The Things My Kids Say....

My children tell me some of the most shocking things without shame or inhibition of any kind. It's amazing. I would never, ever, ever have told things of the same nature to my parents....or anyone for that matter, had the thoughts crawled across my brain. But at our house, anything is acceptable fodder for conversation with mom, or so it would seem.

When Jonathan was a lot smaller, he was telling me some rather incriminating things and I said,"You know, maybe you should talk to your dad about that," to which Jonathan got very serious and said,"Oh, no, mom, I could never tell dad. He doesn't sin." I laughed hard. I guess that makes me an approachable sinner. I can handle that.

Tonight at dinner--and to give you more of a sense of the moment, I shall offer the seating arrangements. Jon sits at the head of the table, though he's mostly gone these days, so the head of the table is empty. I sit to what would be Jon's right, Vivian next to me, Caroline next to Viv, Jonathan at the foot of the table, and then continuing counter clockwise, Oliver, Gabriel and last Charles who sits directly across from me.

There were a few moments of silence this evening as bowls of chicken, rice and vegetables with a yummy broth were handed round the table. In the silence Gabriel suddenly piped up. "Mom, when I'm 7 my foot will be 12." I had to pause and do what Jonathan calls "processing" and then I realized he was talking shoe size. For Gabriel that was a rather deep thought. "Yes, Gabriel, when you are 7, your foot will probably be 12." He responded," And then I'll need new shoes." "Yes," I confirmed, "Then you will need new shoes." He thought about this. "I will need flip flops." I looked at Gabriel and said, "You brain is a very interesting place. How did you land on flip flops? " Caroline chimed in,"I was thinking about flip flops,too." To which Jonathan said, "that doesn't surprise me."

(This reminds me of when the family was in the suburban together over the weekend. Jon was driving, I was knitting and there was a general sense of noise and chaos. Through the noise I began to focus on what Caroline was saying and I interrupted her. " Caroline, that conversation will stop now. You have said nothing of substance and the sum total of what you are saying is drivel, and frankly none of our business." There was silence for a few moments. Jonathan piped up," Um, mom?" "Yes," I answered. Jonathan cleared his throat, "Just for the record, there was no conversation. Caroline was talking in monologue. I had tuned out a long time ago.")

On to dinner tonight:

"Mom, do you think there are aliens, because I'm really beginning to think it's possible with all these astronomy classes," said Charles. "I mean the universe is just so huge! Anything could be out there." I remained silent as the other children weighed in. "Of course there are aliens," Jonathan offered," Where do you think we got Caroline?"

I decided to bring up blends with Gabriel. "Gabriel, do you remember your new blends?" I asked. He got all excited. Together we said "st, st, stick" and then "gr, gr, green." Oliver decided to pipe up, "br, br, breast. That's an important one, Gabriel." I rolled my eyes.

Charles hit the breast topic like a duck on a june bug. "Did you know that there was once a woman with three breasts?" I was rather intrigued. "Really? Where was the third?" He was ready for that question--"I learned all about it in that book about historical mutants. The third breast was on the side of her leg." You know I asked the obvious question. "Well, did it produce milk?" That was the very question he had hoped I would ask-"Yes, it did. In fact there was a drawing of her nursing her third child with the breast on the side of her leg while nursing her younger twin babies in the regular way."

I had to digest that idea for a moment. "Wow, that'd be a bit of a shock I think to marry someone and not know ahead of time about that sort of thing." But the train of thought was interrupted by Vivian who pulled on my arm." Want to see my lucky freckle?" she said with immense enthusiasm followed by," It has a hair in it" and everyone exploded into laughter and I looked at Vivian wondering where in the world that came from.

The entire conversation devolved from there rather rapidly. I had to bring everyone back to order. "Enough," I said. In the short pause, Boofin-Biddles came up.

Let me explain the origin of Boofin-Biddles. In the book of mutants, there is a wee man whose trunk is of proper size as are his head, hands and feet. But he has no arms or legs. Only hands and feet that come out where his limbs should come out of his trunk. Charles will tuck his arms into his shirt so only his hands are visible, and then pull his shirt over his knees to the floor as he crouches down, and he calls himself Boofin-Biddles when in this attitude. He gallops across the floor and does the most hilarious stunts and such. One day he was doing a Boofin-Biddles demonstration and he lost his balance and was on his side, his hands and feet flailing a bit but he stayed in form. "Help, I've fallen and I can't get up," and he rocked around on the floor in this pose. We were laughing until the tears fell.

