.…Fill my soul with vomit
then ask for a piece of gum….
…You’re a parasitic, psycho, filthy creature
finger bangin’ my heart…..
(words and music by Ludo, Love Me Dead)
I really like this song. What is wrong with me?
Brrrot-dot-da-d-da-da!
Brrrot-dot-da-d-da-da!…….
Most states have Good Samaritan Laws designed to protect health care workers who provide assistance to people in need of medical care outside of a hospital setting. You know, guy falls in the supermarket because he’s choking on the grapes he couldn’t wait to pay for and you stomp on his stomach–Ala the Safetylich. That’s my term for Heimlich at a distance. It’s a hands off approach lending aide–you can’t be too safe, right? I mean if a guy’s gonna eat half a bag of grapes in the grocery store before he pays for them who knows where he’s been.
So, anyway, I was just wondering if we should maybe extend the Good Samaritan Laws to include acts perpetrated by well-meaning children. Acts by children who should know better but want to help in whatever manner. Usually, said help invariably ends up detriment and rather than praise the child reaps rebuke.
My case in point. A few days ago we had made a run to the store for a few essentials one of them being laundry detergent. When we arrived home, I asked Zoë to please bring the fresh supplies upstairs to the laundry room. I went about the task of preparing our lunch not giving the matter another thought. Before long, I heard water running and in a panic rushed upstairs to see what the twins had gotten into. I’ve had my issues with the twins and water upstairs before so I’m sure you can understand.
The twins were fine, playing on the floor. Dry! I then set about to determine the source of the running water and quickly found out that is was the washing machine. Zoë and Zane had taken it upon themselves to lend a bit of assistance with the laundry. And this is what is left of the brand new bottle of fabric softener.
The bottle Zoë had brought upstairs just one hour ago. I normally purchase the largest bottle available as we do a lot of laundry. This particular bottle tauts a whopping 78 loads. Seventy eight loads!!! 
She used almost half of the bottle!! And what did she wash with almost one half a bottle of fabric softener, you may be curious to know. I’ll tell you. Two towels and a pair of shorts.
I was so out of sorts at finding our brand new bottle of fabric softener half gone that I hadn’t even realized that the dryer was running. Zane had noticed that there were a few items in the washer and took it upon himself to toss them in the dryer. Not all of them, mind you as there was a 3/4 full laundry basket of wet clothes on the floor—in front of the dryer.
So I opened the dryer to see exactly what we were drying in found six t-shirts (just six) and these–
. Just in case you can’t tell, that’s what 21 (twenty one) dryer sheets look like all spread out on top of the dryer. Yeah, he was drying six t-shirts with 21 dryer sheets.
I’ve got some of the softest clothes in all of America’s Heartland!
Zoë and her mother spent the better part of last evening looking at dresses. They oohed and ahhed over each new find noting differences and similarities in the ones that they liked. An innocuous exercise on the surface yet shockingly harsh in it’s reality. Painful in it’s intents as I came to realize that try as I may, I am powerless. I attempt to control, to steer, to guide, to shape, and to mold the lives of my children with a vision of what I believe to be good and honorable. I instruct and chastise, comfort and soothe. As a parent, I am provider and a source.
Yesterday I came to realize the infinitesimally small amount of control that I actually have. Time has far more power and I am defenseless to it. Whether or not I am ready, my children are growing up. You see, yesterday evening Zoë and her mother spent the better part of two hours looking for a First Communion Dress. The harsh realities of the situation humbled me. It has also inspired this week’s Sunday Sonnets.
I Seek Simplicity
Like it or else, time does wait.
Our children grow though we resist.
Their minds ever expanding as the world
In which they live continues to grow smaller
Objects become concepts and pat
Answers are no longer acceptable as
Explanation of the ordinary.
My kids are growing up.
Haughty, my spirit is lifted as once
Impossible tasks are now ordinary.
Rudimentary conversation is replaced
With provocation and depth.
Time matures us, teaches and molds, not me.
I long for the comfort of simplicity.
Throughout the course of any particular day I am given to ponder. I do it often, sometimes to excess neglecting chores or forgetting to complete simple requested tasks. People might call it daydreaming. Others may call it attention-deficit. Still others might say that I’m manifesting some latent inner turmoil with my inability to accept things as they are, caught between a drive to change the world I see around me and just accepting things as they are . And of course there are those who would just call me lazy. What do I think? Well, I just told you–I ponder. Sometimes things just need to be thunk.
