Any parent will tell you that when you ask a child a question, you'd better be prepared for the answer, because there is no telling what they'll say. Typically speaking, if you ask a generic question, you'll get a normal answer though...at least where neurotypical children are concerned. With special needs children, even the most mundane questions can have complicated answers. There are some questions that are guaranteed to trigger such responses, and I thought I'd offer a brief...warning.
1. Where would you like to eat?
Now, if you're a parent, you've been out with your children and realized that they are probably hungry. Deciding to offer them a treat of eating out, you ask, "Where would you like to eat?" If you have neurotypical children, you'll get anything from McDonald's to Starbucks depending on their age. If your child has ADHD, you'd better be prepare yourself. You might get something normal, or you might get "on the moon." Yes, I said, "ON THE MOON!" It answers the question, even if you don't have a clue how it would be possible. This might prompt you to ask more questions. Do yourself a favor and just....don't. Once they've given their wild answer, you have a choice: either reconstruct the question with a caveat that will inevitably prompt more questions from them OR figure out how the hell you're going to have lunch on the moon. I made this mistake once...and we had lunch on the moon. We created a "lunar landing" area as part of our homeschool science class and had a nice lunch of cheese sandwiches, apple slices, and pizza pies. (I let the kids pick the menu. Can you figure out why they chose those foods? Leave your answers in the comments section below.)
If you'd like to avoid having lunch on the moon and other similar circumstances, its best to ask questions like these with constraints. In stead of leaving them wide open, say "Would you like to eat at McDonald's or Burger King?" You could ask, "What's your favorite thing to eat?" and then you select a restaurant that serves their favorite food. Occasionally though, I'd recommend letting one of those open-enders fly and running with it. It could lead to some hilarious and fantastic memories that you and your little ones will cherish for years to come.
2. Have you finished....?
It doesn't matter how you complete that sentence. If you are asking someone with ADHD if they have finished something, you already know the answer. It's no. Even though you are secretly hoping the answer is yes, you are only asking because you know they haven't. You're using the question as a prompt to keep them on track. Unfortunately, you're also making yourself insane. Repeating the same pattern over and over again, expecting a different result each time, is the definition of insanity. Instead of asking a question, just check. You can say, "Hey, bring me your homework so I can check it." or "I'm going to go check your room to see if its clean." The idea that you are about to find they haven't completed the task yet can be quite motivational. In most cases, they'll return to the task with a renewed vigor. It also helps to set small, definable goals when assigning tasks to children with ADHD. Instead of "Clean your room" it would be more prudent to say "Please pick up all the clothes and put them in the hamper. I'll be in in a few minutes to see what else needs to be done." A small more defined task with a reasonable time limit can be helpful in keeping your ADHDer on task. You can assign a new task once the previous task is completed to satisfaction.
3. Why did you...?
This is a lesson you'll learn very quickly. That question is BAD BAD BAD. You don't have enough time or brain cells to endure this level of wacky. I'm not trying to suggest that people with ADHD are insane or incapable of rational thought, but they are impulsive. Their minds tend to leap frog through topics. You ask why and by the time they've mentally processed the answer, they've forgotten the question. You might think that's a stretch, but I've seen it happen. If you need an explanation from your ADHDer, do yourself a favor and guide the conversation. Don't just ask why. "Did you get distracted while you were doing your homework?" No. "Did you lose your pencil?" No. "Did you forget your book?" No. "Were you watching TV instead of working?" No. "Then you should have it done. Let me see it." I'm still working on it. "Has something prevented you from completing your homework or are you having trouble with the assignment?" No, I'm just having trouble focusing. BAM! By asking targeted questions and guiding the conversation toward an actually answer, you've avoided a 30 minute explanation about the math teacher's dress, Sally Jane's new pet iguana, and the dog running in circles chasing invisible squirrels. The reality is: He's having difficulty focusing. Recognize that the answer to "Why did you...?" always comes back to focus. Everything else is just filler. It saves time and sanity just to accept it. You're job is not to navigate the rocky waters of explanation, but rather to supply the focus. You can't do anything about his racing mind, but you can minimize the stimuli affecting the race. A clean workspace, some music he can relate to, and a reduction in foot traffic can be just as beneficial as all the 504 Plans and IEPs and medicines in the world.
