From the Mouths of Babes
Let me start this post with the acknowledgment that I am married to the most amazing man on the face of the planet. The way he has been caring for me not only since the day I met him, but especially over these past two months is not to be believed.
Having said that, two seemingly unrelated stories reminded me today that sometimes even the best men just can't help themselves despite their most valiant efforts. Occasionally we just have to know when they really do mean the best and simply forgive them for putting their foot in it.
Terence (aka, wing strangler) has been making me take a walk each day for the past three days. The first day was down the hall in my building to the fire stair. Yesterday was to the corner on my block. Today was all the way to the subway entrance three blocks away. It's been a useful exercise to push the boundaries on my equilibrium limits and to try to get used to multiple sensory inputs like traffic noise and wind on my ears.
Today my ear was delighted to overhear three little girls disembarking from their school bus and walking to their apartment building. They really could not have been older than 9 years old, but they spoke with the seen-it-and-heard-it-all-a-million-times before tone that usually takes years of cynical, urban experience to cultivate:
"Oh my God! Today I absolutely wanted to strangle Eric. He is SUCH a loud mouth."
"You know, Rebecca. I honestly think that Eric was ok today. He means well. Sometimes he just can't help it."
They were so serious, and I had to laugh as I recalled this morning's conversation with Wing Strangler:
Joan: "I can't believe this fat cantilever. It looked so much better before. You would think that if they're going to take fat OUT, then it would look better not worse. "
Terry: "Joan, it really looks the same."
Joan: "It does NOT look the same. They took out an ounce and half of fat. It bulges now. It does not look the same."
Terry: "Well, it does look the same. And anyway - don't worry - it will grow back."
Sometimes, they just can't help it.
4 comments:
Who would have thought the littlest thing like wind on the ears would become a big sensory overload. You are really making me think about things and how we take so much for granted. I am glad you are outside and walking, you can feel back to normal for a few minutes a day!! You are doing great, keep laughing and blogging!!
Grade-schoolers these days! What a bunch of mini-me's, walking around with pseudo-adult attitudes and backpacks large enough to stop a locomotive. (Are there still locomotives?). Something must be done.
Speaking of kids (random segue), I'm pasting in a hi-larious shouts & murmers thing...hope it cracks you up.
xo,
--Ali
The Wisdom of Children by Simon Rich
The New Yorker, March 26, 2007
I. A Conversation at the Grownup Table, as Imagined at the Kids’ Table
MOM: Pass the wine, please. I want to become crazy.
DAD: O.K.
GRANDMOTHER: Did you see the politics? It made me angry.
DAD: Me, too. When it was over, I had sex.
UNCLE: I’m having sex right now.
DAD: We all are.
MOM: Let’s talk about which kid I like the best.
DAD: (laughing) You know, but you won’t tell.
MOM: If they ask me again, I might tell.
FRIEND FROM WORK: Hey, guess what! My voice is pretty loud!
DAD: (laughing) There are actual monsters in the world, but when my kids ask
I pretend like there aren’t.
MOM: I’m angry! I’m angry all of a sudden!
DAD: I’m angry, too! We’re angry at each other!
MOM: Now everything is fine.
DAD: We just saw the PG-13 movie. It was so good.
MOM: There was a big sex.
FRIEND FROM WORK: I am the loudest! I am the loudest!
(Everybody laughs.)
MOM: I had a lot of wine, and now I’m crazy!
GRANDFATHER: Hey, do you guys know what God looks like?
ALL: Yes.
GRANDFATHER: Don’t tell the kids.
-----------
II. A Day at UNICEF Headquarters, as I Imagined It in Third Grade
(UNICEF sits on a throne. He is wearing a cape and holding a sceptre. A
servant enters, on his knees.)
UNICEF: Halloween is fast approaching! Have the third graders been given
their little orange boxes?
SERVANT: Yes, your majesty!
UNICEF: Perfect. Did you tell them what the money was for?
SERVANT: No, sir, of course not! We just gave them the boxes and told them
to collect for UNICEF. We said it was for “a good cause,” but we didn’t get
any more specific than that.
UNICEF: Ha ha ha! Those fools! Soon I will have all the money in the world.
For I am UNICEF, evil king of Halloween!
SERVANT: Sir . . . don’t you think you’ve stolen enough from the children?
Maybe you should let them keep the money this year.
UNICEF: Never! The children shall toil forever to serve my greed!
(He tears open a little orange box full of coins and rubs them all over his
fat stomach.)
UNICEF: Yes! Oh, yes!
SERVANT: Wait! Your majesty! Look at this! Our records indicate that there’s
a kid out there—Simon—who’s planning to keep his UNICEF money this year.
UNICEF: What?! But what about my evil plans? I was going to give that money
to the Russians so they could build a bomb!
SERVANT: (aside) I guess there’s still one hero left in this world.
UNICEF: No!
(He runs out of the castle, sobbing.)
SERVANT: Thank God Simon is keeping his UNICEF money.
SECOND SERVANT: Yes, it’s good that he’s keeping the money.
THIRD SERVANT: I agree. Simon is doing a good thing by keeping the money
from the UNICEF box.
SERVANT: Then we’re all in agreement. Simon should keep the money.
-----------------
III. How College Kids Imagine the United States Government
THE PRESENT DAY
—Did you hear the news, Mr. President? The students at the University of
Pittsfield are walking out of their classes, in protest over the war.
—(spits out coffee) Wha— What did you say?
—Apparently, students are standing up in the middle of lectures and walking
right out of the building.
—But students love lectures. If they’re willing to give those up, they must
really be serious about this peace thing! How did you hear about this
protest?
—The White House hears about every protest, no matter how small.
—Oh, right, I remember.
—You haven’t heard the half of it, Mr. President. The leader of the group
says that if you don’t stop the war today they’re going to . . . to . . .
I’m sorry, I can’t say it out loud. It’s just too terrifying.
—Say it, damn it! I’m the President!
—All right! If you don’t stop the war . . . they’re going to stop going to
school for the remainder of the week.
—Send the troops home.
—But, Mr. President! Shouldn’t we talk about this?
—Send the troops home.
THE NINETEEN-SIXTIES
—Mr. President! Did you hear about Woodstock?
—Woo— Woodstock? What in God’s name is that?
—Apparently, young people hate the war so much they’re willing to
participate in a musical sex festival as a protest against it.
—Oh, my God. They must really be serious about this whole thing.
—That’s not all. Some of them are threatening to join communes: places where
they make their own clothing . . . and beat on drums.
—Stop the war.
—But, Mr. President!
—Stop all American wars!
—(sighs) Very well, sir. I’ll go tell the generals.
—Wow. It’s a good thing those kids decided to go hear music.
OMG! That Shouts & Murmurs is so funny. Especially the first two - just perfect! Thanks for the laugh....
First of all, is Joan saying she thinks I'm a babe? Cool. The chip the surgeons implanted for me must be starting to work...
Second, I must take umbrage at the implication that I would ever make a snide, insulting comment to my wife - accidentally.
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