You'll Shoot Your Eye Out With That Thing

Pin It I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Your Blogosphere, Lawson truly did shoot his sister with his BB gun. I blame it on Ralphie.

We first watched A Christmas Story together with Lawson a couple of years ago. I have never seen a child so enthralled by another boy's antics and misbehaviors as my own. It should have been a warning to me. He was particularly hopped up on the idea of owning a BB gun.

[While visiting Santa at the department store.]
Santa: How about a nice football?
Adult Ralphie narrating: Football? Football? What's a football? with unconscious will, my voice squeaked out: football.
Santa: Okay, get him out of here.
Adult Ralphie narrating: Oh, no! What was I doing! Wake up, Stupid! Wake up!
Ralphie: (Ralphie is shoved down the slide, but stops himself and climbs back up.) NO! NO! I want an official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred Shot Range Model Air Rifle!
Santa: You'll shoot your eye out, kid.


I stood in the classic Mother pose, hands on hips, toe doing the "Tell Me Now" tap. "It was an accident," Lawson protested.



Autumn stood behind him, arms crossed over her chest in mute protest. Was not.



"An accident? How about explaining to me how this 'accident' occurred," I requested. Grandma Anne hovered anxiously in the background. Her soft heart hates for the kids to get in trouble, and she'd tried to pass this off as as accident, but we knew better.

I could see signs that Lawson was about to break. His lower lip was trembling, and he was visibly agitated.


"I wanted to shoot my gun from up on the hay bale, and I wanted Autumn to help me get up on the hay bale and hold the gun, and she wouldn't help me! She just kept riding her bike around and around and around and around! Right in front of me!" He stopped, punctuating his statement with an expression of frustration so acute it was very nearly heartbreaking.



"Okaaaaayyy. And then what?" I prompted.



"I shot her!" As in, duh, Mom. Perfectly natural conclusion to draw.



"Accidentally?"



"Yeah!"



I waited, not responding. Ah. There it was. The tell-tale eyeball shift. Down. To the left. Anywhere but mine. "Ok. So let me get this straight. You wanted Autumn to hold the gun while you climbed up on the hay bale, and she wouldn't do it, so you shot her."



"Yes."



"Accidentally."



"Yes."



"Lawson."



Silence.



"Was there perhaps any temper involved in shooting your sister?"



Ralphie: Ooooooh fudge!
Adult Ralphie narrating: Only I didn't say 'fudge.' I said THE word, the big one, the Queen Mother of dirty words, the F-dash-dash-dash word..."
Mr. Parker, stunned: WHAT did you say?
Ralphie: Uh...ummm...
Mr. Parker: That's...what I thought you said. Get in the car. Go on! Go!
Adult Ralphie narrating: It was all over. I was dead. What would it be? The guillotine? Hanging? The chair? The rack? Chinese water torture? Hmmph. Mere child's play compared to what surely awaited me.



"Were you mad at her?"



"Yeah..." He started crying.



"So it wasn't accidental?"



"Nooooooooooo!" Wailing now. "I was mad! She wouldn't hold the gun! She just kept riding her bike in front of me!"



"What if that had been a real gun? Or what if you had shot her in the eye instead of in the arm?"

Ralphie: Was there no end to this conspiracy of irrational prejudice against Red Ryder and his peacemaker?

I had my meanest mommy voice on now. This was serious business. Lawson was wailing in earnest now, great heaving sobs. I steeled myself against it. "You know better than that..."



I went on in this vein for a while, and finally administered his punishment. All of his toy guns would be immediately confiscated until further notice. It was entirely likely that he would not regain use of the BB gun until several months from now. I had been on my way to pick him and Autumn up for an afternoon movie treat; he would have to stay home and miss the movie. He would be grounded for a week, which meant NO Grandma's House, NO DS or Wii, and NO television. (Did I say he would be grounded for a week? I meant I would be grounded for a week.)