Tuesday, February 9, 2016
Friday, July 17, 2015
Adventures in Babysitting
I know I said I wouldn't be writing a blog every day, but for now, I'm in the mood. I've been thinking quite a bit about my childhood lately, for reasons I'll keep to myself for now. It's been a considerable trip down memory lane. As I look back, I find that I struggle for "happier" memories. The sour far too often outweighs the sweet. I don't think its because I'm a negative person. I think its just human nature to linger on the "not-so-good" things. They tend to stick with us more. I'd like to tell you that I'm turning over a new leaf and focusing on only positive things, but that's not true. I've tried it. It doesn't work. Stepford-Jase is creepy. What I will try to do is share an equal amount of the good, the bad, and the ugly. A nice balance tends to make for better storytelling anyway. Here's one of those that contains a bit of all 3...
I had the good fortune of having a "stay at home" mom for my early childhood years. (And before someone gets the idea that I have something against working moms, please let me assure you that I do not.) We weren't rich...hell, we weren't even middle class. We had to gather eggs and milk the cow every day just to eat breakfast. In the winter, meals were often left overs that had accumulated over the previous year, frozen in baggies and old buckets. In the morning, mother would throw some homemade canned tomato juice in a cast iron pot, dump in an ice block of frozen whatever-was-in-it, and set it on the old wood stove. When it boiled, it was done. Sometimes it took all day. I was a poor farm kid from the sticks. Cereal was a luxury. I spent May to September 90% barefoot and shirtless, because we couldn't afford new shoes and clothes. They had to last. Truth be told, we didn't always get "new" anything. A good bit of the time, we got hand-me-downs from cousins and neighbors. It was a circumstance of country life...but I digress. My dad made 3.15 an hour in those days, and the farm didn't bring in a great deal of money. Mother decided she would start babysitting to bring in some extra cash. To show you how much of a difference there is between then and now...she got 20.00 a week to take on 2 other kids 8 to 10 hours a day. Can you imagine?
The first couple of children she kept were the children of family friends. Their dad drove the local milk truck and their mom was a secretary for a small business. They were nice people. Trey and Ashley became like family for my sister, Tiffany, and I. We were all separated by 1 year...meaning I was 6, Trey was 5, Tiff was 3, and Ashley was 2. Ash was potty training and still in diapers. She was...portly? She always reminded me of the Gerber baby but with more chubby. Trey was so thin, you couldn't have hit him with a handful of corn. I assumed he was thin because Ash was eating his share as well. Tiff and Ash spent most of their time playing dolls and annoying Trey and I. For some reason they couldn't understand why it was inappropriate for girls to enter our Fort, which was basically 2 hay bales, a dirt mound, and a bed sheet I pilfered from the clothesline. They could usually be deterred from bothering us with the waterhose, though in most cases that resulted in the wooden spoon making an appearance. We had 1 television..cabinet style. There were 2 dials on it and rabbit ears for the first 6 years of my life. Didn't matter though...there were only 3 channels anyway. If you were lucky, and the birds stayed away, and the weather was good...you might get 2 of the 3 to come in plainly. The other was a lost cause unless you held your mouth just right.
One evening, after Trey and Ash had gone home, my dad came in and began discussing this "new" technology with my mother. I was intrigued. A device that would allow us to watch movies sounded AMAZING! I listened for a long time, and I remember thinking how awesome it would be to have something like that. The downside was that it was going to cost my dad two weeks pay to get one. That wasn't something we could afford. I was disappointed. A few weeks went by and I had all but forgotten about the new movie thing. Pretending was better anyway, and we had started getting a new channel (a 4th one!!)...KBSI 23, a FOX station. That meant more cartoon choices, when we were allowed to watch that is (which wasn't a great deal. 30 minutes a day, and Saturday mornings.) Life was good.
Right at the end of summer, a few weeks before it was time to pick corn, my paternal grandmother, Mamaw, called to tell my dad that she had found a VCR machine for sale in the newspaper. (That's right bitches, we had a phone. It was an avocado green rotary phone, but we had one.) Mother had saved a good bit of her sitting money, and she and Dad decided to move into the "modern" era. The VCR was listed in the items for a yard sale in an area of my hometown called "Pleasant Valley." Pleasant Valley was a subdivision built to provide housing options for the workers of the Goodyear factory that had opened in town...the largest in the U.S. You had to be pretty well off to afford a house in that subdivision. It was home to doctors, lawyers,...well, everyone except poor farm kids. It was actually kind of exciting to think we were going to go there and buy something. (Sadly, once I got to know some of those families later in life, I realized what an idiot I was. Most of them were assholes.) Since my dad had to work, it mean that Mother was going to have to go...with all 4 kids! Knowing how difficult it would be for Mother to handle that, Dad took it upon himself to invite Mamaw. Now, there's some history there. Mother and Mamaw got along about like two Tomcats in a burlap sack (and I'll save that for another time.)
