots in my psyche and tortures me when I am alone at night. I'm afraid of the dark. I'm afraid of basements and hauntings and closets and sometimes mirrors. I sleep poorly when HSSH isn't at home. Poorly and with lots of lights on.
I can not go to sleep if there are any clothes lying around or hung over doors because I once saw this horror trailer for Jeepers Creepers by accident. (Because it played as a preview at a perfectly nice girly movie. AHHHH that pisses me off. Only nice girly previews should be allowed to play at nice girly movies.) If you haven't seen it, this horrific scarecrow comes to life and eats people. It's horrid. That two minute trailer plagues me. Also, I stay up later than HSSH usually and when I go upstairs to go to bed, I must turn on the light and make sure that it is still him in the bed. I know, I worry about myself sometimes, too.
My point is not that I am weird, which is a given, but that creepiness like dogs barking at corners for no reason or children talking to no one makes my skin crawl. Gee has been mumbling over his shoulder for weeks now. Occasionally, I would catch a phrase like 'you wait here' or 'no, no, stay back (a serious, disciplinary nod), stay back, okay?' A few times when I dared to ask who he was talking to, he rolled his eyes and shook his head, in awe of my ignorance. A few mornings ago, when I walked into their room to get Ess and Gee up for the day, Gee informed me seriously that 'they' were hungry. I suppressed a shiver. They? The voices in his head? TV people?
'Where are...they, Gee Gee?' I dared to ask
'In the closet.' (Sorry I asked. Ewwww. People under the stairs. I am perilously close to never sleeping again.)
'I feed them, okay?'
'Um, okay?' He opened the closet door and threw something imaginary inside.
'There, there you go. There you go.' (At least he wasn't the fodder.)
'Who are you feeding, Gee?'
He gave me another serious nod. 'The cows.' Relief flooded me. Cows are all right. Farm animals are generally not evil. As long as they aren't mad, alien-looking cows with sharp teeth, I'm good.
'There are cows in the closet?'
'And kittens.' Kittens are closet dwellers that I can get behind. May all of our psyches be filled with kittens.
No ghosts, not mental illness, just invisible, hungry cows and kittens. They follow him around and occasionally get a little pushy and need to be reminded to stay back. A boy needs his space. I am very relieved and also, really tickled. Proud, even.
Gee was made in his father's image. He is HSSH through and through. His face, his red hair, his determination (stubbornness?), his refusal to speak when he is upset. He's his Daddy's boy. The minute our families and friends saw pictures of him at birth, the minute anyone saw him, they universally agreed - no question who his father is. Everyone called him mini-Dad for months.
You can see why. I love that he looks so much like his Dad. I mean, I love his Dad and nineteen years and three kids later, obviously find him fairly attractive, so a little miniature copy is adorable. But, when Cue was born, all fuzzy with my dark hair and a bit more blend of Dad and Mom in his face, I felt a little guilty about how much I loved that. When someone says Cue looks so much more like me, I can't help but smile and give his adorable little cheeks a kiss. I felt, not closer to Cue, but that maybe our similarities were a special thing between he and I, something that Gee only had with his father. (I'll need years to process what that means for Ess and how to talk about it with her.)
Gee's cows and kittens were a revelation. My entire childhood, I had imaginary friends. Every book I ever read, every movie that caught my fancy, became a story in my head with me as the central character. I could spend hours in the back yard by myself, except that I wasn't by myself, I was surrounded by the characters of Narnia, or Middle Earth, or Ann of Green Gables, whatever captured my mind that week. I not only talked to them, I went on grand adventures with them. I'm sure the neighbors thought I was insane. Watching Gee (once I'd ruled out insanity and possession, my imagination still runs wild at times), watching him make up stories in his head, watching him create elaborate fantasies in his reality, brought tears to my eyes because it is so like me. He may look just like his Dad, but he has my imagination. I couldn't imagine a gift I'd rather give him. Possibly without the weird closet phobias.
[Running update, in case you are bored enough to care: 24 days until I must run three miles without embarrassing myself or my team. I ran again this morning. The stitch started at minute five. I forced myself to run the full ten minutes, but I ran away from home for the entire time because we live on a big, annoying hill and I couldn't make myself turn uphill towards home. So, after running ten minutes down hill, I had to walk uphill home. It did make it seem like I ran farther than I actually did. On a brighter note, summer arrived today in full force. It was positively bee-abuzzing, sunscreen smearing, pleasant out there. I must find my flip flops.]
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