Admission #1: I am not a good storyteller. I leave out parts. I get distracted. I start in the middle. I start too close to the end. Get shy. I give little context. Not enough background. Have too many comma splices.
This is one of my many flaws which I hope was not passed onto the next generation. The bad-storytelling-chromosomal-defect. Which probably occurs on number 22. Mine likely forgot to pair up with its other half, which is probably roaming around on number 14 or something.
I feel that if Henry and Sophia are able to convey a tale more powerfully than their mother, with more expression and a stronger hold on the language they speak then, like chromosomes, each story they tell will be a little package of unlocked meanings that can ripple through their lives. This is a blessing I have for them.
Every day with them is a story – a rich, disorganized, rolling one which could leave even the slimmest among us heavy with contentment.
Speaking of overweight, I have a funny story to tell:
I recently bought a digital scale, two weeks after an enlightening (ha ha) physical. Like many other moms on the planet I’ve been combating the post-baby weight. No big deal I thought. I’ll lose it at my own pace.
So I’ve been doing the calorie-counting and more-exercise bit. And didn’t really care what the number was going to be when I stepped on the scale. But I was totally shocked when I stepped on the digital meter.
I picked it up. I shook it. I put it in another corner of the room. In the sunlight. On carpet. Nothing. It still said the same stubborn stupid number. Fifteen pounds over. Fifteen pounds?!
“Tony, I’ve been trying to lose weight. How did I gain 15 pounds?!”
Tony looked at me. And smile. Okay laughed.
“I don’t know how to say this.”
“Just say it. I know. I’ll never lose it…” I said dramatically.
Admission #2: I don’t always notice my children. They are such a part of me that I’m not aware when I’m carrying them. Including in the simplest of daily activities. I see them but am not conscious of them.
Perhaps its because they can’t speak yet.
For now they talk to me through their photographs, and I am happy to watch and share. Its more than the way they pose or smile or stare or turn or amaze. More than the way my little point-and-shoot is able to capture them. For now, this is their forum, their beginner lessons in storytelling. I would have liked a stronger candidate for their apprenticeship, but I will be content to teach them the little that I know.
And in the meantime, I will sit and listen.
Oh yes, back to the scale story:
With a twinkle in his eye, Tony said, “Well, maybe you’ll weigh less if you took his helmet off.”
I looked at him, then looked at my squirming son.
I had been holding Henry the entire time.
And he weighs 15 pounds.