The next day. Mother, Mamaw, and we 4 kids, piled into our Mercury station wagon and headed to town. It was about a 15 minute trip, which was about the width of our county. We pulled into the driveway of the yard sale, and Mother said to Mamaw, "Keep an eye on them. I'm going to be just a minute." Mother got out and hell broke loose. Mamaw's idea of "keeping an eye on us" was browsing the yard sale. She left 4 young children in the car....windows down mind you. In those days, in our small town, you could do that without much risk of criminal activity. The real risk was leaving 4 children to their devices. You should also keep in mind that I have Asperger's syndrome and death anxiety, which were both undiagnosed at the time. Trey, we later found out, had severe ADHD. This is a volatile combination in and of itself. Throw in 2 siblings we couldn't stand and 33 seconds of boredom, and it was a mess. We decided to play "campout." If you don't know anything about Mercury station wagons, here's a brief description. Bench seats in the front, bench seats in the middle, and collapsible "kiddy" seats in the cargo hold. I sat in the front with adults, because I was oldest. The others were in the center. The kiddy seats were folded down to allow full use of the cargo area. Trey climbed over the seat to join me in the front. We moved the bench seat all the way back and used windbreakers to build a tent. We then decided we needed a fire. Gathering brush from the floorboard and using Mamaw's cigarette lighter, we built a small fire in the ashtray...which quickly filled the car with smoke, even with the windows down. This was enough to get Mamaw's attention. She put out the fire, and subsequently prevented my mother from starting one on her head.
This next part will need a bit more explanation. You see, Dad believes that if you get off the interstate, you have to live there. So, he doesn't stop on long car rides unless he needs gas or has to pee. That doesn't work well with a 6 and 3 year old. As a result of his insanity, Mother put a potty chair in the cargo area so we could use it without having to pull over. Now, all of us knew it was there. Tiffany decided that she needed to pee. She climbed over the eats, into the cargo area, and proceeded to do her business. Once finished, she stood up and attempted to pull up her panties. Unfortunately, they had gotten hung on the kiddy seat latch. She kept bending over and jerking them, but it wasn't happening. This also caused her to moon and flash everyone at the yard sale, which was half of Pleasant Valley. A crowd of people, including other children, gathered outside of the window. Tiff began crying and screaming, because she's a drama queen. My brain started to melt and I dove under the dashboard. Luckily, my grandmother had the good sense to help her before it got worse. Meanwhile, Trey had engaged in a spitting contest with another boy from the crowd. (Oddly enough, we later, as teenagers, became best friends...with benefits!) The volley of saliva carried on for a while. Tiffany decided that she too would join in. With both Trey and Tiff spitting, things were getting gross fast. Mamaw apparently thought to look in our general direction and yelled for them to stop. The boy turned to walk away. Tiff thrust her head through the window to get in one final spit as Trey cranked it shut, trapping her sideways head between the window glass and the door frame. Of course, the drama queen began to wail.
Mamaw wasn't able to stop the cries from activating Mother's seek and destroy protocol, as she began shoving her way past the shoppers. When she arrived at the car, she jerked the door open, not realizing Tiff's head was solidly trapped...and there she dangled by her neck. Trey smacked the window roller (as they were hand cranked not electric), releasing her face, and causing her to drop to the ground with a resounding thud. It sounded something like a brick smashing through a pumpkin. Mother grabbed her up off the ground, comforted her, and checked for injuries. Seeing there were none, she then inspected the car, that was devoid of adult supervision. Seeing the burnt grass in the ashtray and the piss-filled potty in the cargo area caused her to lose her mind. That was the first time I ever heard my mother say, "Fuck." Now, this entire time, Ashley had been sitting in her carseat...quietly...shitting. Not just a normal amount, but like enough for 6 kids. I distinctly remember Mother picking her up and watching the poop spill out of the carseat. It was disgusting.
4 hours, 4 spankings, 2 adults fighting, a moon-fest, a spitting contest, a campfire gone wrong, and a shit-filled carseat later...we had a used VCR. It cost mother a month's worth of babysitting and all that drama, but we had one. When dad arrived home that night, he saw the VCR and said, "See. You said it was going to be too hard with the kids. I told you Momma would help." Mother, smiling politely, said..."Your mother is as useless as tits on a boar. Never again..." And she made good on her word. That was the last time Mother and Mamaw were ever in the same car. She quit sitting. A month later I started to school and Mother went to work...at a Video Rental place, no less.
Oh...and this hat is very similar to the one June Thompson wore when I was a child. She owned the VCR that we bought. Two years later, Mother went to work for her husband as a collections agent.
