Three moments with the Bug.

On Friday, the Bug and I were at Pier One Imports picking up tea candles for Diwali. Taking the Bug into a place like Pier One is like smearing yourself with bloody liver and jumping into a pool of starving piranhas; you’re asking for trouble. I fully expected him to knock down a pyramid of wine glasses or at least take out an entire display of Christmas ornaments.

But he was surprisingly calm, and so was I, at least until he said to me, “Look at this cool stuff, Mama!” and – before I could really look – handed me a bag full of DRIED LOTUS SEED PODS.

For a moment, I thought I could hold it together in the face of my worst phobia. After all, the bag was labeled in some deceptive way, like “Potpourri”, not “Hideous Bag O ‘Fucked Up Shit.” And I couldn’t exactly scream and fling it away with the Bug standing there. But then I felt my hands go numb and I literally had a moment of light-headedness.

“Please put that back, honey,” I mumbled. “Mama really doesn’t like things with holes in them.”

I ask you: who in their right mind would pay for, let alone DECORATE with, these things? Do I hang baskets of snakes out on my porch, or leave ornamental tarantulas lying scattered among the dinner plates? Trust me, five years old or not, if the Bug takes up decorating with lotus seed pods, he’s out on his own.

***

Yesterday I took the Bug to JoAnn Fabric to buy the rest of the materials for his Halloween costume, because I’m not the kind of person who waits till the last minute or anything. Unfortunately, the store was filled with a bunch of other shoppers, who were just that kind of person. Assholes.

Anyway, after we got our elastic and single fold binding tape, we went over to the decorating section to look at Halloween and Christmas stuff. I am a complete sucker for Christmas decorations (the shame!), and the Bug is currently fascinated by grotesque Halloween masks. So, after a strong warning not to touch any bags of hole-filled things, I left him browsing the Halloween aisle and went to peruse floating candles shaped like peppermints. When I came back, he was crouched gazing into a tiny tin haunted house adorned with ghosts and bats.

He didn’t say anything when he saw me, knowing my rule about not asking for stuff in stores. But I had a moment of remembering what it was like to be a child and my own fascination with miniature worlds, and how it felt to long for something you had no way to have.

“Do you want that, baby?” I asked. His eyes grew big, and he nodded.

I picked it up and looked at the price tag – $20 – then at a sign saying certain Halloween stuff was 50% off. “Okay, if it’s $10, we can get it. But if it’s not on sale, then it’s too much money.”

He promised to carry it carefully and brought it up to the counter gripping it so tightly his fingers were white. “Can you tell me how much this is?” I asked the cashier.

She scanned it and reported with a smile, “Seven dollars.”

The Bug’s face fell, and he took it off the counter. “I’ll put it back,” he said sadly. “It’s not ten dollars.”

When we got home that afternoon, we put the little house on the dining table and placed a tea candle inside. The Bug set a cup of water next to it, just like they do at pre-school when a candle is burning. Then, his face glowing with anticipation, he waited and waited and waited for it to get dark, so he could finally see what it looked like lit from within.

***
This morning, driving to pre-school, the Bug said to me (as they say, apropos of nothing), “Mama, I really like being a kid.”

“Why?” I asked. Normally the Bug is all about his violated rights as a preschooler, like his right to stay up all night, to eat Cheetos for breakfast, and in general to do Whatever I Feel Like.

“Because I get to love so many things. Animals, dinosaurs, candy corn. I wish I could stay like this forever.”

This was such a small and yet profound statement that I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. I’m the one who’s supposed to wish he could stay like this forever; silly, loving, full of joy at a clear blue sky or a dog’s wagging tail or a little haunted house. How did he have the self-awareness, the comprehension of time passing, the sheer insight to feel the preciousness of his own life as a four-and-three-quarter year old? I didn’t know what to say.

“You know,” I told him finally, “you can always stay a kid in your heart.”

He pondered this statement. “And can I always love panthers?”

“Always,” I told him solemnly.

He grinned. “Okay. Now can we listen to ‘Kung Fu Fighting’?”

And for the million-and-eighth time, we did.

The Ten Commandments of parenting.

1.  Thou shalt not take a leisurely shit.

Yesterday, around 8:30 p.m., I told my husband it was time to start getting the Bug ready for bed.  Never a good sleeper, the Bug is even harder to wake in the morning now that it’s dark all the time.

“Okay,” he said casually.  Then he picked up the newspaper and uttered the eight words I dread more than anything.  “I just need to go to the bathroom.” 

Ten minutes later, I was gritting my teeth so hard, I had a cramp in my forehead. Just how long does one need to take a crap anyway?  I fully understand the joys of lingering on the throne, but as a parent, sometimes you just have to shit AND get off the pot.  And according to the results of my informal polling, it seems to be men who have a hard time getting the job done in a timely manner.   I’ve also noticed that men don’t seem to be able to hold it if necessary.  WHY?

