An Inch Shy of Stupid

Every parent/grandparent has been there. That uncomfortable moment when something a young child says makes you feel dumber than dirt. And with a child as precocious as Elijah, I’m in that moment more often than I like to admit. The child soaks up knowledge like a sponge. Remembers everything he’s told, except how to stay out of things he’s not supposed to be in, and constantly asks questions about it (refer to previous blog about that). You have to read on to see what I mean.

I was playing a fishing game with him recently and when he “caught” a whale shark, I screamed “Look out, Elijah, that shark is gonna chew you up!” He gave me his patient look, the one that makes me wonder if he’s actually an adult in a child’s body, and replied, “Yaya, whale sharks don’t use their teeth to eat. They are filter feeders.” Um, ok. Yes, I asked. “What is a filter feeder?” I’m thinking, gotcha, brain child! “They eat plankton through their gills when they swim.” Thank you, Wild Kratts, for the idiot moment I just suffered.

While looking to add to his collection of dinosaurs, we scoped out the toy store’s offerings one weekend. “Look at this cool Raptor, E.” says I. “You don’t have one of these.” With a heavy, exaggerated sigh, he says, “Yaya, that’s not a Raptor. It’s an Allosaurus. Raptors are small. An Allosaurus is HUGE!” I see I’m going to have to pay a little more attention to Dinosaur Train, which is responsible for this bit of stupidity.

I sleep with a stuffed dog named Rufus. Yes, I admit it. He’s a gift I cherish. One afternoon Elijah and I were hanging out in my bedroom and Rufus’ origin came into the conversation. I explained how I got him for Christmas from his Auntie Debbie and that he’s very special to me. “I don’t like him.” Says Elijah. “Well, he really loves you.” I replied. He gives me a very serious look, as if trying to determine my intelligence level, and says, “Yaya, he’s not real. He’s a pretend dog and they can’t love people because they’re not alive.” Well, gee. My only pet has been fake all these years and I didn’t know it?

I was teaching the boy letters and numbers not too long ago and he asked me, “Yaya, how do you know so much stuff?” “I learned it in school, baby.” He considered that and asked, “Yaya school?” “No, just regular school and college. You’ll be starting school in a couple of months and someday you will know even more than me.” He kind of laughed and informed me “I know I will.” Should have offered him chocolate instead of encouragement.

I give up. I can’t win. And he’s only four. What will I do when he’s ten? Or fifteen? I used to be competent. I had all the answers to his questions. Now I’m finding out that I’m just an average person with no idea how to keep up with his ever expanding quest for knowledge. I’m going back to school. I’m starting back at Grade One and working up from there. Maybe then I’ll have the skills to keep up with him. Or not.

The Perfect Neighbor

Moving from a home with over an acre of ground in the quiet country hills of Pennsylvania to an apartment in the city of Baton Rouge took a lot of adjustment. And to be honest, even after more than a year, I’m still adjusting. With that in mind, I decided that I would make a list of qualities a good neighbor should have and give it to the office people at the apartment complex. Just to let them know how to screen those who were to be living near me or above me or … well, you get the point. The following is what I’ve come up with (so far). My idea of the perfect neighbor.

Goes to bed at the same time as I do (or close to it). No slamming doors and drawers or stomping after I have laid my precious little head down on my pillow. Or more importantly, no waking up the kid after we fight for an hour or more trying to get him to sleep. Ditto for early morning as far as the child is concerned.

Keeps their dog from barking at me every time I go out to sit on my patio. It’s my patio. I pay for it. I do not owe any canine an explanation as to why I am there or what I am doing. I have nothing against dogs, I really don’t. As long as they are well mannered.

Keeps their dog from barking all night long. Waking up the neighborhood dogs. So they can bark all night long. Again, I have nothing against dogs. But incessant yapping really gets on my nerves, especially when it’s after midnight and I have to get up at 5:00 a.m.

Does not drive past my window after 11:00 p.m. with loud vehicles. I’m not asking much here. Just don’t drive past my place with your loud pipes and music blaring when I’m either sleeping or trying to relax. Or after the aforementioned child is asleep.

