Full Moon

Did you know that the moon was its brightest on Friday night? I did. After watching a bit of local news detailing the phenomenon my youngest bounded up the stairs and yelled, "Let's go look at the moon!" He fumbled in the closet and pulled out our box of binoculars, then ran out to the deck to have a look. His two older brothers did not follow. At thirteen and eleven years-old, things like the moon do not impress them. Funny how if someone shouts, "Look at this cat dancing on YouTube!" everyone will come running. It seems to me if it's on a screen, my kids think anything is more interesting than an actual, three-dimensional piece of reality right in front of them. It occurs to me that maybe I've hit upon a new way to feed my family. Instead of actually cooking, I could show my family a cooking video on the internet. "See kids," I'd say as they gathered round the computer, "You can almost taste it."  

But back to the moon. I happened to be in the kitchen making cookies at the moment my child ran to the deck, so was close at hand when he poked his head through the sliding glass door and said, "You gotta come see this thing." So I did. And lo, the moon did shine with rather more intensity than usual. It was so bright that I wondered if it was safe for my child to look directly into it. I recalled being told in kindergarten that looking into the sun could cause blindness--would staring at this moon do the same? My husband laughed when I asked him this question, though he looked doubtful for a split second. He got over his doubts pretty quick, though. The next thing I knew he had the telescope out on a tripod, focused right on that bright old moon. Let me tell you, looking through the telescope was like looking directly into the headlight of an oncoming car, when you're out in the country on a dark night--and a cold night at that. Or like twisting a light bulb into a lamp socket, not realizing that the lamp is switched on until it suddenly blinds you with a flash of light so strong that you instinctively close your eyes, and under the darkness of your eyelids you still see pops of white spots. Or like when you're deep into a book and your kid says, "Hey, Mom, look over here." And when you do, you're blinded by a camera flash as he snaps a picture of you and laughs as you walk around partially blind for the next five minutes. 

So anyway, the moon was bright. We could see splotches of dark on its surface, with divots here and there that reminded me of acne scars. At the base of the moon there was a small circle that looked like a stem had once been there. I thought it looked like a moldy, albino orange from outer space. I'm sure there's a more technical term to describe it, but to me it's more fun to think that God plucked an old orange off a tree and tossed it to earth for our amusement. Or maybe for his. I can imagine that watching us shiver in the winter night as we tried to comprehend how exactly something that luminous and huge could just hang over us like that, like a giant orb suspended in the sky, might be a nice way to pass an evening. 

When we were done, my husband dragged the tripod and telescope inside. I resumed my cookie making, only to glance over to see him peering through the telescope, which he had turned on me. "I'm trying to see what you would look like with a boob job," he said. This intrigued me. Wouldn't it be nice if the moon had special powers? What if I could be like a werewolf, but instead of going all hairy--because with how infrequently I shave, I'm already hairy enough--I would sprout C-cups? I could just imagine the sound my girls would make as they became women. It would sound like "tawang," or maybe "tawanda." I'd look down at my new and improved figure, lift my eyes to the moon and howl, as if to say, "Hey, thanks for the breasts!" It could happen, you know. Come to think of it, supposedly there is a man in the moon. And if I know men, they do like big breasts.  

Unfortunately, my husband couldn't find my chest in the lens, so he gave up. I'm okay with that. I worry that if he had figured out how to see me at my biggest and brightest, he also might have figured out how to film the transformation. And then you know what he would have done? Yep, he would have posted it on the BoobTube. 

Comments

[Rachel]

I love your blog!!! I don't even remember how I came across it, but I've become a regular reader for months now. (I still use your yummy green smoothie recipe now and then.) You express so beautifully so many things that I can personally relate to. I also have three kids that are similar (if not the same) ages as yours. And I like you because you are so real and honest(and funny!). These last couple of posts about body image have struck a cord with me, but I could never have expressed it as well as you. So thanks!

[Susan S]

Susan, Everytime I visit your site you make me smile. Miss seeing you every week. Maybe we can do youtube!

[MaryB]

Oh, Susan! You are hilarious! But I do like the idea of dinner on screen. I hate cooking too, and my kids do enjoy watching junk on youtube...you may be on to something there!