So of course at dinner Boofin-Biddles came up, and Charles struck the pose instantly leaping from his chair and landing to the floor crouched low.

Charles also has created his own nonsense language that does have a very particular cadence and consonant arrangement. Gabriel attempted to speak in Guddish, as it is called. Charles corrected him with a stream of perfectly cadenced Guddish that is so nonsensical you can't help but laugh, and when Charles spoke it, it did in fact sound proper, and when Gabriel spoke it, it sounded wrong.

At the end of dinner, after I'd said more than once, "Ok, enough. Have you people no shame? Do you not realize that I don't want to know every thought that crawls through you brain?" Charles said," But why not? Our thoughts are so interesting." You know, he has a point.

After dinner--and we had dinner rather late--I announced it was time for a moonlight walk around the neighborhood. Everyone scattered to get their shoes and walk accoutrements. I walked around making sure pre-dinner chores had been completed. They had not been completed and the sinners stayed behind while the saints took Daisy for a walk.

Four children were left home soberly completing their chores, Jonathan and Oliver came with me. Oliver gleefully grabbed my hand thrilled to be able to hog me for the entire walk. "Mom, right over there the other day I found 2 dead toads," he announced after we'd gone maybe a hundred feet. "But don't worry, I grabbed them quick and put them in my treasure box." I took in the information silently thinking," So that would explain the smell in your room." Another block and Oliver suddenly released my hand, darted right, and then caught back up next to me with a HUGE toad in his hand. "This is a nice one," he said admiring it. I just raised my eyebrows and nodded.

Oliver then piped up again," I'm glad you brought wine cuz now I can smell the yumminess through the whole walk." I did in fact have a glass of wine in hand. When we got home, Oliver wearily departed. He said," I gotta go recharge my batteries," and off he went.

The house is silent, even Daisy is asleep. It's almost tragic to go to bed rather than sit here and enjoy the quiet.

Tonight I Took Daisy for A Walk

If you know anything about a 'coon dog, you know that this is a story of lies because no one can take a 'coon dog on a walk. Or if you have ever heard of such a person, unless you see it with your own eyes, don't believe it.

Daisy is a 'coon dog, which means if you were to compare her body parts in terms of effectiveness, her nose would be about the size of the lies told in the 9/11 commission report (notice the lie theme :-). She can smell anything and everything, and she's big, and she's strong. That said, when Daisy is on her leash, you are essentially at the mercy of her good will because she is stronger than you, and her will is a thing to behold. Especially if you come across a small deer or a 'coon in the course of your whiplash style jaunt across the neighborhood.

Today was an especially long day and not because it was filled with many exciting though exhausting events. First, I was awakened before 6 by the chime sound of Daisy's collar. I'm a light sleeper and if anyone or thing is stirring in the night, I know about it immediately. Since I am also the janitor of all Daisy's gastro-intestinal problems or when her nose gets the best of her and she must ransack the garbage can in the kitchen, if I hear the collar too early in the morning signaling Daisy is up and about, I bolt.

So it was this morning. Around 5:30 Daisy was up and about, I hastily got out of my bed, stopped to put on my flip flops and softly called to Daisy in the darkness. She came immediately. I took her out to the backyard and she set to work exhibiting all the lovely symptoms of a full and complete puke fest. Unfortunately for Daisy, Jon had just cut the grass over the weekend, so she had to scrounge a bit to find nice grassy bits to get the job done. I sorrowfully remembered that I had pitied her hound dog eyes last night and given her the remnants of pork roast and gravy. I knew better then, and I knew even better now.

I settled into a folding chair I brought from the sunroom since the teak chairs were soaking wet from the rain, wrapped up in an afghan (incidentally, the afghan my Aunt Ann crocheted for my step-dad a few years before I was even born which made me rather happy--I love things with stories), and enjoyed the sun rise to the sounds of the poor puking, gagging, Daisy.

Daisy got it worked out of her system by the time the sun was up and it was time for me to get the kids and breakfast going. And so the long day was off to a running start. I cleaned out a disgusting clogged toilet (small people who over use toilet paper....sigh), mopped the bathroom floor--(yeah, that's gross when the toilet over flows), taught school, did the radio show, produced 3 meals, did the dishes, took the kids to the park, took out garbage, milled wheat, and stirred up biga and started several batches of bread for tomorrow...yeah, I was tuckered out and needed a walk.

