The “Man in the Light”

I am not very good at being an adult.  For the most part, it seems my diminutive stature precludes anyone from taking me seriously, and rather attracts derision, scorn, and highly demonstrative sessions of people telling me what I need to do, when, and why.  People don’t so much comment or advise as much as they decide for me and rule over me, as though I am a small child, or seem to need my arms firmly grasped as they drag me in the correct direction. 

On a long drive, Will pointed out that I only ever dream about paranormal things trying to harm me, or control me or my loved ones, and mostly, I have to agree that is the case.  Even the way I fly is dependent upon perfect circumstances, and my lofty aspirations are tenuous and without longevity.  It didn’t occur to me how related that is to my childish feelings of constantly being strong-armed into things out of my comfort zone or that I just don’t care about, until just that moment.  I guess it often takes other points of view for us to see ourselves properly, which is why I hold Tarot cards in great esteem.

Having a child-like, overly imaginative mind can often lead to irrational and reckless thoughts and actions, but as in the case of my dreams, it mostly allows others to feel that they can or must exert control over that which appears to be in need of control, or possibly all of these people are sociopathic (which is much more likely…it is, after all, an inherited trait, no?)

Perhaps it is due to my view of humanity through the way I have been treated by others, or perhaps something else.  Either way, I am acutely aware of the fact that my lens is tinted toward viewing the supernatural in everything.  I want it to be that easy an answer when atrocities are committed, and not a complex mental cocktail of the nature/nurture variety.  What I have noticed recently is how I am coloring my children’s views of the world, and not just with being irrationally inclined, but by seeing me as someone who is powerless, or at the very least, malleable and easily dissuaded/persuaded.  Judging from their actions when around others, I am keenly aware that mine is not the last word.

For the last few months, Liam has been asking us, “who’s that man in the light?”   How could one not be a bit freaked out by that?  Especially a parent.  What do you say in response?  I don’t want to make him think there is something there in the event that there is not, but I also don’t want him to think that we think he is crazy, or make him deny something that he obviously sees…whatever that might be.  So, as my child stares at the ceiling fixture, and asks me what that man is, or what’s his name, or what he’s doing, I try to think of an appropriate response. 

The best that I could do was take him seriously, which scared me fairly well.  I got into his bed, lay down, stared at the light, and tried my best to see something (which he did not want me pointing at or speaking to…which jarred me further), I asked him what the man looks like, and he said, “he sa mean, scaywe man–I don’t like him.”  I started to tell Liam that if the man bothered him I would yell at him and tell him to go away, and he would have to obey me–because I rank higher, as mom.  Still staring at the light, Liam did not like that idea, and voiced that opinion in a rather alarming sincerity for a toddler.  I looked as hard as I could at the light, trying to figure out what it could possibly be that he was seeing, and settled on it being the reflection of a night-light.  So, I covered the light up, and asked Liam if the man went away.  He didn’t say, or I didn’t hear…so, I asked again, and Liam said, “yes,” though, not with very convincing authority. 

“It’s just the reflection of the night-light!”  I assured him.  Finn followed suit, with, “It’s just erection of light, Niam.”  Finn and I did our best to convince Liam, but as of tonight, I think he remains frightened and I can only feel that it is my fault for not being a figure of authority in his world.  I cannot make even an erection in the light go away.  So, how safe must the little guy feel? 

I have a plan for asserting some control, but I need to ask the cards first…

Pathic Pru

Seven Deadly Chocolates…

Which, as it appears, I will likely never experience. 

I am a sucker for good marketing, well, mostly.  I am even more of a sucker for products that play on my compulsive word-nerdery.  While undertaking a bit of midterm research I happened upon a most lovely find that I fear will end up utterly rending my heart into broken bits when I solidly discover that the company has ceased to be.  That said, Polidori Blog, and Polidori Website.  I was searching for information on John Polidori, but found this first…and, well, had to sign up for their newsletter.  Upon signing up for said newsletter, and then receiving none, I am assuming that the business has folded.  Which is such a shame. 

