Hot Skype

Do you wanna skype tonight? the Docta writes.

I could be in for a little hot skype, I reply.

At 7 p.m. you gotta accept my invitation ok?

Word.

A cyber rendevouz with the Docta from portals 11,000 miles apart.

Skype is a new verb in our household since good ole Uncle Nate and Aunty Bee from the Bay area bought us our first webcam in December. We don't see them enough so skyping brings their daughter little Miss Ruby into our living room in the virtual flesh, first crawling and now walking. In turn, the G makes his own live debuts at their house playing the bongos they sent him for his birthday or shaking it in his tightie whities.

In this way the world has become that much smaller.

Isn't it strange that we spend most of our young lives sharing intimate space with family that soon become people we see once or twice a year. People who once stood shoulder to shoulder next to us as we brushed our teeth, washed our faces and kissed each other goodnight.

So we skype England as often as we can too. We want the G to get to know his Great Granddad and Nan as moving, waving, blowing kisses, three dimensional people who love him.

Tonight fresh from his bath the G gets ready to skype the Docta in Australia for the first time...
When the Docta appears full screen my heart starts to fly like when we first started dating. What is up with that? It's been like nine measly days and now I'm a love starved teenager again. His hair is all tousled, Billy Idol style, I notice.
Did he use product? I gasp. Before he left on his trip his "stylist," yes the man has a stylist not a barber, gave him a wild cut that requires goo.
You'll never put that gunk in your hair, I told him.
You see the Docta sometimes forgets to wear deodorant so "sauces" as he calls them have no place on his side of the medicine cabinet or so I thought. The kid is still full of surprises after 16 years together.

Hey, hey where's my big boy? the Docta calls out, so strange to see him flooded in bright sunshine while the night creeps in on our side of the world.

Dada! Dada! the G gets his headsets on, kicking his feet wildly under the table.

Control tower come in, the G shouts into the microphone.

Pilot G your clear for take-off.

Immediatley, the Docta launches into his dog and pony show for his little boy, contorting his face to make the G giggle and then singing something I can't hear because the G's got the headsets on. I'm imagining its the "Philospher's Song" from Monty Python, a ditty the two of them have been singing together since birth.

You're in Australia, the G interrupts, you're not on a plane anymore?

You're with the wombats, the kangaroos.

That's right big guy and tomorrow Dada is going to hold a Koala bear.

G'day mate, throw another shrimp on the barby, the G says parroting the words I'm whispering in his ear (sorry cousin mel you know how we americans love our cliches).

I love you you little bugabuski, the Docta tells him reaching out to touch hands on the screen.

Come home now Dada

I'm on my way bug. I'm on my way.

When the screen goes black, I carry the G up to the dark of his bedroom.

Mama will you sleep with me?

I don't say a word, just pull us both deep inside the covers. Face to face he strokes my cheek humming us to sleep, both of us dizzy with visions of the Docta dancing in our heads.

Paranoia Self Destroya

Can I borrow your pitbull for the week seriously?
The Docta's on a business trip to Australia and I can't stand the idea of being in the house alone at night. Ever since we were broken into I have these terrible nightmares that some dude in a ski mask is still lurking around our backyard just waiting for his chance to jump in through the bathroom window. I blame my anxiety on the Cop who arrived on the scene, this portly woman in her fifties tells me, "Well you know they always come back. Give 'em 90 days. You see they know you'll replace the stuff by then so you betcha they'll be back for more." Now alone I'm like this paranoid, crazy lady triple checking the locks, peeking out the windows into the yard, carrying my cell phone with me into the bathroom and cursing the Docta for not agreeing to get me a guard dog. After the break-in I had bounced the idea around quite a bit,
"We need a dog around here"
"Are you crazy? We can barely remember to feed our cat."
"But I read that the best security hands down is a dog. So how about a cute Rottweiler?"
"um no"
Thank God my female calvary, my mama and my sister in law, are rolling into town for the rest of these lonely nights. I need somebody to take the G to his pre-school in the morning and somebody to help me ward off the thieves and night time demons.

Not your Typical First Day

My new student M arrived yesterday seating himself in the front row on his first day in an American classroom. He had that first week of school freshness about him, in clothes that looked carefully chosen iron and pressed. Immediately, he prepared his desk taking out a thick binder full of folders and extra paper as well as three sharpened pencils that he neatly lined up in a row. As I spoke about today's mission, to find a book at each student's independent reading level, he looked up at me and smiled and then looked around at his peers and smiled and then looked back up at me again and smiled. And from my spot in front of the room I swear I could hear his heart beating fast.

When I spoke to him for the first time one on one, I kneeled down at his side.

Where are you from my friend?

I am from Ethiopia, he responded, his smile widening, filling up his face with creases and crinkles reminding me so much of Facil that it took my breath away for a minute.

As we talked more he told me that he was living with his older sister in a small apartment away from the city and that his parents were still in Ethiopia trying desperately to join them.

My heart went heavy with this news with the idea that this gentle boy with the sharpened pencils who is so ready to get going and learn all that there is to learn here in America is somehow going to do it without his parents by his side on his first week of school. Heavy with the idea that he must leave his own country for reasons I cannot even fathom, leave behind its wondrous beauty to make ends meet here, to start again really, already behind his classmates, learning a strange alphabet and a whole new a set of social codes and hidden rules. But I am grateful to Facil because my friendship with him has already enabled me to start making a connection to M in one small way.
I love to eat injera, I tell him.
You know this? he looks pleasantly surprised.
I understand his plight much better and I understand my role even more so. I can tell M has big dreams and I hope America doesn't disappoint him.

1,095 Days Alive

I close my eyes and wish as the G huffs and puffs and puffs again spraying a gale of toddler breath that finally extinguishes three bright dancing candles. 1, 095 days alive my son. 1,095 days as your mama. And every day i keep thinking i gotta hold on to this moment tight and this moment too put 'em in my pocket like a pile of shiny pennies. i know the songs you are making from your two string guitar, that you hold like a third arm around this house, are already changing. I know you won't say "syriup" and do the syriup dance as you wait for the waffles to pop for very much longer so I don't want to forget all the little things that make you three in this very moment that you didn't do yesterday and that you probably won't do tomorrow.

Today i don't want to forget that you taught me how to catch seaweed with a stick

That you took your first picture of Grampo's crocs and started a fashion trend with your cousin Sully

That you study every living creature in amazement even an army of ants moving leaves twice their size

That you already look like a little man

But you still need your Dada to lift you to the hoop

And you still love it when your Abue chases you in your PJS

That your dancing's contagious and you've changed me forever

Feliz Cumpleanos Bug-a-Bug