I had the good fortune of having a "stay at home" mom for my early childhood years. (And before someone gets the idea that I have something against working moms, please let me assure you that I do not.) We weren't rich...hell, we weren't even middle class. We had to gather eggs and milk the cow every day just to eat breakfast. In the winter, meals were often left overs that had accumulated over the previous year, frozen in baggies and old buckets. In the morning, mother would throw some homemade canned tomato juice in a cast iron pot, dump in an ice block of frozen whatever-was-in-it, and set it on the old wood stove. When it boiled, it was done. Sometimes it took all day. I was a poor farm kid from the sticks. Cereal was a luxury. I spent May to September 90% barefoot and shirtless, because we couldn't afford new shoes and clothes. They had to last. Truth be told, we didn't always get "new" anything. A good bit of the time, we got hand-me-downs from cousins and neighbors. It was a circumstance of country life...but I digress. My dad made 3.15 an hour in those days, and the farm didn't bring in a great deal of money. Mother decided she would start babysitting to bring in some extra cash. To show you how much of a difference there is between then and now...she got 20.00 a week to take on 2 other kids 8 to 10 hours a day. Can you imagine?
The first couple of children she kept were the children of family friends. Their dad drove the local milk truck and their mom was a secretary for a small business. They were nice people. Trey and Ashley became like family for my sister, Tiffany, and I. We were all separated by 1 year...meaning I was 6, Trey was 5, Tiff was 3, and Ashley was 2. Ash was potty training and still in diapers. She was...portly? She always reminded me of the Gerber baby but with more chubby. Trey was so thin, you couldn't have hit him with a handful of corn. I assumed he was thin because Ash was eating his share as well. Tiff and Ash spent most of their time playing dolls and annoying Trey and I. For some reason they couldn't understand why it was inappropriate for girls to enter our Fort, which was basically 2 hay bales, a dirt mound, and a bed sheet I pilfered from the clothesline. They could usually be deterred from bothering us with the waterhose, though in most cases that resulted in the wooden spoon making an appearance. We had 1 television..cabinet style. There were 2 dials on it and rabbit ears for the first 6 years of my life. Didn't matter though...there were only 3 channels anyway. If you were lucky, and the birds stayed away, and the weather was good...you might get 2 of the 3 to come in plainly. The other was a lost cause unless you held your mouth just right.
One evening, after Trey and Ash had gone home, my dad came in and began discussing this "new" technology with my mother. I was intrigued. A device that would allow us to watch movies sounded AMAZING! I listened for a long time, and I remember thinking how awesome it would be to have something like that. The downside was that it was going to cost my dad two weeks pay to get one. That wasn't something we could afford. I was disappointed. A few weeks went by and I had all but forgotten about the new movie thing. Pretending was better anyway, and we had started getting a new channel (a 4th one!!)...KBSI 23, a FOX station. That meant more cartoon choices, when we were allowed to watch that is (which wasn't a great deal. 30 minutes a day, and Saturday mornings.) Life was good.
Right at the end of summer, a few weeks before it was time to pick corn, my paternal grandmother, Mamaw, called to tell my dad that she had found a VCR machine for sale in the newspaper. (That's right bitches, we had a phone. It was an avocado green rotary phone, but we had one.) Mother had saved a good bit of her sitting money, and she and Dad decided to move into the "modern" era. The VCR was listed in the items for a yard sale in an area of my hometown called "Pleasant Valley." Pleasant Valley was a subdivision built to provide housing options for the workers of the Goodyear factory that had opened in town...the largest in the U.S. You had to be pretty well off to afford a house in that subdivision. It was home to doctors, lawyers,...well, everyone except poor farm kids. It was actually kind of exciting to think we were going to go there and buy something. (Sadly, once I got to know some of those families later in life, I realized what an idiot I was. Most of them were assholes.) Since my dad had to work, it mean that Mother was going to have to go...with all 4 kids! Knowing how difficult it would be for Mother to handle that, Dad took it upon himself to invite Mamaw. Now, there's some history there. Mother and Mamaw got along about like two Tomcats in a burlap sack (and I'll save that for another time.)
