I Live with Smaller Versions of Rainman and Monk….

Small people have the dubious task of growing up to be big people.  The process is both amusing and frustrating to both them and any innocent bystanders.

We marvel when small people begin to show signs of advancement – oh, he rolled over, oh, he is sitting, oh; there she goes – crawling….milestones to be enjoyed.  Soon they are walking and talking, just like little people should.  With these advances, comes joy and yes…the destruction of any remaining adult brain that the parents might possibly have held onto.

It began simple enough.  Davey started talking.  He would listen carefully and repeat words and phrases.  Stupidly we encouraged this behavior, like so many other unaware parents.  Eventually he understood that he could just say what he wanted rather than go through the elaborate pantomime hand gesture/grunting routine.   Not to be outdone, Alivia followed in her big brother’s footsteps and soon was asking for things as well.   And they did…again, and again, and again….

“I want strawberrberry milk…I want strawberryberry milk…I want strawberryberry milk…” accompanied with a tiny “More milk pease…more milk pease…more milk pease…” over and over again.  The soundtrack of my life at the moment.  Apparently it is not enough to ask something just once, it must be repeated in triplicate over and over again until some deranged adult finally responds “YES-YOU CAN HAVE MORE STAWBERRYBERRY MILK BUT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEASE STOP SAYING THAT!!!”  Even then it must be repeated at least one more time, just for emphasis.   And this goes on ALL FREAKIN’ DAY!! 

For this reason we began to refer to Davey as Rainman.  The hubby threatens to teach him to say “Wapner at 5” and “Kmart Sucks” on a regular basis.  Although I suspect he is beginning to understand that this would come back and bite him in the butt if I didn’t do it first.  And yeah, I did teach him to say ‘Ello Poppet! which he does with a perfect British accent – your welcome mom!

We then began to notice a new behavior.  I have these mums planted along the sidewalk in front of the house.  One afternoon I noticed that Alivia would carefully touch each plant as she walked down the sidewalk.  Soon I began to notice both kids would exhibit this gesture on a regular basis, not just with flowers but other random objects.  I was at a loss for words when one day the hubby said “Monk”.  Boom – that was it…we were living with small versions of Rainman and Monk.  Personally, I suspect that thinking of them in this way keeps us from totally losing it, because man – that gets annoying REAL fast.  And naturally they both know it and use it to keep us off-balance.  (Not hard at this point)

I have been assured that such channeling of these characters is ‘normal’ for small children and I shouldn’t be concerned.  I can’t help but wonder what the next phase will bring.  Perhaps Davey will show up one morning wearing an old beat up raincoat, clenching a cigar in his hand and muttering the words “Just one more thing, ma’am” in a very Detective Columbo-like manner... 

A Simple Act of Thank You...

When I was around 3^rd or 4^th grade, we lived in an area that consisted mainly of student housing.  My parents both worked at the university while my father was in the process of getting his Masters and PHD.  There weren’t a lot of kids in the area, and those that were there were years beyond age in most aspects.  Being an only child with parents who both worked, I grew up pretty quick.

I was what was commonly referred to as a Latch-Key child.  I always found that amusing since 1, I never actually had a key, and 2,  I don’t think any door on our house had an actual latch.  Bottom line was that my parents worked, and I was raised as a small adult.  I came home from school, left a note of where I was at, made sure I was home by 5 pm, and only called my parents in cases of emergencies.  I knew my limits and being somewhat responsible, adhered to them without any issues.

Of course I knew about talking to strangers, not accepting candy, never getting into strange cars, all the horror stories parents tell their children.  I was also raised to be polite, respect my elders, and most importantly, use common sense.  (Yeah, I don’t know what happened – I used to be such a nice kid!).

One afternoon, I was outside playing in the yard.  It happened to be a weekend so my parents were home.  My mother happened to be sewing in a little room off the dining room.   We lived on a corner, about two to three blocks away from a student apartment complex that happened to house many foreign students, the majority of which were Asian and Indian.   A young man was walking along.  He saw me playing and after a moment came over to speak to me.  After several attempts in broken English, it became clear to me that he was looking for this complex.  I managed to get across to him that he was indeed going the right direction, and that he didn’t have that much farther to go.   He thanked me and went on his way.  I didn’t think much of the exchange and went on about my business of saving the universe from some villainous person whom I have long since forgotten.  (I’m pretty sure I was successful in case you are interested.)

About a half hour later, the young man appeared again.  He came over to me and after another exchange in broken English, I began to understand that he wanted to give me something.  Not sure exactly what to think, I told him that I would have to ask my mother.  He nodded and waited while I went and got her from the sewing.

It turns out that this nice man had been looking for this apartment complex for some time, and for whatever reason, had been given wrong information by people who thought it was funny.  He almost did not stop to talk to me, but decided to try again.  Because I had not only given him the correct directions, but I had been nice to him as well, he wanted to give me a gift to say Thank You.  Since my mother said it was ok, I accepted. 

This gift turned out to be a small picture.  In a cheap 3x5 frame is a tiny scene lovingly created by some unknown person.  On black cloth, tiny rice leaves were used to create the image of a small house with a mountain in the distance.  I got the sense that there is water between the house and the mountain, but that could be my interpretation of the scene.  He had three different pictures, one in blue, one in green and one in red.  I don’t remember if they images were different, but I do know that I chose the red one after careful inspection.  We thanked each other again, him for my kindness and me for his. 

Years later, I still have that picture.  I have carefully moved it along with my other possessions.  It usually resides in a spot that is not necessarily hidden away, but not really out there for everyone to see.  For some reason, I have kept this lovely picture for myself.  As time has passed, I consider it to be one of my most prized possessions.  It still sits in its little cheap frame, although the stand broke off the back long ago.  I found a little wooden holder to allow it to sit on a shelf.  If never occurred to me to get a new frame.  I’m not sure why, other than the fact that he put it in this frame and therefore this frame ‘fits’.  The red is not as brilliant as it once was, but in my eyes, it is still as vibrant as it was when the man handed it to me. 

I do not know the young man’s name.  I never saw him again after that brief encounter.  All I know is that one afternoon, long ago, two people who didn’t know each other managed to perform a simple act of kindness.  So, to that young man, whomever and where ever you are, I still have and cherish your gift.  And I thank you…