It has now been a week, and the restrictions have finally been lifted--all, that is, except for the toy gun ban. Those will not be returned for a while, I think. It's been pretty comical, though, because Lawson, in his extreme longing for a toy gun, built around a dozen of them out of Legos. It just goes to show that a boy's longing for a gun is an irrepressible thing. Take them away, or deny them altogether, and they will use fingers, sticks, blades of grass, Tinkertoys, and yes, Legos to improvise, creative, exasperating little buggers.

Miss Shields: Oh, the theme I've been waiting for all my life! Listen to this sentence: "A Red Ryder BB gun with a compass in the stock, and this thing which tells time." Poetry. Sheer poetry, Ralph. An A+!


Sometimes you just can't win.

Dam It All

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Feelings are much like waves, we can't stop them from coming but we can choose which one to surf.

~Jonatan Mårtensson


I’m realizing more and more that I have an emotional dam.

I’ve never exactly been an emotional open book. But lately I’ve been feeling a looming sense of emotional build-up. Not that I’m an automaton, I don’t necessarily have trouble showing my emotions or talking about things - I just don’t have as much opportunity at this phase of my life as I have had before.

One reason I think is because I’m not married. Most married couples will spend some time talking over each other’s day, discussing family issues, or just simply talking about things. Sometimes that’s good for their relationship and sometimes….well, usually it’s a good thing. But I have been married so, unlike the never-been-married folks, I got used to the talking and notice its absence. I do have a good relationship with my kids, but they are still young enough that there are some things that they just don’t need to be burdened with yet – and can’t relate to anyway. I want them to be caring and aware and all of that, but I don’t want them to have to feel emotionally responsible for me.

In the past I have had those close kind of sharing relationships with co-workers. But that isn’t the case right now. I’m kind of isolated in my day-to-day work. I will interact with the kids a bit every day which I enjoy, but I’m not in the classroom on a regular basis. And, because of the nature of my job, I am kind of separate from the faculty…which, I’m sorry to say, I am really ok with.

And finally I have to take some personal responsibility for being kind of isolated too. I’ve had a series of not so fun events in the last couple of years that have shifted my life a lot and I just haven’t had the emotional wherewithal to connect or in some cases re-connect with people. Plus it takes me a while to get to a place with people where I feel comfortable opening that emotional vault.

So, the combination of past emotional turmoil that I may or may not have fully dealt with, few opportunities for the human interactive relief valve, and then just the general wear and tear of day-to-day living have led to this vague looming sense of emotional pressure. So perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised yesterday that after talking to my ex-husband on a subject about which we disagree, I found myself feeling cracks in the dam and the leaks starting. I was crying – well weeping actually. It wasn’t really the Ex’s fault. We have a pretty good relationship all in all and the thing we were disagreeing about isn’t life or death. I would like him to see my point of view and it is troubling that he doesn’t but in the long-run it isn’t worth a battle - I may even be wrong. But I was upset last night and unfortunately every single emotion I have seems to be connected to every other in some hazy, indistinguishable way so just as one thought leads to another, one emotion leads to another and threatens the structural integrity of the dam.

I don’t really have a resolution to this. I did some crying last night and I did some resealing and cementing of the dam as well. I realize that I am gong to have to do something about this so that I don’t find myself at some point running someone off the road in a rage or weeping uncontrollably in the grocery store isle.

Fortunately for me life itself can be a pretty effective therapist.

That's About The Size Of It

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photo from everydayhero.com

I finally went running again (and I use that term loosely), just a couple of days ago at the indoor track of our local university. As was expected, I was feeling a bit rusty from nearly 3 months of inactivity. However, I was able to shuffle along for two full laps before I had to slow down, breathless, to a walk.

I continued this way with a walk/jog pattern for quite awhile before a lady commented to me in passing, "I can't believe I keep lapping you - you're so thin!"

Oh, yes, the common misconception. The fallacy I've dealt with my entire life: Skinny people are athletic, in great shape and SO lucky.