The next day. Mother, Mamaw, and we 4 kids, piled into our Mercury station wagon and headed to town. It was about a 15 minute trip, which was about the width of our county. We pulled into the driveway of the yard sale, and Mother said to Mamaw, "Keep an eye on them. I'm going to be just a minute." Mother got out and hell broke loose. Mamaw's idea of "keeping an eye on us" was browsing the yard sale. She left 4 young children in the car....windows down mind you. In those days, in our small town, you could do that without much risk of criminal activity. The real risk was leaving 4 children to their devices. You should also keep in mind that I have Asperger's syndrome and death anxiety, which were both undiagnosed at the time. Trey, we later found out, had severe ADHD. This is a volatile combination in and of itself. Throw in 2 siblings we couldn't stand and 33 seconds of boredom, and it was a mess. We decided to play "campout." If you don't know anything about Mercury station wagons, here's a brief description. Bench seats in the front, bench seats in the middle, and collapsible "kiddy" seats in the cargo hold. I sat in the front with adults, because I was oldest. The others were in the center. The kiddy seats were folded down to allow full use of the cargo area. Trey climbed over the seat to join me in the front. We moved the bench seat all the way back and used windbreakers to build a tent. We then decided we needed a fire. Gathering brush from the floorboard and using Mamaw's cigarette lighter, we built a small fire in the ashtray...which quickly filled the car with smoke, even with the windows down. This was enough to get Mamaw's attention. She put out the fire, and subsequently prevented my mother from starting one on her head.
This next part will need a bit more explanation. You see, Dad believes that if you get off the interstate, you have to live there. So, he doesn't stop on long car rides unless he needs gas or has to pee. That doesn't work well with a 6 and 3 year old. As a result of his insanity, Mother put a potty chair in the cargo area so we could use it without having to pull over. Now, all of us knew it was there. Tiffany decided that she needed to pee. She climbed over the eats, into the cargo area, and proceeded to do her business. Once finished, she stood up and attempted to pull up her panties. Unfortunately, they had gotten hung on the kiddy seat latch. She kept bending over and jerking them, but it wasn't happening. This also caused her to moon and flash everyone at the yard sale, which was half of Pleasant Valley. A crowd of people, including other children, gathered outside of the window. Tiff began crying and screaming, because she's a drama queen. My brain started to melt and I dove under the dashboard. Luckily, my grandmother had the good sense to help her before it got worse. Meanwhile, Trey had engaged in a spitting contest with another boy from the crowd. (Oddly enough, we later, as teenagers, became best friends...with benefits!) The volley of saliva carried on for a while. Tiffany decided that she too would join in. With both Trey and Tiff spitting, things were getting gross fast. Mamaw apparently thought to look in our general direction and yelled for them to stop. The boy turned to walk away. Tiff thrust her head through the window to get in one final spit as Trey cranked it shut, trapping her sideways head between the window glass and the door frame. Of course, the drama queen began to wail.
Mamaw wasn't able to stop the cries from activating Mother's seek and destroy protocol, as she began shoving her way past the shoppers. When she arrived at the car, she jerked the door open, not realizing Tiff's head was solidly trapped...and there she dangled by her neck. Trey smacked the window roller (as they were hand cranked not electric), releasing her face, and causing her to drop to the ground with a resounding thud. It sounded something like a brick smashing through a pumpkin. Mother grabbed her up off the ground, comforted her, and checked for injuries. Seeing there were none, she then inspected the car, that was devoid of adult supervision. Seeing the burnt grass in the ashtray and the piss-filled potty in the cargo area caused her to lose her mind. That was the first time I ever heard my mother say, "Fuck." Now, this entire time, Ashley had been sitting in her carseat...quietly...shitting. Not just a normal amount, but like enough for 6 kids. I distinctly remember Mother picking her up and watching the poop spill out of the carseat. It was disgusting.
4 hours, 4 spankings, 2 adults fighting, a moon-fest, a spitting contest, a campfire gone wrong, and a shit-filled carseat later...we had a used VCR. It cost mother a month's worth of babysitting and all that drama, but we had one. When dad arrived home that night, he saw the VCR and said, "See. You said it was going to be too hard with the kids. I told you Momma would help." Mother, smiling politely, said..."Your mother is as useless as tits on a boar. Never again..." And she made good on her word. That was the last time Mother and Mamaw were ever in the same car. She quit sitting. A month later I started to school and Mother went to work...at a Video Rental place, no less.
Oh...and this hat is very similar to the one June Thompson wore when I was a child. She owned the VCR that we bought. Two years later, Mother went to work for her husband as a collections agent.
Thursday, July 16, 2015
Wouldn't it be cool if...
Author's Note: This is a bit of recycling on my part. I wrote this a few years ago, but never really published it. It still holds true today, so I thought I'd share it. I should also add that committing to blogging regularly is not something that I can do. I will try to blog occasionally, but you might end up with 4 in a week and not see another one for 3 months. Why? Well, after reading this first post, you'll understand...Happy Parenting!
"Hey dad! Wouldn't it be cool if..." You can fill in the blank with whatever you like, but in this house those words usually come right before bizarre conversations and insane ideas. They sometimes trend toward something getting blown up or taken apart, up to and including the possibility, if not inevitability, of the loss of life or limb. Most of the time, they just torment my brain, resulting in eye rolls, migraines, and sometimes mini-strokes. This day was no exception...
