Sunday, May 20, 2007

A Lesson

This little fellow came home from childrens church with us last sunday.

I was distracted with a list of groceries in my head that needed picked up for the picnic'o'many-in-laws that afternoon, when Incrediboy came out of his class clutching the teeny beany lizard. He held it up to me with shining eyes and said, "Look, Mommy!" I emphatically (though absentmindedly) said, "Wow, he's neat!", as I herded him out the door and into the car.

As we drove home from the store and I watched him in my visor mirror, happily grasping the blue critter, I got to thinking about where it came from. It wasn't with us this morning. Maybe it shouldn't be with us now. In fact I was sure of it.

I sat him down when we got home and asked, "Honey, where did you get this lizard?"

"They gave it to me in sunday school," he said, gushing with love for his little friend.

"Did someone give it to you, or did you take it?"

He looked at me quizzically. "They gave it to me," he repeated.

"Are you sure? Did someone really give it to you, or do you think maybe you took this from someone?"

His eyes grew big and puppy doggish. He stroked the lizard's tail with his free hand and thought about things. "Do you think you might have taken it?", I asked again, leading the suspect. He looked down at the lizard. "I might have took it," he said in a quiet and shameful tone.

Ugh, that feeling of a rock in your stomach. I maintained a gentle approach.

"Honey, you can't take things that don't belong to you. Someone's probably really sad right now that they don't have their lizard. We need to take him back next week."

"But I want him," he explained in a sweet pleading voice.

"I know, honey. He's really neat. But what if someone took your Elmo and you didn't have him anymore? Wouldn't you be sad?"

His eyes grew misty. "Yes. I'd be really sad." He seemed on the verge of tears.

We talked a while about taking things, and how that would make someone feel. We talked about how it's not nice to treat someone and their things with disrespect that way. We talked about lying, even little lies. This was hard, breaking your little one's heart in the name of teaching morals and empathy.

I gently took the little lizard out of his hands and put it on a shelf, and he threw his arms around me sadly. "I'm sorry, Mommy," he said, in that pathetic tone that almost kills me every time. I hugged him and said, "Don't be upset, honey. We'll just take him back next week and find out who he belongs to, okay?" He agreed dejectedly.

In little time he seemed to forget about the lizard. But I thought about it all week. I thought about how to return the toy in such a fashion so as to make an impression without being too harsh on a tender, still-learning pre-schooler.

This morning I brought the lizard to church with us, and when Incrediboy saw it, he said nothing, but I could tell he remembered. I held Incrediboy close to me with one hand, making sure he was listening, and pulled the lizard out of my purse with the other as I explained to his teacher the whole incident. Incrediboy's big sad azure eyes didn't leave the lizard for a second.

"Oh, no, it's fine!", his teacher said. "We gave that to him last week to present to you for a Mother's Day gift. All the kids got one."

Oy vey. Relieved (though slightly humiliated on the inside), I said thank you for clearing it up, and we just wanted to make sure no one lost a friend due to the incident. His teacher smiled and said it was all right - they tried to explain the gift to all the mothers last week as they picked up the kids, but it was so busy they must have missed me.

After church I placed the lizard back in Incrediboy's gleeful hands. I told him I was sorry for making him admit something he didn't do, but I just wanted to make sure it was all right for him to have it. He looked at me with a big loving smile and said, "That's okay, Mommy." He gave me a big hug and kiss, and I did my best not to cry.

Lessons learned for both of us.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Dumb Question du Jour

Imponderable of the day: What's the origin of the phrase,
"I have to pi$$ like a Russian racehorse"? Are Soviet Secretariats seriously not allowed to pee, or what?

I was just wondering is all ...
It's just kind of a weird thing to say.

I swear on my bloomers that I have full intentions of posting something worthwhile SOON! Things have just been very out of whack here. But they're returning to normalcy. Or something like normalcy.

I miss you all - we'll catch up soon. Until then, if you haven't seen this, you should. I stole this from Ches a few months ago and it's STILL one of the funniest things I've ever seen.

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket I am *SO* in touch with this emotion.

Sunday, May 13, 2007

Flip Flop Summer Tour

While I'm generally a rocker chick, I always liked Kenny Chesney. He's got a fun, kick your shoes off and have a beer sound. But I'm an official fan now. Chesneygirl and Naive and V and I went to see Kenny Chesney's Flip Flop Summer Tour friday night and we had the bestest time. We scored sandbar seats ... enough said.

Here are just a couple of the pics I took.

We were so close that Chesney held her shirt up and he took it from her and signed it for her.

What a great time! I miss those girls so much.

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

Restless - The Scheherazade Project

Hello friends and visitors! Again, my apologies for being a sparse blogger. Life has me extremely busy and is keeping me away from my computer ... I apologize and thank you for understanding. Rest assured I'm not far away in heart, though. Hope everyone is well and I appreciate your faithful checking in. I really do plan on being back more regularly eventually! Don't give up on me!

To keep my creative juices flowing, I try to at least participate in my monthly writers' group. Death seems to be a recurring theme in my Scheherazade Project pieces, but this one isn't my fault - Faith picked the picture ;). May's assignment is simply to write on this untitled photo. Comments and criticisms welcome.

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Death and dying can be other than literal, and sadder.

Here we see a gravesite in humanity's collective soul. No bodies lie beneath the markers here, but pieces of confused energy. Unrequited possibilities.

Here the angels have erected a cross for children returned to God almost as soon as they were given. Some by choice, others with searing protest. Some mothers sacrificed their children out of fear, selfishness, or ignorance. Others released their children before they knew what was happening, wailing as their dreams ran through their fingers like sand. Each cross stands in quiet, anonymous testimony to a life unknown to anyone it would have touched. Anyone but God.

And here, behind each little cross, another cross with their mother's name. Though she still lives, breathes, and loves, a piece of her being uneasily writhes here. For you see, part of a mother's heart is used in the creation of her child, regardless of want or timing or even the power of denial, and she never gets it back. And subsequently, here lies that part of her heart, enveloping her little one forever.

No one tends to this graveyard but the angels, and no one sees this graveyard but God. But God does see, and waits to comfort. Their names are written upon His heart.

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