High Chair Philosophizin'

Okay, so during a battle of frozen peas and salami with my daughter I came up some fantastic nuggets of philosophy that I can't believe I didn't freaking write down.  I really assumed I would recall them when needed, at least by later in the evening, to share with my hubby and a friend.  But I didn't, and I don't - and I've been making this same mistake for most of my life - and I never fix it.  I don't get it.  But I digress...

My little girl was desperately trying to break free the bonds of her high chair and reach that final pea that was teetering on the edge of the tray.  With her first stretch I took the pea in my fingers and instinctively began to bring it to her.  Then I thought about it and put it back.  She looked at me, a bit surprised that I didn't deliver the tasty green morsel.  She stretched her hand out again and looked at me with that look.  I just looked back.  Again the stretch and now some vocal equivalent to your muscles stretching.  Then a bang on the tray.  Ooh, it moved!  Another bang, it rolled slightly closer to her.  What a neat trick! A few more good whacks and the quarry was within her grasp.  Her squeals of delight escalating with every improvement of the situation.  And she got it.  And she shoved in her mouth with such glee - one tiny pea was never so delectable!

And so it goes that what I was thinking had something to do with there being a fine line between parents willing to do anything for the sake of their children (which they should be) and parents who do everything for their sake of their children (but the language was far better).

The latter being the problem.  These parents do so much for their kids their kids have no reason to do anything for themselves ever.  And then those children expect everyone else to treat them that way as children and as adults.  Alright, I know that's not a huge revelation, but I just see it everyday and it's so frustrating.  For instance, I know a kid who won't talk (he's almost 3).  He's been tested up the yinyang for every disorder possible and the gazillion and one doctors can't find anything "wrong" with him. 

He doesn't talk because he doesn't have to.  His parents forsee every need every whim every everything and the child has no need to communicate.  He's home all day, so he doesn't really have outside influences.  And now his parents are all freaked out because something isn't perfect.  And yet they can't grasp the concept that their kid needs to need.  That needing is okay.  In relative quantities.  And these parents are far from unique.

Is it because they needed so much when they were kids?  Were their needs ignored?  Did they feel unable to fulfill their life dreams because of these empty feelings of neglect, so they overcompensate for the "sake" of their children?  Or is it for them?

Oh, too tired to think anymore.  Meet ya at the featherball...

Fries please, hold the Jesus

Eggplant Fries.  Yum-freaking-delish.  Debating whether or not they're really healthier than your standard potato/French/Freedom fry, as I slowly made my way up to the largest take-out menu in the free world, I sang the Itsy Bitsy Spider for the thirteenth time in a row to calm my daughter in the backseat who was ready to eat her foot since she'd been schlepped to upteen appointments that morning and great mom here only packed a bottle and some old cheerios in the diaper bag. 

So, I'm trying to make out anything on this menu, which while new (the place was rebuilt only last year due to some type of fire disaster), certainly didn't look new - well, maybe the takeout menu survived, was experiencing some humidity problems so many items were partially obscured.  I found what I was looking for and then searched the million lines of plastic letters for the beverage section, praying to God there was Coke and not Pepsi products, and lo and behold there it was. 

Right underneath the small medium large beverage list and just above the chili dog options it read "have a jesus filled day".  All in capital letters. 

Like they tried to slip it in.  Subliminally.  It wasn't separated by any space to make it stand out, it was just there, tucked in to the menu scanned over and over day by day by the hungry masses, searching for sustenance. 

So I guess it worked - the praying thing, cuz they DID have Diet Coke.  Though I wasn't really praying to Mr. J.C. per se - generally not in my bag o' tricks, I suppose he might have had something to do with it.  At least that's what this establishment might hope I believe.  

I'm not much of a theological scholar - but hawking Jesus in a drive-thru just didn't seem very well, Jesus-like.  But wow, "Hawkin' Jesus in a Drive Thru" sounds like an awesome ditty, doesn't it? 

