Vomit Watch '08

Today I am on Vomit Watch '08. No, I am not refering to the impending elections. Rather, I am inviting you into my world today, as a virtual in-home prisoner, just waiting for a call from the school nurse. You see, Thing 2 came down to breakfast today and told me that he wasn't feeling well when he was upstairs.

I did what every mother does and touched his forehead. Nothing unusual, no fiery hot skin. His color looked fine. Perhaps more importantly, he eagerly ate down his breakfast while discussing his malaise. So, I asked him if he wanted to stay home. He said that I should decide.

Being paranoid, I then asked him if he didn't want to go to school for some other reason, like if someone was bullying him. He said "of course not." "Well then," I said, "you should go to school and if you feel sick at school, ask to go to the nurse and she will call me to get you." I added my caviat, though. " I am home all morning (I immediately decide not to go to "Militant Fitness" at the gym at 11, okay, so it didn't take a great deal of convincing me) but I have an appointment for my monthly massage (my one splurge for cleaning my own house [mon dieu!] and not splurging on things like manicures and pedicures and make up) at 12:15, so if you are not feeling well, make sure you go to the nurse well before that.

This brought up all kinds of questions like, "what if I feel sick at 12:16?" (then you go to the nurse and wait until 1:25 when I can come get you). "What if it is after that?" (then there will be no problem, go to the nurse, she will call and I will get you) "What if I feel sick as soon as I get to the school?" (go to the nurse and she will call me and I will get you). After several more questions I pointed out that if he had the energy to ask all of these questions, he probably felt better than he was giving himself credit for feeling.

So, I have spent the morning within earshot of the phone since returning from an abbreviated walk with the dog (in case his query about feeling sick as soon as he got to school proved true). Instead of militant fitness, I cleaned the first floor of the house, remembering to bring the phone from room to room so that I stood a chance of hearing it. Has the phone rung? Not at all. I am fine with that. However, I can't help wondering if I am going to get a call from the school nurse during my massage...? What is your guess?

No Singing At The Dinner Table

No Singing At The Dinner Table, that was the rule my dad imposed at our house growing up. This was the subject of much joking and laughter amongst my siblings and I, when we were in our 20s and 30s. “How ludicrous,” we remembered, laughing hysterically at the idea that one of us would break out in song at the dinner table. Now in my 40s (just, if I might say) I understand completely the rule and no longer see it as ludicrous at all. On just about a nightly basis one or both of my kids will sing at the dinner table. This is done much to my annoyance and definitely because of it. Not only is the noise grating on my frazzled, your-lucky-you-got-a-square-meal-on-the-table nerves, the singing necessarily also means no food can go into the mouth when musical notes (and believe me, I use that term extremely loosely here) or some remote facsimile thereof, is coming out. The whole meal experience is unnecessarily prolonged.

On a scale of unbearable experiences parents must endure, singing at the dinner table is second only to the noise from the back seat on any car trip longer than fifteen minutes. I really don’t understand why none of the car manufacturers has come out with some kind of see through, noise proof shield between the front and back seats of a car.

It shouldn’t be that hard, taxicabs already have a mini version of this. Of course, some engineer would have to figure out how to have a door on the thing or otherwise make the middle of it disappear so that you could go back to the backseats and manhandle the children where necessary. If I were the manufacturer though, I would make the door bit an option, because the necessity to manhandle really goes down dramatically when you can’t hear the kids. If I can dream it, can’t they make it? I for one would line up for such a feature. You could see through the plexiglass, so you could pullover if anyone in the back was bleeding for instance. Otherwise, they would be contained in their soundproof side of the car and you could ride in blissful peace, listening to NPR or Nirvana, pick your poison, without being subjected to whining, screaming, fighting or singing out of tune (because your own singing never counts).

From the children’s point of view of course, this would just be an invitation to break the sound barrier and invent some new medium for annoying parents on trips in the car. With my kids in mind, I can just envision how they would take turns trying to break the glass with their highpitched wailing. Ah well, it would give them something to occupy themselves with on the trip.

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From The Freaking, Hideous Tree

I am learning the hard way that I really need to be careful what I say around my kids. I confess it is taking me a long time though. I should have learned my lesson when my daughter was two years old and I was driving her to tumbling class. A car stopped short right in front of me, and by some miracle, I actually thought about the impact of what I was about to say on the virgin ears of my daughter. I didn’t burst out with “you stupid jerk, or worse.” I didn’t burst out with anything in fact. Imagine my surprise then, when from the backseat came “Stupid!” out of my daughter’s mouth.

Well, I did clean up my act and toned down my language about other drivers (just cleaned up really, deleting swear words from my repertoire). But it wasn’t just bad language precisely that I needed to be aware. When my son was two and a half, he started calling anything he didn’t like “hideous.” People would look at him with astonishment that such a big word could come out of a little mouth. But I looked at him with an expression of uncomfortable recognition, because of course he borrowed the word from me.

Lately, the verbal pirate is my daughter, 11 going on 22. Unfortunately the word du jour from my vocabulary which has been borrowed is “freaking” or “freakin.” I admit I use it on occasion, but not too much. As in the expression, what a freakin jerk that guy is. I never really minded the word or gave it much thought until my daughter started using it, in every sentence. Now, I do believe that freakin is the most annoying, and if I must say, hideous word. She has breathed the freakin life out of the word.

When she uses the word, I can see very clearly by her use of it, that it was meant to be a substitute for another action verb describing reproduction. What I never gave a second thought to as being objectionable, I am now reminded of on a minute by minute basis.

So, I am going to make a greater effort to choose my words wisely in front of my kids. They say kids are sponges, but in fact, I think they are actually little tape recorders that seem to play back at inappropriate times. Unlike tape recorders, unfortunately, you can’t just remove the batteries and any effort to get a child to stop using the word is merely an invitation to the child to use it twice as many times and particularly around grandparents, strangers and authority figures.

Look out for the new edited me coming soon!