After an evening with my husband David's parents, we stopped on the way home to buy groceries. A trip to buy groceries with Jacob, our son, is always a treat, but when David is also with us, it's extra special. I'm a shopper. I compare prices, and unless I'm in a hurry, I take my time. I keep a mental grocery list unless I have some off the wall item to buy. I buy what I have room for and try to get the best deal. David is not a shopper. He's a buyer. He enters the store with purpose, gets exactly what he wants, buys the biggest he can find, and the first thing he sees that meets his need. Jacob likes to do things fast, funny, and frivolous and is unimpressed with my shopping habits, but completely supportive of David's "get-er-done" attitude...all with a built in motor.
Jacob, of course, enters through exit door, because...why not? Two seconds in and I hear: "Igottapee. *rrrrrr* *squeal*" as Jacob's built in motor peels out for the toilet. David follows with, "I need mouthwash," and is gone before I can give him instructions on what to buy and what I have coupons for. By the time I've made it past the bargain bins, both have returned. Jacob informs me that the bathroom had water on the floor, sharing this tidbit: "Wouldn't it be cool if someone ran in there and slipped and slid into the wall and fell in the toilet and got covered in poop, but like their head got busted open. It would be hilarious!" Shaking my head, I say, "No son...that would not be cool. It would be a lot of things, but cool isn't one of them." David puts a bottle of super-strength, extra-minty Colgate mouthwash in the buggy. It's practically glowing blue. I ask about the price, and he says, "I dunno. It got it because it was blue and shaped like a mana potion." That's how we buy things in our home folks - Is it blue and does it resemble fantasy items? Yes? Buy it.
We managed to make it to the deli before David decided that I was taking too long. He heads off to buy what he thinks I want to speed things along. Jacob follows him with motor roaring. I grab a total of 2 items and round the corner to look at fish and poultry. As I look up from the "BOGO" on ground turkey, David appears at the cart with Pop-tarts, two 5 lb bags of cereal, and the biggest bag tortillas he could find on the shelf. Jacob's eyes are almost glowing when he says, "Isn't it awesome. It was the biggest bag of cereal we could find." (I'm amending my previous purchasing credentials to include: Is it huge, or does it come in multiples of 5?) I'm staring with disdain at both of them. The Pop-tarts, which can at a stretch be healthy if you buy the right ones, were Oreo cookie Pop-tarts. Both cereal bags have taken up half the shopping cart. Each is made from pure processed sugar and chocolate, and of course, no one knows how much they cost. Jacob hands me a box of plain, off brand bran flakes, and says, "We got this for you." David says, "Is it the kind you like?" My eyes are rolling back into my head at this point, and the migraine is sitting on go.
They grab 2 packs of soy chorizo and the biggest bag of cheese in the dairy, informing me they done with shopping and are ready to leave. I've not managed to get even half my list yet. The rest of the trip is spent with me shopping and them being bored, which contained several random dance moves, strange noises, and David insisting that I'm doing it wrong because I only "bought 1," it wasn't "the biggest one," or I should have bought the blue one. After about 20 minutes, they are completely done with me and go to electronics to look for video games. The gods have granted me a reprieve. In 30 minutes or so, we meet back up front. There are 800 people checking out and 4 registers open because...Wal-Mart. Standing in the line, I here Jacob say, "Wouldn't it be cool if suddenly the eggs just like hatched with exploding chickens." Admittedly, the idea of being able to incubate exploding chickens is intriguing, but preferably NOT in line. The cashier felt it necessary to share with me a look that suggested she thought Jacob ate rat poison as a child. She must have noticed the ever-enlarging veins in my temples, as she casually placed a single pack of migraine medicine on the conveyor, ever so casually glancing at me to make sure I approved. I'm fairly certain my neck forced my head to nod faster than I could consider it.
By the time we get back to that car, Jacob's motor has kicked into full gear. He is now making sounds similar to a NASCAR racecar on the verge of crashing. I desperately try to load the groceries as fast as possible and get home before I rip out his carburetor. We manage the drive home with minimal backseat noises, put groceries away, and decide to have a little family time. We chose to play "Runewars". It's a fantasy board game with battles and magic and whatnot. The object of the game is, normally, to defeat all the other armies and collect 6 dragon runes. It has been altered in our house. You now win as long as I don't. It doesn't matter how many people are playing. As long as I lose, everyone else is a winner. That's OK with me, at least I inspire competition. Admittedly it does get a bit annoying, but I should be thankful that my family considers me the pinnacle of gaming excellence. Halfway through the game, Jacob says, "Wouldn't it be cool if this game were real and I was like the undead and I just went around eating everyone and Jase's elves were all like 'Woah' and I just killed them all and then I turned Jase into a zombie and he was all powerful and stuff." *boggle* David follows with, "I don't want Jase to be a zombie. He's already too powerful as it is, I don't want him having undead qualities too." Jacob says, "But it would be so awesome. He'd be like *bam* *smack* *squeal squeal* AHHHHHHHH. And everyone would be dead." David follows, "And that's exactly why I don't won't him to be a zombie."
