Today Scott fixed a car seat into the back of my Jetta. The idea was for me to get Ivy outside in the sun, while it lasted. So I drove to the park and Ivy pwned all the other, bigger kids at the twisty slide (not, thankfully, by knocking them over to get to it), and then we had lunch with Narns at Liberty Bakery. By the time I got Ivy home, though, both of us were exhausted. We sort of zoned out watching Dora the Explorer, which is a hard show to relax with. It constantly tries to get its audience to participate.
Oh NO! TWO paths! WHICH path should we TAKE?
(long pause)
THAT'S RIGHT! We'll take the LEFT PATH to MIGHTY MOUNTAIN.
I went home in the afternoon to pursue my introverted lifestyle of shut-inny goodness with big plans to clean my bedroom, clean my coat, and have a long bath. None of which happened. My dad was shuffling around the house being sickly and asked me to take him to dinner, so we went to Modern Club for oni giri. Halfway through the meal, Shannon, Rodney, Scott and Ivy all came in. Ivy was pleased to see me, but not in the least surprised. They settled down on the other side of the restaurant. My dad was trying to tell me his theory on David Emerson but I couldn't stop watching Ivy. It's always odd to see her when I'm not working. I feel like I should look after her. After a while she started waving at me from her seat. I could hear her saying "Clairey, come on!" over the noise in the restaurant, which was packed.
Eventually she slipped out of her chair and made her way around the tables to get to me. Ivy was shy with my dad, who she doesn't really know, but had a lot to tell me about going to the doctor, or dentist, or both, and she carefully showed me her ears as proof. She kept saying "Come on Clairey. Come sit", but I told her I had to be going soon and that I was finished eating. I pointed her in the direction of her table and she headed towards it, looking back at me once for reassurance. She is a very little person.
From Ivy's perspective, I think I'm closer to an imaginary friend than anything else. She doesn't see me interact with her parents, or anyone, half as much as I do with her, and when I show up at her house, mornings or evenings, she gets all my attention. We play until she needs to sleep, and when she sleeps, I go. I wouldn't be there, in that little world, independently. It's like I wouldn't exist without Ivy, so my having dinner at Modern Club with my dad can't make any sense to her. I doubt she believes that I have a dad. She assumes that if I'm anywhere, it's because she's there too. And I'm good with that.
2 comments:
I remember when I was a child and believed all grown ups were wholly autonomous entities; they existed without the influence of another being, biological or otherwise. And then I thought these thoughts, that is exactly how they sounded in my head.
"Oh Mother, you wholly autonomous entity, how I love you."
Had I known the reality of the situation, that it is enmeshment or bust, I would have refrained from learning how to speak.
That's interesting. I wonder how Ivy thinks of you. I was too young to really remember how I conceived of my babysitters since I don't think we had one by the time I was six, though we did have after-school community daycare leaders whom I thought of as, more or less, friends. Or did I? Did I think of them as my paid companions? Someone to dupe?
What I really want to comment on, however, is the onigiri. Because we wants it. We are hungry fors it.
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