Tolerates my strays. I feed 4-6 stray cats on any given day. They sit on my patio waiting every morning. They don’t bother you or your stuff. They don’t come to your door waiting for a handout. They come to me because they know I have food for them. Just have a little compassion for them because they don’t have a home or anyone to love them.

Keeps their intimate life between themselves. I don’t want to hear your arguments…or making up…from my place of refuge. It isn’t just consideration for your neighbors, it’s respect for yourself and the person you reside with. Everyone couple argues. But when walls are paper thin, it stands to reason that you would do your fighting on a slightly lower level. As far as the making up part, if you want to be porn stars, I’m sure you can find an agent on the internet. Just don’t practice within my range of hearing.

Well, that’s pretty much it. I don’t think it’s overly obsessive. Ok, so it is. I somehow doubt that anyone will listen but it’s worth a try. At the very least, I put it down on paper and got it out of my system. Until the next dog barks. Or a loud car comes flying past at midnight. Maybe I should look in to buying an island somewhere. A place where I don’t have to worry about such matters. Does anyone know of one for sale for about … well, I have about $10 in my checking account.

Emotions

Anger and impatience eat at my soul

Depression draws me inside
Deep seated fear breeds
Questions rock my every thought

Will there ever be enough

Or will the constant struggle to survive continue
Is success on the horizon
Or will my doubts cause my failure

Will he find me and kill me

Will I ever feel safe
If I had stayed, would I be dead
Or were they idle threats from a drunken mind

Will my friends remember me

Or will I just fade into the distance
Will time tell the story
Or will I never know

Can I finish all I have started
Where is my ambition, my drive
Is it hidden under selfish desires for too much
Or do I wish for too much

Will I live to experience the rapture

Or be buried deep long before

Will I ever be needed, feel deserving
Or get dragged down further by my unworthiness

Will I ever be loved again

Will I ever again feel caring arms around me
Will I ever again experience another tender kiss
Will I ever be enough

When The Why Button Gets Stuck

It is the age of discovery. Four. When life begins to get really interesting. For the four-year-old. And for their  parents. The kid is seeing things in a different way than he ever has before. And the parents are desperately searching for the remote to turn off the why button.

At our most recent trip to the emergency room…Why are there beds in here? So people who don’t feel good can lay down until the doctor comes in to see them. How did the doctors get here? (Note: by this time, it is after 3:00 a.m. and we’ve been here for over four hours.) They followed the nurses. Why did the nurses come here? Because this is where they work. Why do they work here? Because the doctors need them. Why do they need them? They are afraid of needles. Oh. Why…? I don’t know.

Driving home from the mall…wow, that’s a tall building. What kind of building is that? An office building. What’s an office building? Where people go to work. Is it fun work? Not always but sometimes. I don’t think I want to work there. You’re too young anyway. (At this point, I am biting my tongue, wondering why I kept the conversation going.) Why am I too young? Because they don’t let kids work until they are, like, 18. Why? Hey, Elijah, look at that dump truck!!!

Pointing to my hair…what’s that white stuff? It’s some of my hair. Why is it white? Because I need to color it. Will you color it red again? Yes, I will. Why do you color it red? So it matches the rest of my hair. Why does your hair get white? Because you ask so many questions. Why do I ask so many questions? Because that’s how you learn things. Why do I need to learn things? Hey, Elijah, do you want some chocolate?

Why can’t I go outside? Because it’s raining. Will I shrink if I get wet? Yes, you will. Why is it raining? Because the flowers and grass need water. Why do they need water? So they can grow and look pretty. Do I need water to grow and look pretty? Only at bath time. Where does the water come from? It comes from the sky. What’s water? *facepalm*

Ok. I get it. He’s four and he has a lot of questions. And that’s how kids learn. But every other sentence out of his mouth is a question. Will he ever stop?  I sincerely hope not. Seriously, I hope he never stops.

Advice From One Who Knows

It’s taken me a week to write this but I wanted to be clear in my head before I did it. The deaths of seven innocent babies in the Oklahoma tornado is hard to imagine. What their parents are going through is even harder. I’ve been in a similar situation so I’d like to offer a little advice to those who, like me, know one of the families of those children.