Now, you'd assume this was a silly conversation, light-hearted and completely fantasy....if you lived in a normal house. Not in my house...this is a real concern for both husband and son. David is dead serious that he doesn't want me becoming a zombie, and Jacob is almost giddy with the idea of me being some sort of fall-out boy super mutant. I managed to quell the conversation by pointing out that I don't want to be a zombie. I'd rather be a vampire. Jacob is now 300% invested in my becoming an actual vampire with David shouting objections all over the place. I get up and go to the bathroom. When I come back to the game, I realize that it has been my turn for 10 minutes. They've moved on to some other conversation and are irritated that I haven't taken my turn yet. We finish up the game. I won with extreme prejudice. Elves decimated the battle field! David says, "See. This is why we always gang up on you."
We round out the evening and head to bed. As I'm laying down, and David is turning off lights, I hear this..."Hey David, wouldn't it be cool if like we all go to bed and like someone tries to break in and Jase just gets up and wipes everyone out." David shouts with potent seriousness, "NOOOOOOOOO! We're part of everyone! We only want him to kill the bad guys." Jacob responds, "Yeah, but it would AWESOME!." I yell, "Go to bed Jacob! David, don't forget the lights downstairs." There's a momentary hush, then I hear this silly giggle from David, "Yeah, it would be awesome. Hehehehehehehe."
For those of you with no children, you may one day find yourself in a position to defend why it would not be cool if you suddenly turned into a zombie or your groceries began exploding for no reason. Prepare yourself! For those of you with children, you may want to share with everyone else the reasons you've already given! :) Happy Parenting! OH!!...Here's today's big floppy hat.
"Hey dad! Wouldn't it be cool if..." You can fill in the blank with whatever you like, but in this house those words usually come right before bizarre conversations and insane ideas. They sometimes trend toward something getting blown up or taken apart, up to and including the possibility, if not inevitability, of the loss of life or limb. Most of the time, they just torment my brain, resulting in eye rolls, migraines, and sometimes mini-strokes. This day was no exception...
After an evening with my husband David's parents, we stopped on the way home to buy groceries. A trip to buy groceries with Jacob, our son, is always a treat, but when David is also with us, it's extra special. I'm a shopper. I compare prices, and unless I'm in a hurry, I take my time. I keep a mental grocery list unless I have some off the wall item to buy. I buy what I have room for and try to get the best deal. David is not a shopper. He's a buyer. He enters the store with purpose, gets exactly what he wants, buys the biggest he can find, and the first thing he sees that meets his need. Jacob likes to do things fast, funny, and frivolous and is unimpressed with my shopping habits, but completely supportive of David's "get-er-done" attitude...all with a built in motor.
Jacob, of course, enters through exit door, because...why not? Two seconds in and I hear: "Igottapee. *rrrrrr* *squeal*" as Jacob's built in motor peels out for the toilet. David follows with, "I need mouthwash," and is gone before I can give him instructions on what to buy and what I have coupons for. By the time I've made it past the bargain bins, both have returned. Jacob informs me that the bathroom had water on the floor, sharing this tidbit: "Wouldn't it be cool if someone ran in there and slipped and slid into the wall and fell in the toilet and got covered in poop, but like their head got busted open. It would be hilarious!" Shaking my head, I say, "No son...that would not be cool. It would be a lot of things, but cool isn't one of them." David puts a bottle of super-strength, extra-minty Colgate mouthwash in the buggy. It's practically glowing blue. I ask about the price, and he says, "I dunno. It got it because it was blue and shaped like a mana potion." That's how we buy things in our home folks - Is it blue and does it resemble fantasy items? Yes? Buy it.