It was such a thrill to see someone so invested in their passions and products.  Especially gothic/author-themed confections!  Not only does she appear to be a reader, but a critical thinker!  Her creations appear to have, or had, a lot of thought put into them, as far as what flavors and design are suitable for a Byron or Shelley truffle.  What confection might be suitable for Sylvia Plath? 

“LUST:The poet Sylvia Plath once observed, ‘If they substituted the word ‘Lust’ for ‘Love’ in the popular songs it would come nearer the truth.’ So how can lust be so bad? Our wickedly scrumptious Lust truffle combines the essence of pomegranate (thought to be the true fruit with which Eve tempted Adam) and sweet-tart dried Bing cherries.” 

Of course, what else?! 

Possibly the very best part of the “proprietress’” marketing strategy is that you have to confess to her your favorite of the seven deadlies!  How fab is that?  Chocolate based on one’s sin proclivities?!  I am in heaven…or I would be if I found out how to get my lips around some of those truffles…

Lovely weekend to all,

Pru (who wouldn’t be able to commit to just one deadly, so it is probably just as well if the business is defunct…but still quite sad)

Anger Management Through Gardening

Apparently, I have chosen the right hobby to embark upon, as I find myself becoming increasingly frustrated by toddlers being, well, toddlers.  What better way to relieve some stress and veg-out (pun intended), than to weed?  Spending time with the dirt (even if it is crawling with horrific, repulsive creatures like wolf spiders), growing and nurturing self and nature.  Lovely.  I can just picture myself in matching tools, hat, gloves, and sloggers.  Such a thrilling image of children being cooperative, and then actually eating their veggies because they grew them!  And, the added benefit of having the children understand where food comes from.  The fortunate side to the boys refusal to eat meat is that I won’t have to show them where that comes from. 

Searching around for gardening “musts,” I happened across the “Red Dragon,” and these thoughts suddenly shifted.  Well, it appears that some folks really depend on gardening to manage anger…  It’s a flame-thrower-backpack!  What sort of rage must the customers who purchase such a product need to subdue?  What manner of weeds are so odious and insidious that they must be dealt with through the power of fire?  I can only imagine rampant, fire-bearing gardeners on a mission to destroy the most dastardly and nefarious varieties of garden pests and unwelcome vegetation. 

Contemplating…purchasing…one…of…these… 

Pru

Simple Things

Well, they should be simple things.  After driving around the hills of Virginia, and being in the mountains for the first time in ages, I realized how potent nostalgia really is.  I have been missing my Sandias, my Sangre De Cristos, Mt. Lemon, etc., for a long stretch, but this summer’s vacation has really made me question where I can actually grow.  Visiting family in Virginia made me realize that I really want a garden of the vegetable variety.  Simple, right?  Clear some land, plant some seeds, et voila!  Garden! 

No.

I have been staring at seed catalogues for days now, trying to figure out what I want to grow, and how I want to grow it.  Should I use a raised bed, or just plant things straight into the ground?  All of the seeds sold in Jacksonville are gone too, so starting anything from seed isn’t an option until the seeds come back (where did they go?  The state apparently takes them to check them and re-date them?)  This sounds like it may take a while.  So, heirloom and organic seeds from “Johnny’s Selected Seeds” sounds like the only way to go.  Plus, they have creepy blue pumpkins, perfect for Halloween.  How could one resist a grey-blue pumpkin, or a purple carrot?!  I could become a mad gardener and grow all manner of dastardly edibles.

In preparation for gardening, one of my big goals is to get all of the old mulch out of the landscaping.  This seemed simple too, but has now been complicated by my loathing and horror of Wolf Spiders, which apparently live in there by the millions!!!   We had been killing large spiders in our house for weeks, and I have seen them by the hundreds under the grass outside.  It didn’t look like the wolf spider I had last known, and I really hoped it wasn’t.

