Rissa the Brilliant

I'm okay in the brains dept.  I have my 128 IQ.  Or at least that's what every free online IQ test tells me.  So I'm smart, but not Mensa smart.  David is Mensa smart - plus some.  He's around 162.  But he can't find the ketchup in the fridge, so draw your own conclusions.

Rissa's average math mark this year was 91%.  She kicked math's ass.  I was always an A student in math, but not that kind of A.  I look at this goofy and beautiful girl and she blows my mind.  My egg and David's sperm got busy and made HER.  And I know that every parent thinks that their  child is brilliant, but I actually think that she might be.  Unless the school is lying - but really, why would they do that?  She has an 85 overall average without really applying herself.  Imagine what would happen if she actually thought to study.

So here's to her.  To my beautiful and brilliant daughter.  I could just burst I'm so proud of her.

The sweet smell of gasoline...

Just one whiff of it - always takes me back... Back to 1984.  To being 16.  To spending the summer in Nova Scotia at my grandparents' house.  To falling head over heels in love with a small town mechanic.  Rodney.  (sigh)  He worked at the garage in Bridgetown.  He wore grease-monkey overalls and at the end of the day had to scrub his hands clean from all the motor oil.  He rode a Honda 750 motorcycle.  Late at night, I would lie on my bed listening for that motorcycle. He rode that bike without a helmet, wearing a pair of jeans nothing else.  Just a glimpse of him on the bike made my heart pound.  I was infatuated.  He had green eyes.  GREEN!  He had a rockin' stache (think young Tom Selleck) and drank stubby beer, cause that's how they made them then.  Rodney was 21.

Only now, as the mother of my own teenaged daughter, do I realize why my mother, when she found out about this tryst, freaked the fuck out.  But at the time, I couldn't see what was wrong with the picture.

"MOM!  I am grown up now!  He knows that I am mature."

"He knows that you're built like brick outhouse is what he knows..."

I was so mature, so old-beyond-my-years, so.... infatuated.  God was I dumb.  Sure he liked me.  Oh yeah he did.  Today, my nearly 45 year old breasts, still have a great deal of tone and lift to them - at 16 they would have been spectacular!!  I had a helluva personality, even back then, but a smokin' hot body is like catnip to young men.  I was 16, with a kick-ass auburn perm, blue eyes and braces.  But he really liked me.  He really respected me.

Except, you know what's funny?  I think he kinda did.  'Cause when I was determined to offer myself to Rodney (in the backseat of his Duster - there's class for you), we got to the part where I should  have lost my virginity and I was willing to grit my teeth against the pain... he stopped.  In my extremely limited experience with men I thought that stopping wasn't possible.  I, as many girls my age, thought that once they got to a certain point, men couldn't stop.  Or maybe that's just what young swains tell the girls they're trying to climb on top of.  But here was Rodney - stopping.  Because he discovered I was a virgin.

"We should stop."

"No, no, I'm okay...  I'm okay..."

"We should stop."

And we did.  That night.  I guess when you have a nubile girl desperate to lose her virginity, you can only remain stoic for so long.  I mean, he wasn't a saint.

Creeper!! Or how Rissa is prejudiced against old people.

You know Something's Gotta Give?  The movie with Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson?  We recently watched it with Rissa.  Rissa loves a good romantic comedy.

"EEEEEEEEWWWWW!  He's soooooooo old.  How can he be dating her?"  Early in the film, Jack Nicholson is dating Amanda Peet - who is less than 1/2 his age and plays Diane Keaton's daughter.

Then later... "That's just wrong.  She's too old for him!" At this point in the film, Diane Keaton is dating Keanu Reeves - almost 1/2 her age. 

"Rissa, there'll come a time when age differences like that won't matter."

"No there won't."

She got freaked out by Steve Martin dating Darryl Hannah in Roxanne - his grey hair made him look older - so she's ageist and greyist.  She got freaked out by James Garner dating Sally Field in Murphy's Romance.  Can you imagine if I showed her Funny Face? 

"Rissa I'm 5 years older than Daddy.  I was 28 and he was 23 when we met."

Her eyebrows settle at the bridge of her nose.  "I guess that's not so bad."

"Trust me.  After you're in your 20s, age isn't such a big deal.  I'm not saying that you should be dating someone who's 21 when your 16..."

"Didn't you date someone who was 21 when you were 16?"

"Yes.  But you are going to learn from my mistakes.  And any 21 year old who goes out with my 16 year old daughter?  CREEPER."

Cardiologist convinced it's NOT my heart - YAY?

According to the cardiologist and am in near-perfect heart health.  The chances of me having a heart attack within the next 5 years are almost nil!!  HURRAY!!! HURRAY!!!  According to him, my 5-year history of chest pain is not related to my cardiac health.

 "So Doc, what is causing my chest pain?"

"I have no idea."

"Any idea who might?"

"Maybe you could try a GI specialist."

"I've been to one, it's not GI."

"Then I'm not sure what I can tell you..."

This is where, in my mind, I grab the dude by his oxford shirt collar, pull him to within inches of my now-crazed eyes.