We managed to make it to the deli before David decided that I was taking too long. He heads off to buy what he thinks I want to speed things along. Jacob follows him with motor roaring. I grab a total of 2 items and round the corner to look at fish and poultry. As I look up from the "BOGO" on ground turkey, David appears at the cart with Pop-tarts, two 5 lb bags of cereal, and the biggest bag tortillas he could find on the shelf. Jacob's eyes are almost glowing when he says, "Isn't it awesome. It was the biggest bag of cereal we could find." (I'm amending my previous purchasing credentials to include: Is it huge, or does it come in multiples of 5?) I'm staring with disdain at both of them. The Pop-tarts, which can at a stretch be healthy if you buy the right ones, were Oreo cookie Pop-tarts. Both cereal bags have taken up half the shopping cart. Each is made from pure processed sugar and chocolate, and of course, no one knows how much they cost. Jacob hands me a box of plain, off brand bran flakes, and says, "We got this for you." David says, "Is it the kind you like?" My eyes are rolling back into my head at this point, and the migraine is sitting on go.
They grab 2 packs of soy chorizo and the biggest bag of cheese in the dairy, informing me they done with shopping and are ready to leave. I've not managed to get even half my list yet. The rest of the trip is spent with me shopping and them being bored, which contained several random dance moves, strange noises, and David insisting that I'm doing it wrong because I only "bought 1," it wasn't "the biggest one," or I should have bought the blue one. After about 20 minutes, they are completely done with me and go to electronics to look for video games. The gods have granted me a reprieve. In 30 minutes or so, we meet back up front. There are 800 people checking out and 4 registers open because...Wal-Mart. Standing in the line, I here Jacob say, "Wouldn't it be cool if suddenly the eggs just like hatched with exploding chickens." Admittedly, the idea of being able to incubate exploding chickens is intriguing, but preferably NOT in line. The cashier felt it necessary to share with me a look that suggested she thought Jacob ate rat poison as a child. She must have noticed the ever-enlarging veins in my temples, as she casually placed a single pack of migraine medicine on the conveyor, ever so casually glancing at me to make sure I approved. I'm fairly certain my neck forced my head to nod faster than I could consider it.
By the time we get back to that car, Jacob's motor has kicked into full gear. He is now making sounds similar to a NASCAR racecar on the verge of crashing. I desperately try to load the groceries as fast as possible and get home before I rip out his carburetor. We manage the drive home with minimal backseat noises, put groceries away, and decide to have a little family time. We chose to play "Runewars". It's a fantasy board game with battles and magic and whatnot. The object of the game is, normally, to defeat all the other armies and collect 6 dragon runes. It has been altered in our house. You now win as long as I don't. It doesn't matter how many people are playing. As long as I lose, everyone else is a winner. That's OK with me, at least I inspire competition. Admittedly it does get a bit annoying, but I should be thankful that my family considers me the pinnacle of gaming excellence. Halfway through the game, Jacob says, "Wouldn't it be cool if this game were real and I was like the undead and I just went around eating everyone and Jase's elves were all like 'Woah' and I just killed them all and then I turned Jase into a zombie and he was all powerful and stuff." *boggle* David follows with, "I don't want Jase to be a zombie. He's already too powerful as it is, I don't want him having undead qualities too." Jacob says, "But it would be so awesome. He'd be like *bam* *smack* *squeal squeal* AHHHHHHHH. And everyone would be dead." David follows, "And that's exactly why I don't won't him to be a zombie."
Now, you'd assume this was a silly conversation, light-hearted and completely fantasy....if you lived in a normal house. Not in my house...this is a real concern for both husband and son. David is dead serious that he doesn't want me becoming a zombie, and Jacob is almost giddy with the idea of me being some sort of fall-out boy super mutant. I managed to quell the conversation by pointing out that I don't want to be a zombie. I'd rather be a vampire. Jacob is now 300% invested in my becoming an actual vampire with David shouting objections all over the place. I get up and go to the bathroom. When I come back to the game, I realize that it has been my turn for 10 minutes. They've moved on to some other conversation and are irritated that I haven't taken my turn yet. We finish up the game. I won with extreme prejudice. Elves decimated the battle field! David says, "See. This is why we always gang up on you."
We round out the evening and head to bed. As I'm laying down, and David is turning off lights, I hear this..."Hey David, wouldn't it be cool if like we all go to bed and like someone tries to break in and Jase just gets up and wipes everyone out." David shouts with potent seriousness, "NOOOOOOOOO! We're part of everyone! We only want him to kill the bad guys." Jacob responds, "Yeah, but it would AWESOME!." I yell, "Go to bed Jacob! David, don't forget the lights downstairs." There's a momentary hush, then I hear this silly giggle from David, "Yeah, it would be awesome. Hehehehehehehe."
For those of you with no children, you may one day find yourself in a position to defend why it would not be cool if you suddenly turned into a zombie or your groceries began exploding for no reason. Prepare yourself! For those of you with children, you may want to share with everyone else the reasons you've already given! :) Happy Parenting! OH!!...Here's today's big floppy hat.
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