As I was preparing to rake up the old mulch, I saw several pin-head sized spiders in my bathroom.  I quickly did them in with wadded up tissue, and realized how many of them I was seeing.  My mind flashed back to the horrors of living with wolf spiders in Gainesville, and with good reason.  As I emerged from the shower, the mother was staring straight at me.  One tiny spider-ling was about eight inches in front of her, and it looked like she was calling him back.  I quickly stepped around them, squashed the little one, and then got the swatter to smack her with (far too large a creature for me to kill with my bare anything). 

I swung, and she exploded with hundreds of spiderlings, all over my floor and walls. 

That was one of my biggest reasons for leaving Florida the first time.  Now, I am going to need to seek therapy for this. 

Bugged,

Pru

Great Barrier Briefs!

There are plenty of things that I detest shopping for.  On the top of that list are, jeans, bathing suits, and underwear.  Since the arrival of the boys, I have been doing a lot more homework online prior to purchasing, or doing the groundwork search for any of these things.  Searching for PJs, I saw the words “Luxury Liners” in the column on the left, and had no choice but to check it out. 

What could they be?!  Certainly, that couldn’t be the name of a variety of underwear, for who would buy something that suggests as many odd and possibly degrading things as those two words together?  I mean, are they for the larger ladies?  Clever idea, if not a bit revolting.

It occurred to me that the existance of such a product begs for a witty competitor…Mike suggested “Modesty Masks,” “Practical Pouches,” and “Comfy Contours,” but I think that sticking with a gargantuan, ocean-ish theme is in order, so “Great Barrier Briefs” they shall be.

Now, what shall they do/look like?  I suppose they could be for sports/a barrier between wearer and elements…or they could be a barrier between the wearer and the rest of the world…  nearly limitless possibilities…I guess it just needs to be a brand all its own with multiple interests covered (pun intended).

Need to get started on this right away…

Pru

Two Cute

How can I be annoyed when they are just so darned cute? The boys have begun climbing into the same bed, along with all of their things. Two sets of blankets, two boys, two sets of animals, two sets of pillows…lots of stuff for a small toddler bed to hold!

The thing is that they have been talking back and forth for about 15 minutes now, after a full day, a busted chin, and lots of raucous spazing out for their cousin Catie.

I never thought the day would come, but suddenly, they seem to actually appreciate one another’s company and find comfort in one another again! A thing that hasn’t happened since their first few weeks of life!

Finn was even worried about Liam when he was “attacked” by a bird at the zoo. The bird just wanted to let Liam know that it wasn’t okay with him waving his hand in it’s face and bending down to its level to say, “Hi!” It flew at Liam’s glorious halo of hair with it’s talons outstretched, and basically just ruffled up his mane a bit. I think it really offended the friendly little guy, and scared him pretty well. Finn was pretty concerned though. He ran to Liam, bent down in front of him, looked up at Liam’s face, and asked very sincerely, if he was okay.

Ahh…nice boys.

Pru.

Crime Wave

So, the Creepy Mom strikes again.  Well, not really me this time, but Finn. 

There is a lovely grandmother from the Little Germ that has adopted us.  She has a grandson who is a bit delayed in speech and some physical abilities (I will call him “Jack”), but he is a very bright child, and all three boys seem to get along really well.  Liam enjoys making the little boy laugh, and Finn likes telling him what to do.  We try to get out of the house at least once a week and do something fun with Henri and her grandson, and she has always been super accommodating and understanding about Finn’s little issues…which are quickly turning into his big issues…mainly, his blood-lust and biting. 

With non-stop rain for the past four days (which will apparently continue into the next week), and everyone feeling completely stir-crazy ( I have seen a cannibalistic look in my children’s eyes this week upon denying them chocolate milk…), our adoptive grandmother and I decided to take the boys to the local Pump-it-Up.  Needless to say, every mother in this city, with children 6 and under (and some who seemed quite a bit older), had the very same idea. 

Long story shorter, the boys made themselves at home in the little Flintstone cars, and laid claim to them.  This meant that anyone attempting entrance into the cars was quickly removed.  Liam solved the problem of auto-theft by just remaining in the car and holding his ground in the exact same place.  Finn, however, decided that he really wanted to jump in the “bayoon houses,” so he ran back and forth between the car and the bounce house, expelling small and large children from the vehicle (and usually onto their heads) upon their trespass.  The boys can maneuver the inflated obstacles much faster than I can, in case anyone was wondering why I wasn’t doing anything to curtail Finn’s aggressive actions. 

At about the third kid Finn evicted from the car, I decided to keep him with me in the bounce house and watch he and the Jack in the same place.  Obstacles were decidedly more difficult for Jack, so he was the one I was most worried about, particularly with the insurgance of kids far too big to be with all of the little ones, and oblivious to stepping on them.  Finn, angered at my keeping him from his car, decided to sneak away when I couldn’t reach him, and pushed another child out and onto his head while he made a quick exit back toward his car. 

I was waiting for the year-old in the car to be toppled out while no parents supervised it, but Finn bypassed the car for the Foosball table instead!  Which was fine until I saw a six-year old girl run right in front of the opposing side of the table just as Finn thrust a rod her way.  Oif.  I think most parents know that sound (the dreaded, “Thuck!”)…sickening to hear…the sound of something smacking a head, really hard.  The rod hit the child smack-dab in the middle of her forehead.  And she dropped.   As none of the parents in the room seemed to be focused on any of the children crawling the walls, I was going to run to the child at the point where I noticed her trajectory and assessed that the rod was about to collide with cranium, but I was intercepted by grandma Henri, who turned me around and shook her head, and whispered, “No, you don’t want to get involved with that.  None of the parents were watching, that was their fault.”   Obviously, she is saving me from myself, as she has seen me fess up to Finn’s past incidents only to make things worse for all of us.

After trying to calm down a bit, Finn then turned on Jack.  I don’t think grandma understood just what I meant about Finn’s vampyric tendencies.  I don’t think she understood that when he does bite, he means serious business.  Jack was playing with a toy that Finn wanted, and although Jack is one of the kindest children I know, and shares everything he has without fuss, Finn lashed out with his patented “clamp and tear” bite.  Well, two of them, since Jack was mostly in shock and didn’t know how to react, or why Finn was doing it.  Grandma Henri understands my issue with Finn now, albeit a bit too personally.

Finn was totally unaffected by the morning’s events, as upon leaving he quickly discovered a stool that he could drag around to get him enough height to mess with the arcade games.  Really, I think his aim was to dismantle them rather than play them.  I just watched him, as I was still in shock.  I am still in shock today, and I think the weak-kneed feeling has been steadily increasing since my tripping of the 18-month old.   

Is it just boys?  What do other parents do?  The fighting in our house has been escalating beyond what I ever imagined two-year olds could accomplish in nastiness, premeditation, and vengeance.  The rain continues to pour, and supplies are dwindling…  At the point of this entry, I am not sure how much longer we can last…  I am hiding in the closet, but I can hear them sniffing around outside, and I am sure that I don’t have very long.  I will try to hold on… If you are reading this, please send h e l…Ahhhhhhhhhh…

Wherd Ungko Jongko?

That’s what we all want to know, but Finn feels Jon’s absence most painfully. He cried so hard leaving the airport upon Jon’s departure, that I had to offer them a day at the zoo…which might not seem like a big deal, but was actually quite frightening. I half-hoped that we had passed the exit, but apparently Finn also knows how to spell “Zoo,” and corrected me when he saw the exit sign. So, I had to make good on my promise.

Amid sorrow-filled wails and lamentations, and Liam’s valiant attempts at consoling his twin, Finn Finally perked up when we turned off the road and headed into the zoo’s parking area.