I am the polar opposite of overweight people. I can not gain weight; I have tried throughout my life. At the age of 14 (and on doctor's orders) I drank malteds every day for weeks and did not gain a pound. As a high school senior trying to gain weight so I could fit into a homecoming dress without shopping in the little girl's section or stuffing my bra (sorry... TMI?) I ate a dozen donuts a day for 3 days and then gave up when I lost 2 pounds. I guess what I am trying to say in some roundabout way is that people shouldn't have a bias against ANY kind of people and I totally feel a connection with others I know who are struggling with weight issues.

This brief interaction with some lady I didn't know reminded me of a blog post I read awhile ago where a friend talks about how difficult it was for her to start going to a gym because she's overweight. One of the comments she received said something about "stupid skinny people" at gyms and it really, really bothered me. It even bothered me that it bothered me, but you know what? I don't like labels. Or ignorance. It got to a point where I finally composed a response to her comment and posted it on my private blog just to make myself feel better.

Well, one of my goals for this year is to put myself out there some, to not hide behind the sunshine and roses that I usually write about. So... (*deep breath*) you want to read it? I'll admit that I did edit some of it out but the heart of it is still there.

Dear Commenter A.R.,

First off, you’re awesome for making time to get to the gym. I can never seem to prioritize well enough to get around to it. I am so out-of-shape it’s not even funny. I need to get serious about my health.

On to my purpose here. It made me a little sad, a little frustrated, a little ticked off when I read your comment which repeatedly referred to thin people who exercise as 'stupid skinny people'.

So, here it goes: We’re not all stupid. Even us skinny people have issues. I am probably more out of shape than most of the people you see in a day and I have struggled my entire life with being UNDER weight. (I know, poor me, being too skinny. I get that all the time, it’s why I don’t usually say anything.)

I am a stick of a person and I can’t help but wonder how nice it would be to find a top that fits – even sort of – in the WOMEN’S section. I am darn near close to 40 years old and I have never been able to shop in the Women’s clothing section. Does that make me less of a woman? Size-wise, I guess you could say YES. I don’t like shopping in the junior’s section because I look like one of those ladies who is still living in the past and can’t accept that she’s an adult now and needs to dress like one. I choose to not wear shorts or capri pants because I can’t stand all of the comments I get on my “chicken legs”. And that is just scratching the surface in the clothing department.

Any time I bring up the fact that I need to start exercising I get a few eye rolls along with comments about how I just need to eat more. No one wants to exercise with me because I’m skinny. How do you think that feels? I could go on and on, but I won’t.

You hate being overweight? Being stick skinny isn’t exactly a walk in the park, either. We all have our issues. Let’s just treat each other as equals and look beyond size. Please?

I'll tell you what... if you don’t call me stupid, I won’t call you ignorant.

-Gerb

That pretty much sums it up for me. My point of view is definitely not typical, but it is what it is. How about we all just look at each other as human beings? Even better, as children of God?

Okay, I'm done. Thanks for tolerating my little rant.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go get my running shoes on.

Smackintosh

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I am in the process of being won over…or perhaps not.

I’ve been a PC kind of guy my whole life. Really. I was the odd man out at both the schools I’ve worked at, being the only teacher with a PC instead of a Mac. I was ridiculed, shunned, and left out of so many private jokes that only a Macalonian would understand...and others that only they could appreciate.

What’s the fastest way to speed up a PC? Drop it off a building…

The PC just felt more comfortable. More familiar. More friendly. More better.

So what spawned the change three weeks ago to my entry into the world of Macness? Well, my PC had slowed down to a level rated at cataclysmically infinitesimal and I knew that something had to be done and done quickly.

What’s the difference between a PC and an Abacus? It doesn’t take 20 minutes to boot up the abacus…

I researched online, went to various stores, and talked to ‘experts’ in the proverbial field. The consensus was blindingly clear: Macs were the way to go, and if I didn’t jump on the computerized starship of Apple, I was a fool indeed and would be left behind in a world dominated by viruses and spyware.

