What I Meant to Say Wednesday: Because He is Lame, That is Why

I ♥  What I Meant to Say Wednesdays with the Chief.

I admit that I find myself getting pretty tense when I attempt to load the boys into the car.  With 18 month old Bert demanding "Up Up Up , MaMa MaMa MaMa, dah-der dah-der dah-der, bubber bubber bubber" as Ernie peppers me with questions in a voice, barely audible, while facing away, with his speech delayed sounds.  I  acknowledge and respond to every word and tirelessly(actually it is totally fucking tiresome) demonstrate understanding and appreciation in order to encourage more speaking.   I am hostage in body and soul to the endless questions and utterances along with diverging agendas.  And when I just want everyone to get in the car, I can become a little resentful after too many questions which sometimes feel like the price for cooperation.  Here is my best effort to replicate what I should know by heart: 

Ernie: Mommy, When our neighbor will take his “yights” down? (those referenced in my Thank You Very Much post)


What I said: Well, it seems he plans to leave them there.


Ernie: Why he does leave them there? It not Christmas anymore and “dey bwoken”.
What I said: Honey, I think he is too busy or maybe just forgot.


Ernie: Mommy, why we can’t "wemind" him?
What I said: Like I said, I think he is too busy or maybe he likes them.


Ernie: Why Mommy? I not “yike dem”. "Yets wemind" him.
What I said: I know baby. I know.


What I would have said if I were kind and benevolent: Well, sweetie. He is doing the best he can. You can see that they are very different in the way they live and we have to respect that. It would be boring if we all did everything the same way.


Not so much what I meant to say, but...What I want to scream each morning as we cycle through this ritual dialog:   Because he sucks.  The very same reason that instead of taking wind blown trash to the trash can, he kicks it into the street, even when it takes 12 or 13 tries.  He doesn’t fucking give a shit how run down his house is.  The only hope for those lights coming down is if we take them down ourselves in the middle of the night.  And there is the possibility that his death or foreclosure might facilitate light removal, either of which would suit me fine.

The Talk....so not ready

Recently, when 3 year old Ernie asked how little boys were made, I smiled. First, because the innocence of this question is grand.  Second, it happened while daddy was bathing him and I could enjoy my spectator safety from another room.  I was impressed when Andy evaded details of how boys and girls are "made".   And yet somehow,  he delivered a factual answer to a contented Ernie. 

Earlier in the evening,  after contemplating the freshly pounded and still raw hamburger patties:
Ernie:  How do hamburgers get made?
My failed attempt at artful dodge:  Daddy made them.  Don't you remember?
Ernie without skipping a beat, counters:  But where do the red parts come from?
Andy to the rescue:  They come from a factory, where big machines grind meat into little pieces.

(Factories with big machines are a standard and accurate answer to about 45% of the daily questions.)

I refused meat for more than half of my life or would make myself sick after eating it. While I feel OK about potential  body conversations, I dread the talk of meat.  When is a person ready for that? 

I want to  encourage this pure eagerness to know and to understand the world.  And the topic of meat is more menacing than death (related to old age or sickness).  What was and maybe is still scary for me is that there are people who butcher animals and make their blood come out and then we eat them.  My feelings and objections to being at the top of the food chain are irrational and I am intent on masking this particular hangup of mine for our boys.

I hesitated to indicate that birds eat worms and that spiders eat flies.  I suffer a heaviness over what will be a first roadkill sighting.  I have difficulty pulling my eyes from roadkill, as if I need to verify the species  or approximate cause of death...or maybe I fear that if I look away, I am pretending it didn't happen, dismissing it.  The  damage of having been raised by highly intellectual pretenders prohibits my looking the other way or offering a cool and detached explanation.
And why do I recall more clearly than anything else about Sarah Palin, the image of her, at the turkey farm smiling obliviously for the camera?   Directly behind her, a turkey was being stuffed face first into that funnel/saw headwhacker machine.
PS~I do eat meat and wear leather.  So, no judgment for meat eaters or animal skin wearers. 

The End of the World

For the last few weeks, I am void of thoughts worthy of blogging or even live conversation.  Alas, my friend Gabi is managing the backlash of a nasty breakup (offering me at least some topic of conversation and new thoughts). While humiliation and distress prevent her from detailing the gore to friends,  she would like for them to know what has happened.

As witness to the events, I haven been given the honor of writing an obituary for the death of this relationship.  I found this image of a tombstone marking the End of the World.  A perfect representation of how we are impacted by the betrayal by someone we love and trust.

I am so sorry for you Gabi.  I hope to give humor, compassion, and respect to an obit worthy of sharing with your peeps. Tomorrow.  With the condition that, tonight, I will be allowed to sleep past 3 am.
Still too tired. xoxox

Sad Day

Today, my friend's father lost his battle with brain cancer. After online searches and asking around, I come up short for an expression of comfort for Mora as she anguishes the loss of her daddy. The customary offerings of sympathy and support feel generic or too dramatic or might burden my already wounded friend with an obligation to respond correctly. Any suggestions? The most favorable advice recommends remarking on a memorable quality of the one who passed. I like that. Although I was unable to personally know her father, its clear that he bettered the world with his wonderfully caring and positive manner(and good looks). The unbreakable bonds he sustained with both Mora and her sister(and their friends too!) are evidenced by their numerous returns home merely to be together. It is likely an understatement that he has been extraordinary in his capacity to feel and show love for those he cherished. What better way to depart this life than to be encircled by your legacy of love? If I knew the expression opposite "The chickens have come home to roost", it would belong here. If you know it, please submit in the form of a comment. I hope dearly that nothing will take Andy and me from our children. There is however, comfort in knowing that this man's daughter will look after them,in such an event. Thank you John(and Ellen too). XO