"Then who can?  WHO?!?  'Cause it's not like I can ignore heart attack symptoms.  I'd try, except that  every piece of medical advice says that you shouldn't ignore heart attack symptoms.  So tell me Doc...   Tell me who I can see.  Tell me who will clear up this medical mystery.  TELL ME WHO WILL GIVE ME ANSWERS!!!"

Out loud I say, "Who would you recommend I go to then?"  I am calm.  I am not frothing at the mouth.

"Maybe a physiatrist?"

"A... phy... whatnow??"

"A physiatrist - deals with musculoskeletal issues and chronic pain."

Excellent, I shall see another "ist."   "So could you give me a referral to a physiatrist?"

"You'd have to get that from your GP."

I leave the office, determined not to cry.  This is good news.  I have just heard good news.  It's good news.  Right?  I still have NO FREAKING CLUE what's wrong with me, but this is good news.  I get in the car.    U2's Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For plays on the radio.  I start laughing hysterically.  Driving home, I sing along at the top of my lungs...  laughing...  crying... While stopped at a light, some of the singing morphs into primal screaming with accompanying rhythmic pounding on the steering wheel.  By the time the light is green I have my shit together and logic has re-entered my cranium.  I square off my shoulders and take a deep breath.  Alright.  What's next?

Cool Rissa tricks

"You should feel this Mummy," says Rissa, as she deliberately creases her forehead.  "It gets all lumpy.  It's awesome!"

"I always liked that I could move my scalp back and forth," I reply - taking my fingertips and moving my scalp over my skull and then reaching over and moving hers.

"Wait!  Wait!" she begs.  "I can do this cool thing with my tongue.  I figured it out in my mouth and then when I looked at it in the mirror it was soooooo cool."

"Okay.  Show me."

She screwed up her mouth - eyes bugging out a bit - she started snorting with laughter and showed me her tongue - not doing anything particularly special - not a tunnel, nothing - kind of just lying there.

"Wait!  Wait!!"

"I'm not seeing anything.  You just look like you've tasted something yucky."

"What I'd really like is to be able to make my tongue look like a snake tongue - you know with two parts..."

"Your tongue would have to be cut in two..."

"Yeah!  Like this lady from a Freak Show in New Jersey..."

"New Jersey?"

"Yeah - she could move her tongue in two different directions at the same time!"

"So she could pick both nostrils at once if she really wanted to?"

"EEEEEWW!!  Mummy!  Gross!"

"You're the one who wants a snake tongue - I'm just thinking of the perks."

I never thought that hip-hop would make me cry

 This is the soundtrack to this post:

Driving back from a 13th birthday party.  Rissa and two friends in the backseat near-to-collapsing from an afternoon in the blinding sun - hair still wet from the home made Slip-n-Slide.
"Daddy!  Daddy can you please put it on 'aux'?" 

David changes the stero input.   We close the windows - put on the AC.  The opening strains of  Same Love pipe through the car. 

I wish I'd taped it.  For the first time in my life, I wish I actually used a cell phone that had a video app component and I had taped it.  Then you'd see two adults in the front seat, sharing a look.  Three girls in the backseat doing spoken word with Macklemore and then joining Mary Lambert as the chorus swells.

This song.  This song celebrating love.  Of all kinds.  And these girls - singing with all their hearts.  Pushing mine near to breaking because it's so beautiful.  These just-turned-teenagers know the words, all the words, to this song.   My breath hitches.  Tears come to my eyes - I turn my head because I don't want them to stop - which is what they'll do if they know how hard we're listening to them.  I put my hand on the back of David's neck, reaching out, needing to share this connection.  To acknowledge that this hip-hop groove can change lives, change perceptions, change the world if we let it.  So proud.  So freaking proud of these girls.  Wishing I knew the song well enough so that I could sing along too.

And I can't change
Even if I tried
Even if I wanted to
And I can't change
Even if I try
Even if I wanted to
My love
My love
My love
She keeps me warm
She keeps me warm
She keeps me warm
She keeps me warm

So don't be surprised Macklemore and Ryan Lewis.  Don't be surprised if some random woman - old enough to be your older sister or your mom - stops you, holds you tight and whispers in your ears, "Thank you.  Thank you.  For standing up, for speaking out, for sharing love." 

These thighs are not made for sconce light.

Sconce light and candle light are not the same thing.  We have these wall sconces on either side of the fireplace.  They are adorned with vellum-type shades which cast a nice glow.  The room looks warm and inviting.  My thighs in this light?  Cottage-cheesy and terrifying.

"Don't look!" I tell David.  "DON'T LOOK!"

"Don't look at what?"

"At anything!  Just close your eyes."  I desperately try to pull down my chemise so that it covers me to my knees.  My knees, at least, are pleasing to the eye.  Trouble is, the chemise really doesn't go down to my knees, so I'm now bent over at the waist, shielding the offending thigh region from the unflattering light.

All David can feel is me wriggling.  "What are you doing?"

"NOTHING!  Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain."

His eyes begin to open.

"NOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

"Would you stop?"

"I'm hideous!"

"You're not hideous.  You're badly lit."  He then gets up and turned off the sconces.  By the light of the tv my legs are spectacular!