First and foremost, don’t say “I know how you feel.” You don’t. You couldn’t. Even if you’ve gone through it, the child that they just lost wasn’t yours. Their circumstances aren’t yours.

Don’t tell them to let you know if you can do anything. Ask them what you can do. They are not thinking clearly right now. And won’t be for the foreseeable future.

Give them closeness when they need it, distance when they don’t. Don’t hover but don’t be nonexistent either. It’s a fine line. Learn to walk it.

It doesn’t end when the funeral does. That’s actually when reality sets in. The reality that has become this family’s life. Don’t disappear. Don’t forget important dates…birthdays, special occasions. They will need you then.

Don’t avoid sharing memories of their lost little one. They will cry. But they will also appreciate you. Laughing is not disrespectful, it’s encouraged. Share a funny story or a sweet one. Unless they ask you not too. But most parents won’t.

As you can imagine, losing a child is one of the hardest things for a parent to experience. Whether it be from illness or an accident, it doesn’t matter. All you know is you will never hold that child in your arms again. You will never be able to play a game with them or watch them sleep. The best advice I can give you is let them dictate to you what they need and when they need it.

Top Six Reasons I Haven't Written

My daughters have been nagging me lately because I haven’t given them anything to read in several months. Ok, ok, it's been since before Christmas. They say they need something to amuse them from time to time. Reminds me of my favorite line in Dances With Wolves that goes "Somebody back home is saying 'Now why don't he write?'" To that end, and to get them off my case, I give you my top six excuses  reasons for my absence.

Lack of Motivational Thoughts…I tend to be a mite lacking in wordage (is that a word? Spell check seems to think so.) unless something truly bites my behind and screams “WRITE ME!” Yes, in capital letters. At least they are in my mind. This usually isn’t a problem for me since I have a pretty imaginative mind. Usually. Haven’t been bitten lately. Not even a small nip.

Drawing a Blank…I always write down my thoughts when they come to me. Most times I get these truly inspirational ideas in the middle of the night (good thing I’m single), which can be aggravating but such is the life of a writer. Lately, however, the screen has been blank, the pages empty. This is a different reason from the previous one because although I get these thoughts I write down (usually), they are not always motivational or even worthy of being written. On a happy note, I’ve been having quite a few hours of uninterrupted sleep for the first time since I became a mother many moons ago.

Guilt…I spend a lot of my waking hours, like most people, at my real job. When I get home, there is this handsome four-year-old who wants to be with me. To talk, shoot some hoops or just to watch his favorite show on TV. Locking myself in my bedroom to write takes away from that and makes my stomach hurt. Especially when I hear a small voice calling at the bottom of my door “Yaya, are you done working yet?”

Lack of Motivation (which is different from motivational thoughts)…This can also be termed laziness. I prefer to call it focus challenged. I’ve been known to sit at my computer, prepared to write, when something calls to me. Twitter. Facebook. A stupid show on the television. At that time, all ideas/thoughts/words, other than the meaningless ones I tweet or post, ooze out of my mind. I’m not sure if they spatter on the ceiling (looking up would require movement) or just disappear into thin air. But they are gone.

Inappropriateness…(I don’t know if this is a word either but it fits.) I’m currently working on a serious article for a friend, a very sensitive issue involving her life, and I thought that it might be offensive to her to if I wrote something funny…ok, ok, mildly amusing. She assures me that is not the case so I’m not excused on her behalf.

Lack of Readership…Like most writers, at least the honest ones, I always wonder if anyone will even read what I’ve posted. I know my daughters do but that’s only because I threaten them with bodily harm if they don’t. My family? I don’t even think the majority of them realize that I write. But then again, we’re not really a Leave It To Beaver kind of family. Hell, I don’t think we’re even an All In The Family type of group. We share DNA and meet up at a funeral every once in a while to say hello. And so I rely on the world wide web to send my ramblings along, hoping that someone will find it interesting. At least I have the opportunity. That’s all I need.

