fishducky, finally!: 03/03/14

Monday, March 3, 2014

I ACTUALLY MISS THE DAYS WHEN…

I'm back!! I'm not fully healed yet, but I'm getting there. The next several posts were written before my surgery & I decided to get back to blogland, so here goes!!

…the kids were small & you never knew what they were going to do or say, & neither did they. (Many of the following incidents were taken from prior posts.)

When Nameless, our first born, was small my husband was a brand new lawyer & often had to work quite late. No matter what time the two of us had dinner, it always seemed to be the three of us. When we sat down to eat, Nameless would start crying & would only stop when I put her in her infant seat on the table. We had to make sure we were passing the potatoes & not our daughter!!

In the olden days, when parents felt safe in letting their very young children walk to school & back alone, my parents were babysitting our 7 or 8 year old daughter while we were on a trip. They became quite worried when one day she was over a half hour late in getting home from school. When she finally got home, they asked her why she was so late. Our daughter always had a very logical brain. She told them she had taken a “long” cut.

No subject was ever off limits at our dinner table. Once Nameless asked what a homosexual was. We weren’t sure how to explain this to an 8 year old. We told her that while most men love women, there were some men who loved other men. We said this was the way God made them & it was fine. We asked her if she understood & she said, “Yeah—you mean like a lesbian, only a man!”

How she learned to never bite off more than you can chew—or pack more than you can carry: As a teenager, she was preparing to go to Europe with some friends. She decided to put everything into one backpack. She is 5’2” & slim & there was an awful lot in that backpack. We told her that it was too heavy for her, but she disagreed. We helped her slide the straps over her shoulders. She stood erect for a moment--& then fell over backwards! She could NOT get up. I had the feeling I had given birth to a turtle, which now lay helpless on its back. She repacked.

Our son, Matt, hated to take showers when he was young. He would often turn on the shower & sit in the bathroom for a while & then come out bone dry & just as dirty as when he went in. Once, I made sure he actually got in the shower, which must have made him angry, because when I went into the bathroom later to straighten up I found he had written the “F” word on the steamed up mirror. He tried to, anyway. He had put an “e” on the end. FUCKE. It looked like Shakespeare was swearing. My problem, as a loving & helpful mother, was to decide which was more important—telling him not to use that kind of language or correcting his spelling?

When he was about eight, he jumped off our front porch to the driveway below. It was a full one story drop & he used an umbrella as a parachute. He didn't break anything, but he did learn that that was not the purpose of an umbrella.

And then there’s sweet, even tempered Blake. We got a call from the elementary school once that we would have to come & get him & take him to the ER. It seems that he got mad at another boy & tried to punch him in the stomach. He missed. He got him in the belt buckle instead & broke his knuckle. And then there was the time the school called because he had hurt himself falling UP the stairs. Yes, I said UP.

When Blake was about 2, the kids were having lunch & I was at the sink, with my back to them. He knocked over his glass & spilled his milk. I wiped it up & poured him some more. He knocked over his glass again, & again I wiped it up & poured him more. I warned him not to do it again or he would be sorry. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he deliberately knocked it over one more time. I picked up the gallon milk bottle (which had probably a quart or so left in it) & emptied it on his head! Childish, I know, but it made a beautiful waterfall—or, I guess, a milkfall. He didn’t even cry—he just sat there with his little mouth hanging open in amazement as the milk cascaded from his head. As far as I know, none of our kids ever deliberately knocked over their milk again. Not while I was in the room, anyway.

This happened when he was about 8 years old. The kids were in their pajamas at the kitchen table. I had left my cigarettes & lighter on the table. Blake started playing with my lighter, which both scared & annoyed me. We started arguing & he stood there with his arms straight out, as if he were ready for crucifixion. He was wearing an old terry cloth robe, with its strings hanging down. I was making a point about the lighter being dangerous & was stupidly waving it (lit) under his arms. I swear it was AT LEAST a foot away, when the threads hanging under his arms caught fire! We were able to get the robe off & the fire put out with absolutely no harm to him or anyone else—but I guess I made my point!

I guess I should've given him this:

Erma Bombeck once said, “Grandchildren are God’s reward for letting your own children live.” I think she was right. I was staying at my Nameless’ house to help out while she had her second baby. My then 2 year old other granddaughter was attached to me like Velcro. She even ate all her meals while sitting on my lap. I tried to explain to her that I couldn’t stay forever, that I had my own house to take care of & that her grandpa needed me, too. I asked her if she understood that I would have to leave soon. She hugged me & in a sweet, loving, singsong voice, said, “Yes—but not todaaaaaay!”

A couple of years later (the girls were about 2 & 4) we were at a restaurant with them having dinner. The younger one had just finished her dinner & was very sleepy. The server came to our table & asked if we wanted dessert. We told her no, but my little granddaughter said she wanted some. Her daddy told her she was much too tired. She said, very politely, “No, Daddy, I’m not. I’d really like some…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.” She was out like a light!!

Sort of like this, but she was older:

My sister-in-law was taking a bath & her 2 year old son was sitting on the edge of the tub, intently staring at her & looking sad. She asked him what the problem was & he said, “You got no penis! Where your penis go?” She explained to him that men & boys have a penis, but girls & women don’t. She said she was a woman so she had never had one & that it was OK. He said, “I got one.” She said, “Yes.” “Michael (his older brother) got one.” “Yes.” “Daddy got one.” “Yes.” She asked him if he understood. He thought for a minute & his little face brightened up. He said, “I know—Daddy buy you one!!”

I don't want to leave Bud out of all this. I was in the hospital, probably after having had our second baby, & had turned off the phone so I could take a nap. The nurse came in & said I had an emergency call. When I asked her what the emergency was, she laughed & said, "Your husband wants to know how much detergent to use when you're washing a full load of diapers!!"

Bud has always been helpful--he now helps by hiring a weekly cleaning woman--except when it came to kids upchucking. I was sick, so Bud took a young friend, Alison, & our daughter, both about 3 years old, to a birthday party for my niece, about 40 miles away. Alison’s mom had neglected to tell my husband that her daughter occasionally got carsick. This was such an occasion. She upchucked on her dress so Bud stopped at a shopping mall & bought her a new one. He took her into the restroom, hosed her down, changed her clothes & went on to the party. When he brought her home, her mom wondered why she was wearing a different dress than the one she left in. I was very proud of my husband. When one of our kids in our home barfed while I was out, he would close the door to that room & when I got home, he’d point & say, “In there.” Then again, I guess he didn’t have this option in his car.

Some younger kids cartoons: