As a parent, I know that there is a good time to tell your kid the full unvarnished truth (most of the time, as long as it's age appropriate) and also a good time to lie, lie, lie. I know this yet, last night I committed a sitcom-worthy sin: I didn't lie when I should've.
It started out innocently enough. My son, snuggled in his bed, me sitting next to the bed on the floor chatting with him about Halloween. Then we started talking about holidays after Halloween and Day of the Dead came up. Then things went south.
"Mom, tell me about Day of the Dead. What's that all about?"
"Well," says I, "some people think that on November 1st, the souls of your dead friends and family come back to walk the earth. Some people even set out food and drinks so they can hang out together."
The second this comes out of my mouth, I'm thinking, Why? Why would you tell him the truth, just before bedtime? If you want to put the icing on the cake, you'll say, "Sleep tight, don't let the dead people bite," then leave him alone in the dark.
Not surprisingly, he said in a small voice, "Um, I'm kinda freaked out right now, Mom."
"I'm sorry, babe. That doesn't really happen." Yeah, right - the damage is already done.
"Can I have some water?"
"Of course you can. Just a sec."
"Can I come with you?" he asks. "And can you carry me?"
So, before I know it, my big mouth and my guilt have my over a barrel and I'm traipsing around the house with an eight year old in my arms.
Lesson learned: tell kids the truth. Unless it's bed time.
Thursday, October 30, 2014
Friday, October 24, 2014
Which is more disturbing?
So, I had a weird thing happen, and I'm not really sure what to think about it. Or rather, my daughter and another kid had a weird thing happen. Kind of.
My daughter, who is four, was playing with a little boy at preschool. Said little boy tells her to drop her drawers and show him her girly bits (what? it feels weird to say genitals or vagina on a blog - but there, I just did). Anyway, she says, "Are you crazy?! I'm not doing that!" then goes to tell the teacher. The boy is pulled aside, parents talked to, etc. Apparently the kid had done this to a few of the other girls, too, though they hadn't refused and hadn't told.
Anyway, the teacher pulls me aside to tell me this in this quiet voice like she's waiting for me to just flip out and withdraw my daughter from school immediately. My first reaction was, "Wow, I'm so glad I had that talk with my daughter. I'm proud of her for standing her ground." Then I went to, "Ew. That's totally inappropriate. What could've been going through that kid's head?" After asking a few more questions, I was relatively comfortable - if not mildly squicked out - by the situation, so I took off.
Then I called my husband, kind of expecting him to freak out. To my astonishment, he said, "So, what? I mean, he didn't touch her, right? She didn't touch him? Unless it was weird and sexual or the kid just does it over and over and over or gets aggressive, it's inappropriate but not unusual. They're four." Yeah, yeah they are four. Damn it, I hate it when he makes sense.
So I moved on. Then the teacher pulls me aside this week to tell me in that weird, quiet voice that the child has been withdrawn from the school and his parents are "seeking treatment for him." Wait, what?
I don't normally wish a problem on anyone. But a part of me can't help but hope that this kid isn't being withdrawn from preschool and "treated" just because of this incident. Part of me hopes there's a bigger problem, because it sure seems weird to treat a four year old for something like this.
I'm sure if I were one of the parents put into the uncomfortable position of having to explain to their four year old daughter that they shouldn't have lifted up their skirt to anyone for any reason, I might be ticked off and demanding some sort of action. But thinking back to my son at that age, I'm not sure which would've been more disturbing: the thought of him telling another kid to show him the goods or the thought of him being treated for it as though it were a psychological problem. There's gotta be way more that I don't know (that's none of my damn business), but still. I didn't really go down that "sexual deviant" path in my head or think anything else about it until I was told the kid was being treated.
My daughter, who is four, was playing with a little boy at preschool. Said little boy tells her to drop her drawers and show him her girly bits (what? it feels weird to say genitals or vagina on a blog - but there, I just did). Anyway, she says, "Are you crazy?! I'm not doing that!" then goes to tell the teacher. The boy is pulled aside, parents talked to, etc. Apparently the kid had done this to a few of the other girls, too, though they hadn't refused and hadn't told.
Anyway, the teacher pulls me aside to tell me this in this quiet voice like she's waiting for me to just flip out and withdraw my daughter from school immediately. My first reaction was, "Wow, I'm so glad I had that talk with my daughter. I'm proud of her for standing her ground." Then I went to, "Ew. That's totally inappropriate. What could've been going through that kid's head?" After asking a few more questions, I was relatively comfortable - if not mildly squicked out - by the situation, so I took off.
Then I called my husband, kind of expecting him to freak out. To my astonishment, he said, "So, what? I mean, he didn't touch her, right? She didn't touch him? Unless it was weird and sexual or the kid just does it over and over and over or gets aggressive, it's inappropriate but not unusual. They're four." Yeah, yeah they are four. Damn it, I hate it when he makes sense.
So I moved on. Then the teacher pulls me aside this week to tell me in that weird, quiet voice that the child has been withdrawn from the school and his parents are "seeking treatment for him." Wait, what?
I don't normally wish a problem on anyone. But a part of me can't help but hope that this kid isn't being withdrawn from preschool and "treated" just because of this incident. Part of me hopes there's a bigger problem, because it sure seems weird to treat a four year old for something like this.
I'm sure if I were one of the parents put into the uncomfortable position of having to explain to their four year old daughter that they shouldn't have lifted up their skirt to anyone for any reason, I might be ticked off and demanding some sort of action. But thinking back to my son at that age, I'm not sure which would've been more disturbing: the thought of him telling another kid to show him the goods or the thought of him being treated for it as though it were a psychological problem. There's gotta be way more that I don't know (that's none of my damn business), but still. I didn't really go down that "sexual deviant" path in my head or think anything else about it until I was told the kid was being treated.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
Things I only tell my blog
1. I don't like being called cookie under any circumstances. Someone at work called me cookie today. I almost punched him.
2. In fact, I fantasize about punching a lot of people. It's probably not healthy.
3. My running playlist includes Megan Trainor's All About that Bass. I love it.
4. I'm way more perverse than most people realize (yes, that perverse).
5. And a lot more egotistical.
6. I used to get permanents until 5th grade, when I got one and it apparently stayed. For the rest of my life.
7. I've run three marathons. I now don't like to run that much. It's just more efficient as a calorie burner. If I could, I'd walk, but I don't have the time to walk as much as I'd need to in order to burn the same amount of calories.
8. I swear like a sailor. Unless I'm around my kids. Then I just want to swear like a sailor. I swear in the car a LOT, though.
9. I don't listen to most of the meetings I have at work. I can't. I'm usually double, triple and even quadruple or quintuple booked, which is why I ask for suggestions and go with others' recommendations. I'm not a good manager, I just don't have time to pay attention.
10. My family irritates the bejeezus out of me. I love them dearly and would never not have them, but they hunt me down - ALL of them (husband included) - and won't. Stop. Talking. Ever. Thank goodness I love them so much.
2. In fact, I fantasize about punching a lot of people. It's probably not healthy.
3. My running playlist includes Megan Trainor's All About that Bass. I love it.
4. I'm way more perverse than most people realize (yes, that perverse).
5. And a lot more egotistical.
6. I used to get permanents until 5th grade, when I got one and it apparently stayed. For the rest of my life.
7. I've run three marathons. I now don't like to run that much. It's just more efficient as a calorie burner. If I could, I'd walk, but I don't have the time to walk as much as I'd need to in order to burn the same amount of calories.
8. I swear like a sailor. Unless I'm around my kids. Then I just want to swear like a sailor. I swear in the car a LOT, though.
9. I don't listen to most of the meetings I have at work. I can't. I'm usually double, triple and even quadruple or quintuple booked, which is why I ask for suggestions and go with others' recommendations. I'm not a good manager, I just don't have time to pay attention.
10. My family irritates the bejeezus out of me. I love them dearly and would never not have them, but they hunt me down - ALL of them (husband included) - and won't. Stop. Talking. Ever. Thank goodness I love them so much.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
The sight and taste of sound
And here's where things get weird. I was talking to my daughter this morning, who told me that me playing the piano tasted like candy. Normally that'd be just one of those weird things kids say, that you would dismiss. She's four after all and it might mean nothing. But, one thing I've experienced all my life that I only recently realized was a tad abnormal (recent in relative terms - more like my 20s) was that I taste words and some sounds have a visual personality. So if she says it tastes like candy, I take that to mean it literally tastes like candy.
My doctor says my "condition" is probably related to my epilepsy. Apparently people with seizure disorders or brain abnormalities are more likely to have synesthesia. Though no one really knows what causes it. Scientists think it could be that those connections that are normally pared away in infancy - those that essentially combine most senses into a big blob until your brain learns to differentiate - may not necessarily have all been specialized in people with synesthesia, which wraps certain sensations into one big bag of sense-related fun.
Anyway, I don't mind if my daughter has synesthesia, but it worries me because anything that remotely suggests "brain anomaly" gives me the heebie jeebies, especially in my kids. That said, I wouldn't take away my own abnormalities for anything. It can be really pleasant.
Because I can't do things the easy way, the type of synesthesia I have is rare, or at least that's what my doctor says. Evidently lots of people have some type of synesthesia but it's usually more related to numbers having colors and personalities. I taste words and sounds and even see some sounds. Not all of them, but some of them have a really, really distinct flavor or sensation on my tongue.
For example, someone I used to work with had a voice that tasted of fresh cherries, especially when she said, "Solution." It was distracting enough I often communicated with her via instant message - there's nothing so off-putting at work as informing someone that you can't talk to them because their voice is just too delicious, bright and tart.
Or deeper, darker voices - like whoever played Scar in the Lion King, or Benjamin Cumberbatch when his character gets pissed. They taste like dark chocolate, disturbing at first, a jolt of bitter then smooth. There's nothing like watching TV, anticipating someone being pissed off. My husband tastes slightly like that, too.
Then there are the sounds that make pictures. The claaaack of castanets during Flamenco music - it's a big, fat, cartoonish black spider in a giant web, hair abdomen and all. Not scary, not ugly. It just is.
I'm not sure whether to wish that on my children or not. It definitely makes some of your experiences far, far richer, but it can be distracting, especially when watching horror movies. One thing about it is that you can literally feel your skin crawl sometimes if you read or hear something horrific enough. Reading the description of The Human Centipede put the taste of blood, antisceptic and filth in the back of my throat for almost two weeks afterwards, and makes my skin crawl even now. So, there you have it. This is just one more thing that makes me...me. And maybe my children themselves.
My doctor says my "condition" is probably related to my epilepsy. Apparently people with seizure disorders or brain abnormalities are more likely to have synesthesia. Though no one really knows what causes it. Scientists think it could be that those connections that are normally pared away in infancy - those that essentially combine most senses into a big blob until your brain learns to differentiate - may not necessarily have all been specialized in people with synesthesia, which wraps certain sensations into one big bag of sense-related fun.
Anyway, I don't mind if my daughter has synesthesia, but it worries me because anything that remotely suggests "brain anomaly" gives me the heebie jeebies, especially in my kids. That said, I wouldn't take away my own abnormalities for anything. It can be really pleasant.
Because I can't do things the easy way, the type of synesthesia I have is rare, or at least that's what my doctor says. Evidently lots of people have some type of synesthesia but it's usually more related to numbers having colors and personalities. I taste words and sounds and even see some sounds. Not all of them, but some of them have a really, really distinct flavor or sensation on my tongue.
For example, someone I used to work with had a voice that tasted of fresh cherries, especially when she said, "Solution." It was distracting enough I often communicated with her via instant message - there's nothing so off-putting at work as informing someone that you can't talk to them because their voice is just too delicious, bright and tart.
Or deeper, darker voices - like whoever played Scar in the Lion King, or Benjamin Cumberbatch when his character gets pissed. They taste like dark chocolate, disturbing at first, a jolt of bitter then smooth. There's nothing like watching TV, anticipating someone being pissed off. My husband tastes slightly like that, too.
Then there are the sounds that make pictures. The claaaack of castanets during Flamenco music - it's a big, fat, cartoonish black spider in a giant web, hair abdomen and all. Not scary, not ugly. It just is.
I'm not sure whether to wish that on my children or not. It definitely makes some of your experiences far, far richer, but it can be distracting, especially when watching horror movies. One thing about it is that you can literally feel your skin crawl sometimes if you read or hear something horrific enough. Reading the description of The Human Centipede put the taste of blood, antisceptic and filth in the back of my throat for almost two weeks afterwards, and makes my skin crawl even now. So, there you have it. This is just one more thing that makes me...me. And maybe my children themselves.
Saturday, October 11, 2014
Ticked
My son has a tic. It started out around age 5 with some heavy blinking. Then it became throat clearing. Then it switched to his fingers and now it's back around the nose and mouth. It comes and goes, usually based on stress and it's also much more common during fall and winter (probably coinciding with school - stress - and the fact that waking is far harder for him when it's still dark outside).
It has reared its ugly head once again. This time it's the mouth, nose and eyebrows. He can control it if he wants to, but it's uncomfortable. Saying something doesn't make it better - it just makes him feel stupid and try to hide his face. Trying to get him to relax doesn't help - he knows what we're doing. I said something about it this evening as I was putting him to bed. We were cuddling and I could feel his face tic-ing against my arm. So he pulled the covers over his head so I wouldn't see.
I guess I'll have to shut up and back off. Funny how half of parenthood seems to be "shut up and back off." The other half is sitting around, having backed off, wondering if you should've hovered more. One way or the other, I'm probably doing something wrong. Hopefully I'm doing other things right.
It has reared its ugly head once again. This time it's the mouth, nose and eyebrows. He can control it if he wants to, but it's uncomfortable. Saying something doesn't make it better - it just makes him feel stupid and try to hide his face. Trying to get him to relax doesn't help - he knows what we're doing. I said something about it this evening as I was putting him to bed. We were cuddling and I could feel his face tic-ing against my arm. So he pulled the covers over his head so I wouldn't see.
I guess I'll have to shut up and back off. Funny how half of parenthood seems to be "shut up and back off." The other half is sitting around, having backed off, wondering if you should've hovered more. One way or the other, I'm probably doing something wrong. Hopefully I'm doing other things right.
Thursday, October 9, 2014
This is how you find me?
So, I was digging around on my blog, trying to figure out why the hell people read this shit. It's a lot of complaining. But apparently I've thrown some true gems in here.
The search terms people tend to find me with are as follows:
can heat rash spread
does heat rash spread
panties under dress
panties under sun dress
hiddenchicken.blogspot.com
So people are apparently looking for me - in some cases specifically for me - but they're looking for me to learn about heat rash and panties. And...there you go.
The search terms people tend to find me with are as follows:
can heat rash spread
does heat rash spread
panties under dress
panties under sun dress
hiddenchicken.blogspot.com
So people are apparently looking for me - in some cases specifically for me - but they're looking for me to learn about heat rash and panties. And...there you go.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
And that is how a mind is lost.
If you've never had the pleasure of sitting through a health plan audit for a plan contracted with the federal government, please don't bother. Really. It sucks. But I haven't decided what sucks more: the audit or the fact that I know enough to be required on the audit the whole damn time.
I keep telling myself it's just a few days, no big deal. But it's just a few days of 14-hour long workdays, explaining multiple claims universes claim by claim - why this claim rejected that way or this way, what logic was built in, justifying it with supporting legislation then walking down through all the calculations. And it would've been nice of someone to tell me I'm apparently running the show.
By the time I got home this evening at 9:30, my brain was so addled, I actually understood what my daughter was talking about when she got up sleep-talking about the shape of bread.
I keep telling myself it's just a few days, no big deal. But it's just a few days of 14-hour long workdays, explaining multiple claims universes claim by claim - why this claim rejected that way or this way, what logic was built in, justifying it with supporting legislation then walking down through all the calculations. And it would've been nice of someone to tell me I'm apparently running the show.
By the time I got home this evening at 9:30, my brain was so addled, I actually understood what my daughter was talking about when she got up sleep-talking about the shape of bread.
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