2.  Thou shalt never finish a sentence, much less a conversation.

“Mama?”

“Honey, I’m talking to your father.  Please don’t interrupt.”

“Excuse me, Mama?”

“What did I just say?”

“But I said excuse me.”

“Yes, that was very polite of you, but you’re still interrupting.”

Which leads to a long discussion about when it’s appropriate to say excuse me, and when to just wait, and when you can hang on your mother’s sleeve in silent insistence that she pay attention right now.  By the time all that’s over, you’ve forgotten what you were talking about originally.

3.  Thou shalt utter phrases thou never expected to use.

Because I’m the grown-up.  It’s good for you, that’s why.  Go to your room.  Don’t give me that look.  You’re just hungry.  No, you can’t have donuts for dinner. Because I said so, that’s why.  We can’t always have everything we want.  I just want five minutes of peace.  

4.  Thou shalt not swear.

My son once asked me what the hell we were having for dinner.  And at the age of two, he burst out with “Jesus, I’m coughing hard!” 

Realize that, sadly, ”Jesus Christ, where the fucking hell are the goddamn car keys?” is simply no longer an appropriate way to start the morning.  Palinize your vocabulary.  Darn, gosh, and heck are all acceptable substitutes: “Gosh darn it, where the heck did I put those silly car keys?”

5.  Thou shalt hide all thy gangsta rap CDs.

Unconscionably, instead of snuggling up with Tchaikovsky as all the pregnancy books recommended, I spent most of my nine months listening to Eminem and some truly foul-mouthed Dr. Dre songs. What can I say? The hook was really catchy. It’s really a wonder the Bug wasn’t born waving a gat and yelling “I’ma bust a cap in yo’ ass, mo-fo!” Bow-wow-wow yippy yo yippy yay.

6. Thou shalt not have hobbies. Or, if thou hast hobbies, thou shalt never complete a project.

My house is full of half-completed scrapbooks, jewelry, quilts and other orphaned craft projects. When I started making the Bug’s Halloween costume – a leopard – in July, my husband laughed at me. Actually, he laughed and said, “What the HELL is wrong with you?” Now it’s a week before Halloween, and based on the progress I’ve made, the Bug is going to have to be a drag queen instead.

7. Thou shalt give up thy slovenly eating habits.

Before we had the Bug, my husband and I used to consider crappy cereal a perfectly respectable dinner. Our friends’ kids loved to come over to our house just for the sugar fix. Now, I feel strangely compelled to try to feed the Bug a reasonable diet consisting of actual food groups. Meanwhile, my husband has a stash of Cocoa Puffs and Cinnamon Toast Crunch hidden in the back of the cupboard, which he gets up early to eat on the sly. Oh, what I would give to eat a bowl of Cap’n Crunch out in the open.

8. Thou shalt set a good example.

“Put your boots under the bench, and hang up your coat properly,” I order the Bug every afternoon, as I fling my coat on the floor and kick my shoes across the hall.

9. Thou shalt maintain a sense of humor in all situations.

The other day at a restaurant, the Bug asked me – LOUDLY – how girls pee.

“They sit on the toilet,” I stammered stupidly. “You know that.” His preschool has a coed bathroom, sort of like on Ally McBeal, with two tiny toilets, and the kids often carry on lengthy conversations while seated on the pot.

“But where does the pee come OUT?” he persisted.

“I don’t think we need to…”

“Like when I pee, it comes from the hole in my bing. Do girls pee from the hair between their legs? And why do girl kids not have hair there?”

I stuffed his mouth with pasta and smiled weakly at the family next to us. “That’s enough questions, sweetheart.” In my head I was thinking, at least this will make a really good blog post.

10. Thou shalt overcome thy ridiculous fears.

Like fear of spiders, and of late night phone calls, and of going downstairs by yourself to the laundry room in the dark, even if you think there might be a creepy skeletal axe murderer lurking in the garage. Or of having someone vomit dinosaur oatmeal all over your hair.

It is now YOUR job, as the adult, to dispose of spiders, and to answer the phone, and to face off with the axe murderer, and to be puked upon regularly. Do it with pride and dignity.

Doggone it, there she goes again!

Last night during a bout of insomnia I chose some random choice quotes from various sites, including Fox News, on some of Palin’s recent Sorel-in-mouth moments. Here they are, for your reading pleasure.

During the Couric interviews she reminded me of an old high-school friend who had done too much acid. During the debate she reminded me of a cliquish teenager running for student council president. This, combined with the realization that in 15B years the planet will be roasted like a marshmallow in the red-giant expansion of the sun, makes me want to shoot myself right now.

*

Let her go please. Downtown Detroit. They would greet her and Toad like liberators.

*

McCain says: We must move our campaign out of Michigan, all is lost.