And so, my nagging daughters, I have written something for you to read. Something to ward off the boredom that has entered your sphere. I have fulfilled my vow and now I suggest that you go out and find a more worthwhile way to fill your lives. You could die from holding your breath waiting for me to write a blog lately and it’s really not a good way to go. But thanks, anyway, for giving me a boost off my literary butt. I guess I needed it.

A Christmas Message To Those I've Lost

 

As the Christmas season approaches, I am putting aside my usual snarky and often quirky writing style to bring you something meaning and heartfelt. Hey, I’m allowed to be poignant and weepy once a year, right? Christmas always makes me think about how a lot of those I love aren’t with me anymore and how I would like to have one more conversation with each of them. To tell them one more thing that I may not have said while they were still here to listen. And so I give you, in no particular order of importance, a Christmas message to some of those I have lost.

Barb and Dick, my former in-laws. I’m sorry for the way our relationship ended. We were so close at one time but we let issues and circumstances come between us. It should not have been that way because of our deep feelings for each other but more importantly, because of the beautiful angels we shared. We had such wonderful holidays together; Christmas Eve with midnight mass and opening gifts in front of the fireplace, spiced wine and cookie baking. I wish we could do it again. Thinking of those times this season and wishing things had been different in the end.

My daddy. As I watched you get older and more ill, I saw your frustration trying to accomplish things you couldn’t do anymore and I ached for you. But even with all of your medical issues, you never lost the joy you had in your grandchildren and they all adored you. There’s another great-grandchild coming for you in the spring and I’m sure you would fall in love with her as soon as you saw her, just like you did with all of the others. Christmas was a beautiful time with you because you had so much spirit in your giving. All of the grandkids share that love of giving gifts and of themselves. I will think of you much this year as I watch my own grandson open his prizes on Christmas morning and smile as I remember you doing the same. PS I’m still working too hard and too much. Maybe I’ll slack off next year.

Me mummy. As you lay in bed year after year, your body was wasting away but your faith and gentleness remained. I thank you for the lessons you taught me and how you led by example. Most evident of these lessons was Christmas, where you showed that while giving gifts was important, it was reason we did it that was of highest value. I was grateful for our last holiday together because although you couldn’t speak to me, you could give me that special mom-hug that always warmed my heart. I’ll miss you this year as always.

Connor Lee, my son and my best bud. I truly believe you were only supposed to be here for a short time but I so wish it could have been longer. I wonder often what you would be like at nineteen and if we would still be as close as we were when you left me at four. Our last Christmas together was a banner one. Michael Jordan everything and your squeals of joy. Giggles and tickles. A happy day from beginning to end and it’s on video for me to watch when I someday get the courage to do so. I would like to have one last hug and kiss but I’ll settle for the memories of the happy little boy that you were. I will think of you especially on Christmas morning, of the way you enjoyed it with your whole being.

Baby boy. I don’t know whether you were a boy or a girl but I have my suspicions. Instinct tells me you were a son. I didn’t get to meet you but I know I will some day. Daddy and I would have loved to have held you at least once but we didn’t get that privilege. Christmas would have been even more joyous that year if you could have joined us. I would have watched you and your sister opening gifts, laughing with giddiness, but it was not to be. I will think of you this year and wonder.

Jessica, my niece. You learned some hard lessons in your short life and I know the burden of those was a heavy load to carry. Mostly I really wish I would have known you better. Not the tough person you allowed the world to see but the beautiful girl you kept hidden inside. When you left us, you should know that the best gift you gave was the little girl you left behind for us to enjoy. She is spunky, intelligent and tireless. A wonderful remembrance of the child that you were before life showed you the rougher side of things. I will think of that child this Christmas and your daughter who still embraces all that is good in this world.

The losing is difficult, all but one within the last twelve years, but the remembrance makes the grief easier to bear. In this season of giving, it is very easy to get lost in the commercial side of things but in allowing myself to think of them, I keep the real meaning of Christmas close to me. Much as those mentioned above are close in my heart with the memories they have left me and being able to share them in this message. Merry Christmas, readers. And thank you.