[Scene: darkened bedroom, middle of the afternoon. A frazzled mother is asleep on top of the bed. A 6 year-old boy bounds into the room, onto the bed, and next to his mother. Mother reluctantly begins to awaken.]
Boy: Mama, I need you to help me find my egg.
Mother: Hbmblmh? What egg?
Boy: My pink egg, with the skirt. I put it on the paper and it's not there.
Mother: Huh? Pink? Egg? What pink egg? What skirt? What paper?
Boy: My pink egg with the eyes and mouth and skirt. I put it on the paper on the big table, and then when I came back from looking at the cat food, it was gone.
[Twilight Zone music plays]
Mother: Cat food? You were looking at cat food? Why?
Boy: Because it's not a triangle like it was. And then my egg was gone. Come on and get up, mama, I'll show you the paper.
* * * * * *
You know how when you wake up from a nap at the wrong time, nothing seems to make sense? Like your brain is still off somewhere, even though your body is technically awake and functioning? Well, yesterday's (unintentional) nap was interrupted by a boy with a story that I think would seem irrational even under the best of circumstances.
For the record, his pink egg with the skirt is this one. He had put it on the dining table on top of a newspaper that was there. And then (here's the crux) had moved it to the playroom train table (or else the cats did). So when he returned from noticing that the cats' dry food was new and therefore differently shaped, his egg was not where he thought it should be. It all makes sense now, right?
In totally unrelated news, I'm having trouble with my mother. I don't want to go into details here, but it's obviously grief-related. Holidays are difficult, always were, even before my father died. I can't tell her this, but it makes me feel a little bit better to say it here: I'M GRIEVING TOO. I feel like I've lost both of my parents, because my mom doesn't want to talk with me. I know it's still really recent, but I do hope she's able to let us back in one day. OK, maybe that didn't make me feel much better. Writing it made it feel more real.
We're off to violin, Max will be playing in his group recital this afternoon.