First person to get the title reference gets a big, virtual high-five. (No Googling allowed!)
In this post, however, I'm referring to Elsa and Clio, who -- as I was reminded yesterday -- are two very funny little girls. Exasperating at times, yes. But also extremely entertaining. Clio seems to actively try to be silly, with funny faces and noises and goofy antics. Her humor tends toward the absurdist. Last night at dinner, for example, she decided it was very funny to pretend she was asleep.
Elsa doesn't work the comedy angle quite as intentionally as Clio (though she thinks Clio is a riot); she just does things that happen to make us laugh. Example: in the past few days, she has discovered how to use her eyebrows. So now she periodically makes this absurd frowning, glaring face that makes her look like a cross between Bonnie Blue Butler and Sam the Eagle. (I'm just full of outdated pop culture references today, aren't I?) She hasn't yet started connecting the expression with anger or sulkiness. She just does it randomly, as she did several times last night during dinner:
The other funny thing they're doing is adding the suffix "-bama" (as in O) to other people's names. When we ask Clio, "Who's the president?" (yeah, yeah, president-elect) she will usually say "Brock-o-bama." But then she'll frequently launch into "Mommy-bama, Daddy-bama, Sessa-bama, Kio-bama..." Just goes to show what a good campaigner Obama was, I suppose. Even toddlers got the message that the election wasn't about him. It was about all of us!
They have also learned the word "funny," so now when we laugh at something they do or say, they'll often say "funny! funny!" When they're a little older, we'll explain to them that a good comedian doesn't point out her own jokes. But for now, we'll let it slide. It's just good to see that our kids appear to be as appreciative of silliness and humor as their parents are. Laughter has always been a big part of Alastair's and my relationship, and I hope that it will always be a big part of how our little nuclear family relates, too. (With the understanding, of course, that for several years in their teens, the girls will probably think that NOTHING we say is funny.)
Yesterday was really the first time in several weeks that I was truly, genuinely able to enjoy and appreciate the girls' company; to laugh and be playful with them. Not that I haven't remembered throughout this spell of depression that they are sweet and fun and all the rest. But one of the symptoms of depression -- and it's a big one for me -- is not being able to take pleasure in the things that your normally do. I might know in my rational mind that something pleasurable or fun is happening, but I don't really feel it the way I normally would. At the same time, I'm painfully aware of this fact, and it makes me sad and frustrated and annoyed. I have missed my girls these past weeks.
It's hard to explain what it's like to someone who hasn't experienced clinical depression, but imagine walking around all day inside a cube made of thick, dirty glass. (With leg holes, I guess....?) You can sort of see your life out there, and you can sort of do the things you need to do, but everything is muted and dark and dull. And you're tired. Because this cube you're wearing is really fucking heavy and cumbersome, and there's not quite enough air to breathe inside it. But no matter how hard you bang your fists against the glass, it will not break or even crack. You are trapped inside. (A better writer might come up with a lovelier metaphor -- a bell jar, perhaps -- but I'm sticking to my big goddamned dirty glass cube.)
Anyway, yesterday I felt better than I had in quite a while. I happen to think it was because I had an acupuncture treatment the night before. Got the ole Liver Qi moving. As a result, I felt motivated enough to take a run, which I think further lifted my mood. All those endorphins and whatnot. I am not out of the woods yet, and I fear there may be more not-so-great days before I can fully step out of the dark, step into the light. But even one afternoon of feeling relatively normal and being capable of delighting in my children's company is a great relief.
