Rigatoni with crunchy garlic and May is here I guess
Gargantubaby, post-bath, wearing his white cat towel hat over his long blond hair and Superman towel: Mommy, I want to have black skin.
Jenny: Black like this? (Points to my running tights.)
Gargantubaby: No. Black like Black people.
Jenny: Tell me about that.
Gargantubaby: I want to be Black.
Jenny: Oh, yeah?
Gargantubaby: Well. I don’t want to get arrested for no reason.
Jenny: Definitely not. Tell me some good things about being Black.
Gargantubaby: (Points to bathroom doorknob) Black people invented doorknobs. Thank you, James person!
Jenny (trying to remember if someone named James invented the doorknob or if GB thinks our electrician invented everything): Exactly. And what do you like to eat for breakfast every morning?
Gargantubaby: Peanut butter!
Jenny: Yep. But, we’re white. And we have to accept that.
Gargantubaby (pretty upset with me; sits on the edge of the tub looking dejected): Well … what if someone invented a lotion that we could put on our skin?
Jenny: That’s a little complicated. We can’t pretend to be Black people. That would hurt their feelings.
Gargantubaby (curious pout).
Jenny (getting warmed up): What we have to do as white people is use our power and privilege to make sure things are equal for Black people. We have to accept that we’re white people, and not pretend to be Black people, and share our resources and make an effort to divest our wealth.
Gargantubaby: I’m touching my ball.
Jenny (sigh): Let’s brush your teeth.
Gargantubaby: No. I need to touch my balls.
*
It’s motherfucking SPRING in San Francisco. If we get another atmospheric river storm — after we had TWELVE ATMOSPHERIC RIVER STORMS this winter TWELVE — I will shit my pants. The sun is out, the air has warmed, the cherry blossoms are bursting pink and our back yard is overgrown. I stood in Dolores Park on Easter Sunday with a bunch of drag queens and paid a passing teenager with a rolly cart $15 for some bottom-shelf 15 SPF sunscreen because for the first time in forever I might have gotten sunburned.
The super bloom is real, people. This is two Sundays ago at Mori Point in Pacifica:
After an unexpected trip to the ER (why not? Also, nothing’s wrong, although it IS the second time Kaiser has sent me to the ER for NOTHING an electrolyte imbalance and tingling of the hands meh, last time they said I had an abscess WHICH I DID NOT), I have started running again. I am truly disappointed to say I am no longer relying solely on wine and anger to power me through, and I am DOUBLY disappointed to report how fucking amazing exercise feels. Not when I’m doing it, but when it’s over. My energy, my mood, BOOM.
Gargantubaby has had a run of it, however. In the last few months, my kindergartner has had a rapid and excruciating onset of hives, strep throat, his first and second outbreak of cold sores, a stomach flu, yet another bloody nose, and an unexplained fever for four days I WANT TO GET PAID $250,000 A YEAR TO TELL PARENTS A FEVER IS “PROBABLY” A VIRAL INFECTION AND TO GIVE HIM TYLENOL AND BRING HIM BACK IF IT GETS WORSE.
He’s gotten so used to being home recovering he thinks this is an option. On a day when he is perfectly well, he begs me to let him stay home. No way, I say. He sits sadly on the couch in his rainbow pajamas.
Gargantubaby: Is this a way to treat a child? Because if it is, this is how I'll do it when I have a child.
*
We have to go in to the vet early before school so we can get our stupid cat spayed (this is a few months back), so I'm trying to warm up GB’s clothes in front of the living room vent and get him dressed while he's still asleep. I manage with the underpants and pants, and for the shirt I lean his back against my chest and try to slip his pajama shirt off. He turns his head to the side, eyes still closed, and says clearly:
Those bombs are safety bombs. If anything starts to explode, they have a shield around them.
Thank you, I whisper.
He goes right back to sleep.
*
They’re running out of ideas at Real Simple. (As penance for paying for this nonsense, I ordered the print subscriptions of Yes!, Orion and National Geographic this month.)
*
I hear GB making noises that are hard to define, that sort of sound like, “Owwww, owwwww!”
Jenny: What's wrong, honey?
GB: I'm just trying to talk to the cat in cat language!
*
GB (because we are never separated when we are both in the house): Ooh, you got your period. Some blood came out.
Jenny: That’s right.
GB (sympathetically): That must mean your boobs are sore.
*
Jenny (like I said): What are you doing in there?
GB: Wiping my butt.
Jenny: Really? Seriously?
GB: Yes! Why are you saying that?
Jenny: Because you always forget to wipe your butt.
GB: I decided to try something new!
*
GB: Mommy, I need to calm down. You need to meditate.
GB makes me sit with him on the living room carpet, legs crossed, with our thumbs and index fingers touching on our knees. He says he learned this in day care from Jada.
GB: First, what do you see? And, what do you see inside that?
(GB goes first):
Puddles.
Tunnels.
Holes.
Fire lizards.
Pictures from the dream back.
Him.
Spines.
Blood.
Bones.
I see … nature.
Flowers.
Nectar.
Bees collecting nectar.
I see their long tongues.
Sucking up the, um, what was it again? Nectar.
I see ourselves.
(Mommy’s turn):
The ocean.
Fish.
Gills.
Cells.
Electrons.
Electricity.
White light.
The entire universe.
Me.
*
UM HELLO The Ultimatum: Queer Love drops May 24!!!
*
This meal is my comfort food. You need:
Rigatoni. As I’ve said before, if you don’t know how to make pasta this is not the blog for you.
While you’re making the pasta, chop five cloves of garlic and add those to half a tin of anchovies in a small cast iron pan with lots of olive oil.
Chop even more garlic and sauté that in another pan in which you will eventually add a lot of a really good green. I used baby kale, which is actually too bitter for me. What’s better is chard or spinach.
Add this:
Because your partner is the nicest fucking guy, because he bought this at BevMo on accident because he thought it would be $15 at the most and it was actually $50. But you still got the champagne, and you’re actually in love with this schlub you met on the internet six years ago and your kids are amazing and summer is coming and in the meantime it’s FUCKING SPRING IN SAN FRANCISCO!