Last Sunday evening, as I was cleaning up the kitchen after the evening feast–I pondered. Feast may be an overstatement here. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. It was leftover stir fry from our recent trip to a Japanese steakhouse. It was the kids’ first exposure and they could not have been more excited. The art of food being prepared in front of them–with flair–was engrossing. Zia had a few issues with the fire display but other than that they all seemed to have a blast. Zoë almost caught the flying egg in her mouth and everyone got a real kick when the cook at the table next to us bounced a shrimp tail off of my head. Good times!
So I’m cleaning, sweeping up rice from just about every square inch of surface space in our kitchen–there was even rice in the living room and some had made it’s way to the basement. It looked like a newly married couple had paused for their church exiting photo op in our kitchen an there had been a sale on Mahatma just prior to their arrival. Seriously, we could have filled a small grain elevator with the rice I swept up. How in holy hell could these children have proclaimed themselves full when this much food lay wasted on the floor?
But that’s not what I pondered. No, sir. As I swept, I thought. As a newborn is transitioned from bottle to cereal what are their first solids?…..Rice.
RICE.
That’s it. And what do these wide eyed and eager children do with their first tastes of solids (rice)? Right. They puke it up all over me and the kitchen floor. And I clean it up.
One of the first do it easy at home to appease your kid’s extremely short attention span–because your kid is completely over any and every toy you may have purchased– is the noise maker.
Rice in a can. And what happens after two minutes of playing with their newly created wonderful shaky noise maker? Right. The tape is pulled from can and rice is scattered all over the kitchen floor. And I clean it up.
I serve rice to my kids often. In casseroles, with gravy, to be used with vegetable burritos, in jambalaya, in gumbo. The list goes on. And after every meal, the kids mysteriously proclaim themselves full. I survey the carnage of a rice strewn kitchen and I clean it up.
We use rice in our food, in our music, in our games, in our artwork. It was the first food my kids ever ate and at least weekly for the past seven and one half years rice has been a staple food item on our grocery list. I’ve got to ask myself, why? It would seem that an inordinate amount of my time is devoted not to preparing and consuming this miraculously fluffy grain, but cleaning it up and throwing it away. The maddening cycle has got to end.
At lest until my little primates learn to use a fork!
Just in case anyone forgot, Thursday was new issue day at Quirkee.com. This was my submission for this week. But just because I reposted here doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Go check out some of the other great things at Quirkee. You’ll be glad you did.
Zane used to cry out in the night, pretty benign kid stuff and easily consoled. Sometimes it was fairly harsh and a bit unnerving. Although he appeared awake he wasn’t and attempts to console him were useless. Over time we found that just laying him back down in the bed was usually all that was necessary and he would quickly fall back into a deep slumber with no morning recollection of the dream or awakening. I believe the correct term is night terrors.
For the life of me, I don’t know why we need new names for all of the stuff I experienced as a kid. Why terror? Who decided that night terrors was a more appropriate description? It’s a nightmare or a bad dream, that’s it.
Well, Zane has pretty much resolved his issues with the screaming out in the night. Oh, there’s still the oft occasion he’ll end up in our bed because he says he’s scared or can’t sleep. But he’s not screaming to get there. I believe he just wakes up in the middle of the night and starts to let his mind wander. Then he gets scared and decides someone needs to know about it. Rather than wake his sisters, he wakes me. I’m so lucky.
Last night, though, Zander let out the most horrific scream I believe I have ever heard. He doesn’t scream. Don’t get me wrong, he’s loud. He yells. Quite a bit. But he doesn’t really scream. Not like the blood curdling scream of fear he let out last night. It was chilling. Maura and I raced to his room to find him sitting straight up in his bed screaming his little head off. I’ve no idea what set him off. But something wasn’t right and he sure as hell was afraid.
It was the kind of scream that really shakes a person. So much so that I actually checked out the bedrooms and closets. Tentatively, I made my way down the dimly lit hallway and checked on each child. Each one sleeping soundly, oblivious to the screams of Zander and the fears that were now keeping me awake.
Last night, I kept vigil. Maybe now I realize why it’s called terror. Zander scared the shit out of me.
Today, I can’t get enough caffeine. And Zander is as happy as a clam.
I need a nap!