It was after 10 pm and I had my hand on the door knob when the hound dog eyes that had been my downfall the night before were again upon me. Surely I was not going to galavant across the neighborhood and leave my faithful friend behind? I sighed. No, I was not. Instead, I was going to put on her leash (just for show since the security patrol is usually cruising the neighborhood on the lookout for frisky 80 year olds keeping the neighbors up with their high action and rather loud basketball games) and let her drag me around for several blocks.

She was out the door in a flash, sniffing the air with an eager fascination. We made it past 3 houses before the sounds of a cooped up canine or three became very audible. Daisy had to respond in her hoarse hoop for a bark. I was exasperated. "Come on, Daisy, for heaven's sake." Heaven must have heard because Daisy was suddenly silent. I was cautiously pleased and she continued, nose to the ground, meandering along the sidewalk, first one side, then the other, than darting back under a bush, than darting forward sensing something. I soon wished I had worn different foot wear from the flip flops. But in a bit that would be the lesser of my problems.

I will pause here to say that dog owners who walk their dog and leave behind their dog's exhaust for others to step in and otherwise enjoy, should be shot along with their dog at sunrise the next morning. That is my pet-test of pet-peeves. There is a special place in purgatory for you if you leave behind dog poop. I don't even believe in purgatory, but I think hell might be going a bit far. For instance when I weigh Hitler sending all those millions to their deaths and leaving behind dog poop, I'm thinking Hell for Hitler and Purgatory for the Poo Leaver. But currently I'm having a lovely glass of wine, so I might feel differently in the morning. Check back.

Back to the story, we were many more blocks from the house than I could count, I was enjoying a moon that was bursting through breaks in the clouds which were finally clearing up after a fiesty late afternoon rainstorm, and Daisy was maintaining a somewhat predictable cycle of jog, trot, dart, stop, jerk, and pull that could be enjoyed on some sick level. Suddenly, she got that position and I realized I had left home without the poo bag. "Noooo" I mournfully said as Daisy finished up her business. This dog never poops on walks. I mean, NEVER.

I looked around to see if I had been spotted by neighbors on the prowl. All was quiet. I checked for some sort of block identification since I was going to have to trot back, bag in hand, a little while later. When I did get back home, Caroline was sprawled on the sofa reading. "I thought Daisy never left exhaust on walks?" I whined--or maybe sighed is a better word. Caroline affirmed my thinking. "Yeah, mom, she never does unless you forget the bag. It's the strangest thing."

I got a couple bags and headed back out. It was at this time that I was a bit pleased I had to go fetch the exhaust because it gave me an opportunity to wander along in the moonlight at a happy pace unencumbered by a crazy 'coon dog intent on nabbing some furry animal in the midst of a concrete jungle. Mission accomplished a short time later and my guilt relieved. The patrol car lazily moseyed on by, the window down. "Evening," said the patrol man who looked a decade or two past retirement age. I cheerfully said evening back and went on my way. A few silent bicyclists went by and I was back home.

Saturday Morning....Seen One, Seen 'Em All.

I feel rather sorry for the vast majority of Americans who will never know what it is to be in possession of a good many little people, because the interplay is priceless and not reproducible on any satisfactory level.

Being isolated in Austin affords the opportunity to ruminate and enjoy (or otherwise, as the case may be) this aforementioned interplay as our family is always together. (The exception being Jon who is a field sales man and thus on the road much of the time).

Saturday mornings are essentially one and the same. First, it is the one morning in the week where I do not have to get up at any particular time nor do I need to do anything particular. (The joke every Saturday morning is "What time do we have to be at the abortion clinic? Where's the parade this afternoon? and so on and so forth, the scarring memories of my past life as an activist not being that far removed from the memories of my children).

Of course, the laundry must be done (I stain treat and start the loads and Jonathan Jr. takes over from there), and advance planning for whatever Sunday activities/meals are in store, but there is no agenda per say. Since the master bedroom is in the back of the house and more like a bunker than a bedroom having no windows to the outside world, there is no chance of birds singing or sun shining to beckon me forth (sniff, sniff).

However, there are 3 little boys who share the room down the hall, and they are intimately aware of when the sun rises, the lizards are again in play, and it is time for battles to be staged, pillow fights to be launched, and forts to be erected. Next down the hall the girls slumber peacefully and rarely venture forth of their own will, and at the end of the hall is Bomethius, the resident teenager, who needs vast quantities of sleep within his man cave which is littered with books and musical instruments.