The boys don’t like riding in anything but a train or the grocery store “race-carts” (which seem to no longer exist), so the prospect ahead of me was one that filled me with fear… The boys would be on foot, and I would be unable to split myself to chase two of them in a very crowded place. I am not really sure what happened at some moments, but I do know that they did an amazing job of staying relatively close to me, and at least coming back to me, and I would like to pat myself on the back for remaining relatively calm. We rode the train twice, we saw almost all of the zoo, we had lunch (they requested “corn dogs” which seems to be their new favorite since our trip to the Alligator Farm”), they even let me use the restroom (albeit with much messing about with the door and the lock).

I think that was one of a handful of moments in which I almost felt like an adult human mom. They were really tired when we were leaving, so I carried them both out of the gate and to the car. We celebrated all the way to the car by singing, my skipping, and Liam’s imitation of someone shooting two guns into the air (where he got that I have no idea). (Speaking of having no idea, I have no idea what that must have looked like, but I am certain it was funny. A very short woman skipping with the glee of accomplishment while carrying two large toddlers, has got to be something of a sight.)

It was a good day, despite Jon’s getting back on the plane. The boys ran themselves tired, saw lots of animals, got to pet, hold, hug, and kiss a gopher tortoise, and Liam only fell out of his chair and onto his face once–and was physically unscathed!

The boys are in their parroting phase, apparently, which means that we may go into hiding soon, as they will be telling the world my secrets… As Jon noted, you can get them to repeat anything, and they will repeat lots of stuff you didn’t think they heard. He also noted that if we ever “talk smack” about him, he will know just by talking to the boys.

We had such a good time while Jon was here, we don’t really know what to do with ourselves now. It is much easier to take the boys out when I have a captive in the house, than it is having to ask people if they can handle outings with us.

Though, maybe it is these hermit-like tendencies that bring on Finn’s blood-lust. He rediscovered his vampyric nature right after I tripped the 18-month old. Coincidence?

The kid is sneaky, and bit a child at the Little Germ while Jon was holding onto him. Not even Jon was aware of what had happened. The little boy that had been trying to climb the same object that Finn wanted all to himself was crying harder than a child would be if they had just had their feelings hurt. Finn was so sly that nobody would have known what happened until they got the child home; and then they might not have known it was Finn that did it…but I decided to check the kid out, and indeed, there was the perfect imprint (he bit hard) of Finn’s teeth on the child’s upper arm. I alerted the mother anyway, and now it is quite possible that we really won’t be allowed back to the Germ.

I guess I have to get used to seeing clusters of angry mothers gathered in the parking lot to talk about my daemonic spawn. But not even that can take away from the power, joy, and elation I felt at being able to go to the zoo, alone, with two toddlers and no strolley, and walk around there for three hours without them requesting to be picked up!

Pru

Whiners

The morning started out wrong, so I should have known that leaving the house, or being in the company of any other human beings would be a bad idea today.  Liam began by not just refusing to eat, but throwing an epic fit, for which he was sent to his room until he emerged 15 minutes later, to let me know, “its okay, I all done.”  Then Finn followed up his iron-enhanced-juice with a nice “spit-up” down the front of his clothes right before we had to leave the house.

We went to the Little Germ, where we then encountered what seemed like a carnival of hundreds of children for mine to push, bite, run into, etc.  Though, they did seem to prefer to do those things to one another.

Upon exiting the gym, to my astonishment, I discovered that Liam can now open the heavy front door!  Trying to escape, not wanting to hold my hand, he pulled me out the door, and several other children tried to escape with us.  Playing tug-o-war with him, trying to keep the other kids inside and hold the door so that several didn’t get squished, and another mother could leave, I was unable to control any part of the circus-like situation.

Liam had pulled really good, and I stuck a foot out to gain my ground just as an 18-month old decided to book it.  He fell in slow motion, and I thought about lunging for him, but would have then risked pinning his sister in the door, and letting Liam get hit  by a car.  He fell so slowly and caught himself with his hands, so I thought I could just continue my hold on the door and the boys…but then he let his head drop!  His mother immediately threw up her hands and everything that was in them, came running, dropped to the ground and began a mental-patient-style chanting of, “Oh, my baby! My baby!  Mommy will make everything better, mommy will clean you up, mommy will fix it!” and cried so hard that the kid wouldn’t stop. 