And those Eggplant Fries were superb.  But I did choose the Ranch dressing on the side instead. 

The Meaning of Love

I have two beautiful children. They certainly can test my patience more than often, but they're still beautiful, wonderful miracles nonetheless.

I tell them I love them all the time and that they are loved by many people. Then my little boy usually replies with "I love you too, Mommy." But he's not even three years old yet, and part of me thinks, perhaps, he replies that way because he thinks that's just what you're supposed to say. Like when someone sneezes he says "Bless You" and when someone gives him something he says "Thank You" and when he burps he says "Excuse Me". Conditioned response.

So I asked him the other day if he knew what love was. He paused, and got into his thinking pose, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands, humming, searching for an answer, "Hmmmm." I asked again since sometimes his repose lasts so long he forgets what the question is, or just moves on to the next thing, as children his age are wont to do.

"Do you know what love is, sweetie?" I asked again.
"Yeah," he said.
"Well, what is love then?"
"Love is Mommy, Daddy, Sister, Granma, Granpa...and me!" with a resounding finish.

I could not have thought of a better answer.

Speed Sucks

And I'm not talking about the drug. Okay, this is just a rant. What is with these people? There are three reasons for a human being driving a car to go faster than 77 miles per hour. I give you the 7 for kicks. You're bleeding excessively. The person next to you is bleeding excessively. You or someone in your vehicle is giving birth - not just in labor, I mean actively giving birth. That's really it.

Just because you can doesn't mean you should. Here's an idea...LEAVE EARLIER.

I wish they'd just make cars not able to go that fast. Have you seen what happens to a car when it hits something else going at that speed? Or after it's flipped over a million times?

I'm all for personal freedoms. But not when they impinge on mine. I've got two kids in my vehicle. I'd like them to see their lives. I'd like to see my own. I don't need my life or theirs obliterated in a second because some idiot feels the need for speed. Nor does anyone else.

And then, don't get pissed off when and if you get stopped. Then you're not only an idiot but you're a whiner. Be prepared to get caught. And take it. You felt the need to do this stupid thing so accept its consequences. I can almost tolerate an idiot - but I can't stomach a pathetic whiner.

And this goes for tailgaters too. You know what? I'm going to let all you speeding tailgaters in on a little secret. I'M NOT GOING TO GO ANY FASTER. I left on time. And even if I'm late, I am still choosing to obey the traffic laws. So screw you.

I wish I had a little button in my car that would release a large air cannon out of my bumper. But then again, maybe it's better I don't. Blowing people away into uncontrollable spins probably isn't the best example to set for my kids, huh?

Okay, rant over.

Opening the box

This is more frightening than I thought it would be. Thinking about things is one thing. Writing them down is another. But putting these thoughts down where someone else might see them? And believe me, if you met me you'd never believe that I thought this was a terrifying thing. Most people would probably think this would be the most natural thing in the world for me. And maybe it should be.

It's sort of like when I ride a horse (which isn't very often). I know I can ride it. I know I know what to do. And I love it. But then I get up there. Up high. And feel this enormous, powerful creature just underneath me - and it's exhilerating, but troublesome. This beast could kick my ass in an eyeblink. What is she going to do? Will she trust me? Will she feel my apprehension? Does she know I don't do this often? Can she tell I'm not as confident as I let on? Will she make me feel I'm in no position to be taking control of the situation? Will she throw me?

And then I breathe. I take the reins. I submit my request for connection to this animal to the universe, and I breathe again. She can tell I'm nervous. I put my hand on her neck and feel the warmth, the strength, the will - and I relax. I gently kick her sides and we're off - at first slowly, getting to know one another, getting into the rhythm. Then I press again with my heels and we go faster - we've agreed to work together and the rush is building. I dig in once more and lean into her stride and we are off - to where I'm uncertain, but I don't really care much either - and it is freedom. And we don't want to stop. Until we have to.

And then the whole thing starts all over again. So let's see how this goes, shall we?