Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Nick Armstrong, boy of steel

One day, when Nick was a sixth grader in middle school, he came home and I asked him how it went.

"I'm sore."

"Really? Why is that?"

"Well, we had to do the President's Physical Fitness test today in P.E. and so Coach told us all to do 25 push-ups. And I said, 'Twenty-five? That's not hard. I can do fifty!' and Coach said 'Oh, you can, can you?' and I said, 'Yes, I can. As a matter of fact, for seven points, I can do 150!' and Coach said, 'Okay. But if you don't do 150 then you lose 7 points," and I said, 'How about 300 push ups for 20 points?' and Coach said, 'You're on!' so then I did 300 push ups."

"You did 300 push ups?"

"Yes, I did. And Coach said, 'Well, Nick, you sure surprised me. I didn't think you could do it,' and he took out his little notebook and wrote down 'Nick Oliver - 120 points' in it. Some kid wanted to give me a high five but I had to hit his hand with my head because I couldn't lift my arms."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, Mom, I managed to get up off the floor without using my arms, but when I got to the locker room, I couldn't get my padlock open to get my clothes out. I turned the combination using my teeth and I was trying to push it open with my nose but I wasn't having any luck and some kid came in and saw me and asked me if I needed any help and I said, 'Sure,' and he opened my padlock and I got my clothes on. Then I backed into my backpack and ran for the bus."

That night I gave him an ibuprofen and made him soak in the tub. He slept like a rock. Next day when he came home I asked if the kids had started calling him "Pushup Boy" and he said, "No, Mom. They're calling me 'Armstrong.'"

Wednesday, March 04, 2009

Dreaming

I distinctly remember dreaming about talking to a credit card company on the phone and explaining why I missed a payment last month. This really sucks. Michael Swanwick dreams about writing the perfect paragraph and I dream about explaining myself to my creditors.


How does a person go about dreaming about what they want to do for real? I mean, I recognize that my dreams are all about what's stressing me out at the moment. Bills, money, and how to make enough of the second to pay all the first. I get that.


What I want my dreams to reflect are my hopes, not my fears. How do I make that happen?


It's probably got somehting to do with believing that my dreams are under my control and not something separate from me, something that happens without my active participation. Dreams are something that I've always thought of as uncontrolled longings. Things that I don't know anything about in advance. Isn't that funny? I mean, they're my dreams, right? Who should know better than me what they're going to be?


But you're talking to someone who willfully ignores a lot of what she worries about, so those worries come out when I'm sleeping, when my guard is down, when my brain has gone loose.


Dreams. It's such a beautiful word. I should be able to enjoy them. Controlling a word like that seems wrong somehow. Dreams should be free to float around and touch you here and there and tickle you in places that are unexpected but nice. Dreams should be mysterious but in a good way, opaque like heavy cream, but rich with possibilities.