Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Watch the poop!

Kids are idiots. No one really denies this. Kids get their tongues stuck to poles in the winter, jump off roofs, sled into on coming traffic, eat boogers... the list is endless.

So let me tell you about one of my many idiot kid memories.

I pooped in someone's yard. Yeah, I'm not going to build this story up to be something it isn't, trying to hide the mortifying act of POOPING OUTSIDE in a YARD in some playful images. There are no other images that can mask this, make it look prettier or less embarrassing. And let's get one thing straight, this wasn't a wooded back yard where in an urgent moment one would be able to hide their BM as simply squatting to look at an interesting bug. Oh no, this was a barren wasteland compared to that. Not a tree in sight, just yard, after yard, after yard so all the neighborhood could get a view and whiff of this.

So there I was, 4, maybe 5 years old, poppin' a squat in my friends yard because she said her mom wouldn't let me use their bathroom (even though my bathroom was conveniently located right across the street!) aaaaannnd who happens to see this all taking place? The friends older, cute brother who I had a crush on (he in turn had a crush on my mom). I'm pretty sure he made a mad dash across the street to let her in on all the details of my momentary laps in judgment that led to this open-air pooping.

Anyhow, minutes later my mom presents with a brown paper bag and a garden shovel to pick up said poo. Laughing the whole time.

Lesson learned -- don't poop in yard unless you're a dog. It's humiliating.

Seriously, don't. I mean, it's POOP.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

The Power of Prayer?

Tonight, I'll share a memory. The keys clinking away in the dark, here's hoping I don't wake up the babe.

At the end of one summer, around my 6th birthday, my mom filled the little blow-up pool that sat in our backyard with a mixture of bleach and water. We had been on vacation the week prior and the rain, coupled with neglect, had left this little pool with green algae growing on the bottom and up the sides.

While my mom went back inside, waiting for the bleach to do its "thing", I sat at the pool's edge staring at the water. I was still watching as a fly suddenly landed on top of the water. Struggling, he tried feverishly to make his way out of the bleach water, but to no avail. Minutes later, his lifeless body lay floating in this insect death trap / pool.
I then ran inside to relay what I had just witnessed to my mother. Though why I thought watching a fly die in a pool of bleach was noteworthy, I'll never know. Anyway, I told my mom all about this fly, thinking... I don't know, that she'd be impressed, only to have her yell at me for such heartlessness. I was mortified. I didn't know watching a disgusting insect die was wrong. I was 5 and unaware of the horrific side effects of bleach. OH NO! My mother certainly schooled me on the burning eyes, lungs, throat, and skin that this little fly had endured. AND, after a good twenty minute rant about my cruelty came to an end, I sulked my way back outside.

It must have been a boring day with nothing better to do, because suddenly I had an idea; a way to right my wrong. I'd have a funeral for this poor little fly I killed. So, I gathered the casket (a pink plastic Easter egg), dug a small grave, and began the ceremony.
"Oh please Lord," I prayed on my knees next to this fly in an Easter egg. At the end of my prayer, I picked up the egg to close it tight before burying it, and wouldn't you know, that little fly got up a flew away. Now THIS I had to tell my mom...

She was not impressed. Man, what's a girl gotta do? I bring a fly back to life through the power of prayer and I still can't set things right.
Her response was something about the fly going off and dying a miserable death where my eyes couldn't witness it. Which, of course, was probably true, but then again... it was a fucking fly. Who cares?
Apparently 5 year old girls with nothing better to do.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

The dumbing down...

You know I've heard if you want to make friend, dress better and act dumber. Well, this blog is not about dressing up anything or acting a certain way. This is just simply a way to express myself. You may like it, you may not. Chances are most people I know will never read this and that's ok too.

Where to being...the things that shape us.

When we were young we were told to just go introduce ourselves to other kids in order to make friends. Our parents not believing for one second that the rest of the world could possibly not find us as interesting and lovable as they did. In reality though, I think most kids are being set up for failure from a young age. How often do you just go introduce yourself to others now? Just out of the blue walk up and say "Hi, I'm Stephanie. Can I be your friend?" People would think you're nuts. In truth, we make friends by random connections that seem to unravel and bloom into relationships. Some forever but most are temporary.(whether we know it or not)
See, when we are young we are told to love ourselves the way we are. That being unique is a good trait and that everyone is special. Once those poor innocent children take one step off that Sesame Street curb into reality they find out far to quickly that isn't the case. So this brings forth the question, How do we adequately prepare our children (and ourselves) for all the torment that comes with being an individual?

Now, of course, there is not right or wrong answer on how to achieve this because chances are none of us will and in fact it probably isn't even possible. And even if we do succeed in making our children unique yet impenetrable by torment we won't know it until their grown. But my guess is that if your child is as cookie cutter as can be they may not get teased, as much. Well, who wants their child to be a cookie cutter? It's a double edged sword to be sure. On one hand you don't want your child to be teased by gangs of children for being different, yet you want to embrace that side of your child that is different because that actually IS what makes them special. Of course, they won't appreciate that for years to come.

Does anyone ever really feel like they fit in?

I forgot how amazing a good rant could be.
And I apologize for not being a entertaining as my male counterpart.