Kids Ask Dumb Questions

Image by John_X via Flickr

My younger son is the 'why?' kid. He always has to know why, when, where, how, who... you get the picture. The fact that he professes to not be able to share any of this knowledge on paper mystifies me. But that's not really the thing right now. We don't start school until next week.

I have a tough time communicating with this one, because he is very precise (Concrete Sequential, Cynthia Tobias would say) and I am oh so random. When I send him to fetch something, I have to be able to tell him exactly where it is and what it is, or he comes back empty-handed. And yelling 'just LOOK for it' causes such a look of complete horror that I instantly feel like I've just kicked a puppy. Sigh. It's been good for me, as I have had to really work on paying attention to how I say things and seeing things from his point of view.

Of course, today was a kicker. I was building a wall on a loafing shed for my horses (a loafing shed is a 2 or 3 sided shelter that the horses freely wander in and out of in a paddock or pasture) when my son very casually asked me: "Are those yellow jackets, or hornets." I answered, "I dunno, where?" while looking around a little, but mostly focused on my job. He said, "Over your head."

I look up to see about 6 pissed off paper hornets coming off the nest they're building in the rafters of 'my' shed!!

Of course I did what any sensible woman would do... Haul butt out of there!

I have to say my kid is pretty smart, though, or at least has a great sense of self preservation. When he saw me running, he didn't ask any questions (for once) he took off too!

I have to say I'm proud to be as fast as my 10-year-old son, even in my workboots and wearing a toolbelt with a hammer wailing away on the back of my thighs with every step. There's nothing like the proper motivation. And I don't care what the kid says, I did NOT shoulder him into the barn wall!

So you see, it's not that kids ask questions, it's the type of questions they ask. Of course, "Did you know there's a paper wasp nest over your head?" would have gotten the same reaction, so what does it really matter anyway?


Of course, my question for the day, and my whole family is professing innocence on this one: Why are there firecrackers in my toolbelt pockets?

In tears...

I lost my mom last year to a brain tumor. August 19 would have been her 80th birthday, so a lot of memories have come flooding back lately.

Mom was an orthopedic nightmare. It started with a hip revision that she insisted on despite the doctor's misgivings. It was a tough surgery, a tough recovery, and led to her femur spontaneously fracturing some months later. That surgery led to MRSA, and continuing complications for the next 3 years or so. We dealt with good doctors, bad doctors, wonderful nurses, incredibly caring office staff, great nursing homes, hellholes, and lunkheads. As an only child, I was Mom's primary caregiver, chauffeur, and interference-runner. My medical transcription training definitely proved to be an advantage in understanding what was happening and why, and really helped me keep track of her records and even catch some mistakes here and there.

My advice is this: Stay polite. Ask questions in a non-confrontational way. Be sure you totally understand the situation before making decisions... and ask the doctor what he would do if this was his mother.

That all said, for the past few months I've been watching the unfolding drama of another only daughter and her mother in a very similar situation, and it's really underscored for me how essential it is to be pro-active in getting care for our parents, and how terribly things go wrong if we aren't paying attention or are more concerned with our own desires and social life than our parent's needs, and how terribly things can go wrong if we don't stay at our parent's sides through all the hospital stays and tests and doctor's visits.

Honestly sometimes you have to get past your parent's desire to tell you what they think you want to hear. It's a very soul-searching position to be in.

I fear it will cost this old friend her life, if not just her leg, and it just breaks my heart. She was and is a good mom. She doesn't deserve such a selfish daughter. It makes me really feel for what doctors go through with delusional people who blame them for not being able to fix the results of their own irresponsibility.

The Spartans had a clue...

I've been listening to recordings of a series of lectures on the History of Western Civilization. It's really interesting, even if the lecturer does sound just like Dr. Flox on Enterprise!

Anyway... one of the lectures in the series was about the Spartans. Their were a very militaristic nation. All the adult males basically lived in barracks, and the boys from 7 years old went away to 'military school'. Leaving the women to a peaceful night's sleep and a tidy home.

I'm thinking... cool.

And you're thinking, so?

Ok, I'll be honest. Here's what's really happening. My husband is a morning person. I am So Not. Garfield is my kindred spirit. I'm not passably human until my 3rd cup of Joe. I usually try hard to have no contact with others for at least an hour. It's for their own safety. So this morning I wanted to sleep in a little (I lost track of time and when I looked at the TV SNL was on, so yeah, I was up too late. Oh, BTW, SNL was a totally lame rerun from a YEAR ago, and since when did they have so many real commercials??), and on my way back from the morning bathroom visit looked over at little Mr. Brighteyes and said "Leave me alone. I want to Sleep." He is now deeply offended. He hasn't spoken to me all day. Sigh.

Morning people. They suck. I know I'll be the one to apologize. I always am. Morning people never apologize. They have this little self-righteous THING that daylight means activity, it's the 'natural order of things' or some-such crap.

They should live in Barracks with other morning people. Far FAR AWAY!

Missing collectables

Image via Wikipedia

My husband is one of those guys that every time a news story comes up about some incredibly valuable rookie card says "I had that." It's true. He did. And his mom threw them allllll away. Football cards, comic books, toys...

And I used to feel bad for him. Especially since I knew his mom was a neat-freak that had no problem with going through other people's stuff to 'tidy up'. You tended to only discover this 'tidying up' when you saw someone else wearing your jewelry. But I just won't go there today.

Now I'm a mom too. I have boys. And I hate to say it, but I'm starting to feel a lot more empathetic towards the dragon MIL. Because I really want to toss all these rotten 'collectables' my children are filling my house with. I don't want to be that little old lady with all the cats and pathways through the house between all the magazines, books, amazing t-shirts, and for God's sake ENERGY DRINK CANS?? What the??

I try hard to remember the stand I took long ago about privacy and personal possessions--but my mommy genes are starting to rear their ugly heads and whisper things like 'dust' 'vacuum' 'TIDY'... I'm sorry, Rulah...

I got mugged

Image by normanack via Flickr

Many of us have joked about the difference between a small town mugging and a big-city mugging. In the big city people take your stuff. In a small town, they give you stuff. Not stuff you want, usually, but stuff. It just appears in your car without notice.

It's especially critical to lock your car in small towns in summer so that you don't find strange zucchini. It's everywhere! I swear there are rabid gardeners out there stalking parking lots for their next victim... After all, we can't eat all this stuff ourselves! It's the fault of the seed companies who enable us! They have to be putting at least 20 zucchini seeds in each packet and god knows it seems harmless and innocent at the time. Then July comes and you can't just let all that go to waste--oh lord what were we THINKING??

Sigh.

Sure enough, this weekend I didn't warn my husband to lock the car, and there it was, large as life and just as proud when he got home; a zucchini the size of a baseball bat in my backseat. Sigh... allrecipes.com here I come.

I know who you are... and be warned, I have summer squash and I'm not afraid to use it!