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Monica Bielanko
That's What She Said
Just A Junk Drawer Dream
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If It Rains On You, I Will Shoot The Cloud.

Part of me really wants to wake up early one Saturday morning and walk up into the mountains to kill all the bears and the mountain lions. And the snakes. This, I would do so they never can bite Violet if she decides to go hiking or something. Then, on Sunday morning, I will head over to the airport and disassemble all the planes so they can't crash with Violet in them, or under them. Rivers and lakes: drained dry. Highways: jackhammer'd. If I let it, the list goes on and on.

Can't let it, though. I have to look across the room here, past my sock feet parked by my coffee cup, and over to the left of the bookshelf, to the automatic swing where she now sleeps... to the recorded sounds of the only babbling brook in the world that I know could never hurt her. I have to look over there and see her sleep slobber trickling down her little chin and I have to just be cool with the fact that there will come a day when she will lay her head down to rest in some other place than where I am. Dragons might surround her in some moonlit faraway room, but I won't be around.

But that's the way it comes down. The more you love a kid, the crazier you will get. I am starting to see that now in the newish ways I'm living my life. Slide across the floor with her in my arms. Dog toys are land mines. Stare up at the waiter in the diner, make sure he notices how cute she is. Make sure he clocks that I expect him to say so or I might butterknife his jugular with the Ninja quickness. Just weird insane impulses and cravings that all lead to bettering the world for my baby in some twisted vision I conjure up. And almost all the behavior will be excusable later on: in some Shakespearean way. Tragedy, comedy, all that. But please lord, guide me away from fist fighting with other crazy dads at T-ball games. All that amateur violence out under the sun. Kids crying. Hand prints on red faces. Heart attacks. I just can't.

So, I move forward with trepidation and absolutely no idea how to do what needs to be done. To someday offer myself up to some sinister earthquake crack in exchange for letting Violet skip away safely. But I'm a dad now and so I gotta keep brainstorming. I know the way shit stacks up. But what else can I do.

Reader Comments (3)

Don't shank the poor server people when they don't mention how cute your kid is. They're thinking it, trust me, i am one of those people, but they just don't know how to word it or they can't figure out if the child is a boy or a girl.

April 13, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterAnonymous

Your writing is superb and I can almost feel your feelings as you describe them. I am the mother of 4, soon to be 5, children, and 4 of them have significant disabilities. What I have learned from reading your blog is that my thoughts and feelings come from the same visceral place as yours, regardless or perhaps more so, because of their disabilities.

Keep writing and I will definitely keep reading.

April 13, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterAshley's Mom

A guitar CAN be traded for a pen.
But why? Not when you can do both.
The time will soon come again for you brother.

Take your time. Let everyone grow up for a while.

Life is JUST beginning for you.

April 14, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterAnonymous

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