Palin: But Senator McCain, all is not loss, there are several hundred thousand more jobs , thousand of homes, millions in pensions and savings that can be lost in Michigan if we do press on and possibly win.

*

There ya go again Governor! When you think, you get in trouble. Pretty sure Sen. McCain didn’t pick ya because of your ability to think! I mean, criticizing Katie Couric – she asked the easiest questions. What the governor reads? And the governor couldn’t answer? OMG This would be funny if it weren’t so darned serious!

*

Would I prefer Charles Manson as a VP? — You Betcha

*

You hear that America, all Palin wants is that you stop asking questions. Nothing good ever comes from asking questions. Just bend over and accept it, already. No more questions.

*

Oh yah, ya jes get clobbered der do’n cha know! Come on you half wit! It had nothing to do with the questions you were asked! It comes down to the fact that you are an unqualified AIRHEAD!!!

*

Poor Sarah ! I’m sorry you are “getting clobbered” , but a very old wise man once said …. “life is not fair”. Just ANSWER the questions, Sarah and maybe you wouldn’t get clobbered. By the way, I am a 69 year-old Navy veteran who cares nothing about your connection with Joe-6 pack and everything in the world about your readiness to become President of The US of America. If you were Kay Bailey Hutchison or Olympia Snowe, I would be taking a long look at your running mate, but as it is, I will go with the young visionary for Illinois. Next time, come prepared be a good citizen and stay home.

*

HOLY COW !!! SHE MAKES OUR CURRENT IDIOT LOOK LIKE A SECOND COMING OF EINSTEIN !!!!!!!!

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As a former SSgt who did a tour in Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and South Korea, I’m voting for Obama. Facts aren’t lies.

*

I think the gloves need to come off where Sarah Palin is concerned. Treat her like any other candidate. Ladies – isn’t equality one of the reasons behind the women’s movement. Stop protecting her and making excuses for her. She is in no way ready to be Vice President let alone a heart beat away from the being the President. She looked like a cheerleader flirting with the football squad last night.

*

i felt that last night palin was just told “hey, be adorable for an hour and a half and you’ll do fine. if you don’t know the answer here’s a list of things you can say that may help.” some of those questions she didn’t answer at all… or was that “not answering in the way they want”. are you kidding me. i swear, if someone winks at me today i just may scream.

*

Just who does this woman think she is? How dare you question anybody you clueless twit.

*

Palin, please try to get another brain cell to keep the one you have company. When they say you are a “breath of fresh air” I think they mean empty headed windbag.

*

IDIOT !

I cried at pre-school today.

Last night at bedtime, the Bug finally seemed to realize that the dog is gone for good.

“I WANT KISKEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” he wailed as I tucked him in. “I don’t want her to be dead!”

I felt so bad that I got under the covers with him. We talked about how the dog was at peace now and how she will always be part of our family. He sniffled and smiled a little through the tears.

Next came the philosophical questions. What does her spirit look like? Like a cloud-shaped dog, I told him. How does she get to heaven? Her spirit floats, I explained, and then resorted to that trusty old standby: it’s magic. Does she have to wear a collar? No, she never does anymore, or a leash.

Then, the mother of all questions: “Mama, when am I going to die?”

I felt like my heart was going to stop. NEVER! I wanted to yell. But I said something I hoped was soothing, like “Not for a long time, honey, and you don’t need to worry about it,” and that seemed to be enough for him.

I lay awake long after he’d fallen asleep clutching my hair in his fist. What’s a long time to a five year old? Did he think he, like the dog, would be put down if he got too sick? I didn’t want to give him more information than he needed, but how much did he need?

The next day, at his pre-school teacher’s suggestion, I read him a book by Mr. Rogers called “When A Pet Dies.” In typical Mr. Rogers fashion, it’s a gentle but honest guide to feelings at the loss of a pet, with photos of children hugging their cats and dogs, a pet funeral, and visits to the vet. A couple of the other children, knowing our dog had died, gathered around the couch to listen.

“You may feel sad or angry when a pet dies,” I read aloud. “Sometimes, you think you could have done something to stop it, but you probably couldn’t.”

And then I started bawling like a pre-schooler myself. The kids looked concerned and sympathetic. “Don’t cry,” DinoBoy told me. “You can get another dog at the pet store.”

“Where did your dog go?” asked a little girl.

“To doggie heaven,” I snivelled.

“Mama, don’t wipe your nose on your sleeve,” the Bug scolded. “You should use a tissue.”

As the children crowded close, breathing on me and trying to comfort me by patting with their chubby little hands, I started to feel a little better, or at least claustrophobic instead of depressed.

“Thanks, guys,” I said shakily. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

One of them tugged on my sleeve as I stood up to leave.

“Do dogs poop in heaven?” she wanted to know.

“I don’t think so,” I answered. “And if they do, people don’t have to clean it up.”

“Because it isn’t stinky!” crowed a little boy.

And we all smiled.