If there had been blood, this might have been understandable.  Seeing as how the kid ended up with an upper-lip scrape of a mildness that neither of my boys have been so lucky to ever have (except on their arms or legs maybe), I don’t see what the fuss was over.  He wouldn’t let her look in his mouth, so she freaked out more, then he started crying again, and then she saw a little blood.  Really?  Finn’s teeth went through his lip, and there wasn’t anything I could do about that, and he stopped crying a whole lot sooner, and there was a whole lot more blood. 

Seeing the trickle of blood down the middle of his front teeth, she started crying harder, and was convinced he lost a tooth, or was going to.  I suppose there is more to her crying, and it is probably stress-related.  I can understand that, but for someone who over analyzes words, looks, and actions anyway, this really hurts, and tells me that I am a bad mother to have done such a thing to a child and his mother, especially when she is obviously stressed.

I feel like I was driving erratically and hit a pedestrian or something.  I didn’t even know what to do, or how to react, all I can recall is letting his twin out of the door, where her mother left her stuck, and the teacher coming out to serve me with a nasty look and a bag full of ice.  The bag full of ice made things a bit worse too, since the boys were then furiously trying to get at teh ice and the snack cups that the mother dropped.

I have to admit a tinge of guilt, and the feeling that I am a bad mother for not running to my children the moment they cry, or crying because they have a scratch or a bruise, etc.  I am also imagining that the witnesses and the mother are now recalling the event more along the lines of me having purposefully stuck out my foot to trip the child, or maybe even enhancing the story, and recalling that I kicked the child several feet into the air, from which he skidded for several feet,  until his face stopped him.

I stood there with the boys not knowing what to do for what seemed forever, and I still don’t know what I am supposed to do, or was supposed to do then.

Train-wreck Pru

“Seasons of Mellow Fruitlessness” seem to be the most fruitful…

Okay, I can’t read, hear, say, or write that Keats quote without picturing Hugh Grant with a cig. hanging out of his mouth, shirt open, and rowing a skiff.  I think it was a skiff…  I am apoplectic when I assume that scene is the only reason that most of the US knows the author of those words, no matter how lovely and bad Hugh Grant was. 

But, I digress.  Mostly, I just have a random scattering of “sittin’ around” type things to relate:

• I would like to plug a book that was designed by a highly talented friend, Shannon.  I was really flattered that she asked for a piece that I wrote, from which to create her graphic project. 
• Everyone should see REAPER before it is pulled from the air, which I am certain it will be, as have all or any of the shows that have ever earned my attention.  I have my issues with John Milton, but the writers are clever, and really seem to be Milton fans, which is an unusual and appealing thing.  Smart and highly silly.  Good fun.
• This one is an Horrified Fascination Syndrome (HFS) kind of listing.  It’s not quite a train-wreck…it’s more…well…  I don’t know if I am intensely jealous, or just embarrassed that I might be a fan.  Leslie Hall is an enigma to me, and needs an editor–hmmm…  She is so young!  I had no idea how young she was, and really, who would?!  Anyone who sells pants with “Crotch Lock” is at least hilarious in my book.
• Uncle Jon is coming to town!
• Southerners like to leave their unloved dead out to rot and be picked at by vultures (well, that which isn’t worthy of eating).  At least, I think that the way in which one handles their ex animals or roadkill is telling of the way they handle their humanity, or lack of.  Maybe I need to elaborate on that, or at least explain it. 
• I am not a good Easter Bunny, Santa, Tooth Faery, etc.  In fact, if it weren’t for relatives who love them, the boys likely would never know that the holidays or their mascots exist, at least not until school.
• My boys will be in diapers for so long that they will be lucky to ever have a date.

Okay, I think that covers it.  There may or may not be more…I am a very busy Pru, with lots of sittin’ around to be done.

Ta!

Prrru