nixtress's Diaryland Diary

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Family Fun night wasn't

Family Fun Night is not aptly named. The boys had a blast (which is all that really matters) but I can't say I had "fun". I enjoyed the very tiny amount of time I got to spend watching the boys bobbing around like corks in the pool. Ryan managed in his normal fish-like way. I swear that boy is part dolphin. Trevor spent the majority of his time dog paddling back and forth across the pool, weaving in between and around the slick little bodies of the other children.
Stupid person that I am, I volunteered to help this year. Know where they stuck me? The girls locker room. It was hot and humid and stinky and bearable until the sixth grade girls came in, carrying truckloads of attitude on their backs. I don't remember being so obnoxious at that age. I couldn't possibly have acted remotely close to the way these girls did. And the only reason I really, truly believe those statements is because I grew up in an even smaller town than this one and there weren't such extreme levels of "status".
I was amazed. They put makeup on to get IN the pool. Then, they put makeup on to get OUT of the locker room. And the MOUTHS on these girls! Their mothers would keel over if they heard what the chicklets were saying. Judgemental as it sounds, I'm incredibly glad I'm the mother of boys. Three hours spent in the company of girls taught me much.
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Gramps is losing time. In a big way. He couldn't remember much at all of this week, even with gentle reminders and physical proof. That disturbs me.
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I had a bizarre moment tonight. The odor of beer on someone's breath rocketed me through time and distance, back to holding my mother's head while she cried, great heaving sobs, spittle on her cheek mixed with blood. I could smell the beer on her breath, on her clothes. I felt her nails digging into my skin, holding me like some lifeline. I could hear her ragged breathing and almost incoherent crying, mumbling on and on and on as only a drunk can do. I could taste the bitter iron-and-bile taste of fear and confusion all over again. And bizarrely, there was something comforting about that odor of beer. How twisted does that make me? Was it comforting because it was so long ago familiar to me?
I try to stay out of bars, don't drink beer at all. If I drink, it's the hard stuff and that happens very infrequently. It was just...weird.
Happy Saturday night, one and all. It's going to snow here soon. Cold, cold, cold.
N.

11:30 p.m. - 2005-02-26

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