as my memory rests/but never forgets what I lost

Most nights Finn gets either mom or dad in his room splayed out on his bed right after storybook time and right before sleep. He gets chats and talks and back tickles. It is only fair this year as last year he kinda got the shaft with an infant around who really hated sleep. So this year Blaise gets tucked in and then it is off to spend some dusk time with the big boy.

Often we will talk about things that happened during the day or tell stories or just listen to his radio. We listened to "Summer of 69" last night over the cheesy light rock station he tuned in and I was thrown right back to Mandy Klinebrowl's house out in BFE and we were all like ten years old and jamming to that freaking amazing album. We were playing truth or dare and my most risque dare was to stick my bare butt out the front door at midnight and scream, "Hunky Dorey Nelsonville" (the nearest town) Seriously? It was 1984. I was ten and back then ten was still very very young.

Finn was amazed that I knew all the words and could air guitar the music and rock out. He laughed and laughed. He then immediately demanded I resume my post as back tickler. He loves it. Don't we all? I hope everyone had a mom or dad that tickled their back. It is the greatest of quiet love. It is fingertip bliss.

Last night we talked about alcoholism. God, what a topic for me and the four year old. I think I kinda described it well enough for him to understand why someone we love is sick and not around. We also talked about being really sad and how sometimes it just takes time for people to turn their face to the sun again. Yes, I really do talk to my kids like this. Are you kidding I am hoping to raise at least one poet.

When I am anxious or stressed I wish I could tickle my own back. But I read about how you cannot ever tickle yrself bc basically we are so smart with these big brains in our heads. Our brains(and I think it is the big bad boy the cerebellum) already knows what we are going to do before we do it and basically cancels it out.

The brain can discard random shit at will, like the way our tongue feels in our mouth or the fact that we might be rocking back and forth, but it focuses on a tap on the shoulder. It focuses on our emotional heart.

I wonder if I shake my head violently and in just the right manner I can get it to allow me to tickle myself and ignore sadness.

How are we so smart and amazing but so broken sometimes?
Will I ever stop thinking about things like this?
Will I ever just be able to sing?

Standin' on a mama's porch
You told me it would last forever
Oh the way you held my hand
I knew that it was now or never
Those were the best days of my life

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pics via bryan adams website