Around 7am it begins. Oliver arises--an occurrence that is heralded by the sounds of someone bounding from his bed, pawing at the bathroom door knob, clunk goes the toilet lid, a sound akin to pressure washing, flushing, and then a return to the bedroom which seems to be a path riddled with potholes, large trees, angry and hostile giants, and perhaps some artillery. Oliver, having safely made it back to the bunker, surveys the peacefully slumbering combatants. Gabriel, being the most accessible in his little youth bed against the wall, is his first victim.

His approach is always the same, and will probably give Gabriel life long nightmares that would give Vietnam vets some measure of sympathy. He bounds atop Gabriel in the spirited exhilaration of a Greek god going into battle knowing himself to be immortal. "Let's fight, let's fight" Oliver eagerly cheers while the little Gabriel in a slumbering haze, emerges from blankets wishing himself in the top bunk.

Charles, having heard the ruckus from his top bunk perch, slowly sallies forth, feeling some measure of defensiveness for Gabriel's plight, and some measure of frustration for Oliver's exuberance. The battle is on, three boys embroiled with an energy field that would challenge black holes or Bermuda triangles. In short order screeching turns to laughing, thunks commence on all 4 walls, and one would think that the half dozen offspring are all in the same room.

The parental units are tired. The night before they were able to enjoy the sounds of a massive moth, whose girth would dwarf a humming bird, going through the 12 hour death rattle, flapping against the blinds, the walls, the fan, and so on and so forth. I didn't hear the sounds until nearly 5 am. "Who is there and what do you want," I whispered in the darkness wondering what kid was producing the very bizarre noise. "It is the stupid moth the boys caught yesterday," Jon responded,"or rather didn't catch but herded into our bedroom." I had seen the moth the day before. I supposed it had gone into the sunroom which is connected to the sewing room which is connected to the master bedroom and so made its way to our room. Jon got up and headed to the bathroom, and I decided that if there was any hope for another hour of sleep, I would have to get the moth out.

I opened the door to the sewing room, turned on the light, and carefully got back to my bed hoping the moth would be attracted to the light. The moth was incapable of being attracted to anything, his remaining energy being saved for wildly careening into walls and furniture, its final hoo-ray for bidding this cruel world farewell. I must confess that it was alarming to observe something so big flailing about, and I cowered under my blankets with a "please God don't let that thing come over by me!" Yes, it is rather shameful. I had the good sense to at least laugh at myself in a valiantly mocking tone. Thankfully, God either answered my prayer or the moth had pity on me. At any rate it landed under the armoire and breathed its last with a final flutter of its broad wing span.

So back to the boys and the Saturday morning ritual. The noise level had reached that point at which the slumbering teenager decided to take action. He burst onto the battle field hissing threats with an aggression that would have floored most transgressors. But this crew was accustomed to such things and merely blinked back with unconcerned amusement, waited for Jonathan to return to his room, and resumed their battle.

Next up, mom had "had enough!" words frequently heard around our place. So I opened the door and hissed that everyone better get back in bed, NOW. Then I got back to my side, pulled the covers over and attempted to return to Zzzz land. The boys know the drill. They merely must reduce the noise level so that mom reaches a point of slumber such that she will not be motivated to re-emerge. So within short order they were back at it. Finally, the last strains of the last movement in the Requiem gave way, the notes Jonathan and I were waiting for.

The King of the Castle had had enough--words he never says but doesn't need to. Jon got out of his bed with the authoritative air that cannot be mimicked- you either have it or you don't, opened the door and bellowed forth a remonstrance that meant certain execution for rebellion to his supreme command. Silence immediately ensued save a little voice belonging to the pint size prima donna who sang a song of her own spontaneous making with complete calm and unconcern for the uproar. The General delivered another bellow and Vivian was taken from the throne of her imagination and sent back to the reality of the life of the other soldiers. Real silence enveloped the fort, Jonathan and I grinned from opposite ends of the hall in the darkness, and slumber was happily resumed.

My apologies for having relayed this tale with regular changes of verb tense. As it is a scene that has happened, is happening and will happen again, it lends itself to a confusing tapestry of tense that would make every grammar teacher shudder and bemoan any hopes of my children gaining an acceptable command of the English vernacular under my tutelage. It is my hope that this person will soon arrive and take over so I can go back to my other world and have my school room exposure happily reigned in.