What’s an Intel chip doing in a Mac? A whole lot more than it’s ever done in a PC…

At Simply Mac I was given the spiel. I found myself swaying, my foundations beginning to crumble. I discovered myself pulling out my credit card and spending far more than I’d originally planned. I’d been promised the world if I'd only own a Mac. I found myself driving home with a MacBook Pro tucked into the back seat - safely in place like a toddler. I brought it in and fired it up.

I hate it.

Hate is such an ugly word, isn't it? Perhaps that isn't the word I was really searching for...perhaps despise? Abhor? Loathe?

I was cautioned by several individuals to allow myself time to acclimatize to the new computer - at least two weeks before I passed any final judgements. "It's hard at first, but then you'll get to love it."

I figured that this advice also pertained both to smoking and becoming an adamant fan of country music. It always starts off with a lot of burning and discomfort. Much unease and throwing up in one's mouth - but just a bit. Then, in the end, one becomes a full-fledged chain smoker, breathing in that smoke like a chimney without the least bit of coughing. They listen to the twang of old guitar and caterwauling and come to see it as something more than audio pollution. I was told that this little computer was eventually going to win me over...

I was promised.

I'm going on week four and not feeling any great adoration toward this machine, but instead find myself looking longly at those with PCs, all of which are running a trove of programs that this computer either can't handle, or that simply don't exist for it.

And don't even begin to talk about Parallels...

So, to all of those out in the great void known as cyberspace, please let your wisdom illuminate upon me. Please tell me just why this machine is supposedly so wonderful and I will love it.

Why doesn’t Apple go the whole hog and run Windows XP on their laptops? That way their users could run some useful applications…

P.S. If you have any connections at getting a copy of CS4 for the Mac, I'd be most appreciative; it seems that this 'amazing' computer just can't quite seem to handle CS3.

Roadtrippin'

Pin It There are two vehicles I don't like to be anywhere close to on the interstate: logging trucks and the Batesville Casket Company eighteen-wheeler. I was done with logging trucks after the first installment of Final Destination, and there's just something Twilight Zone about sharing road space with a really big truck advertising for caskets. And I see them all.the.freaking.time here lately. It's creeping me out, even with their utra nice "Please Drive Safely. Heaven Can Wait," message plastered across their big metal side.

I guess that's why I got to thinking about all of my driving peeves on the way back from Knoxville yesterday, and trying to find humor in them rather than getting all riled up by them. I have a fair number of them, which is pretty comical, because I'm not the world's best driver. Maybe the world's most mediocre driver. I drive too fast, according to people who drive too slow. And I drive too fast.

But anyway. I take full responsibility for my faults--and my tickets. And believe me, I've never gotten out of one yet. I'm not a sweet talker.

My peeves:

The Pull-Out and Crawl
You know the one. You're cruising along, minding your own B, and out they pull. You see them coming, and stomp on the brakes. Everything in your passenger seat and all of your backseat passengers are flung forward helplessly toward the dash, then yanked to safety by the harsh grip of seatbelts. You sigh, and wait for the puller-outer to get up to the proper speed, which should be somewhere around 45. Three minutes later, he's still going...30. You check the road behind you for the long stream of traffic you're sure is there--maybe he just had to make a break for it and chose then to do so. Nope. Clear as day. Really. He could've waited to pull out, make you slam on your brakes, and then CRAWL. @#$%*!

Left Lane Creepers
Did you realize that there actually signs on most highways that say "Slower Traffic Keep Right"? Signs everywhere except Virginia, I think. That's because Virginia is for Lovers, and not drivers. But really--just in case you missed this question in driver's ed--the left lane is traditionally for passing, not cruising. It's for those people that want to drive faster than the traffic in the right hand lane. This is probably one of The Most Aggravating things for me as far as interstate driving. When you see someone coming up behind you in the left-hand lane, and they are going considerably faster than you are, get over and let them pass you, then, if you must, get back in the left lane. This is not difficult.

It's not a question of, well, the speed limit is 65, and that young man looks like he's going 80, and I think I should slow him down a step. That's not anyone else's call but the state trooper's. If you see someone behaving really irresponsibly, call highway patrol (I've actually done this before), but don't react offensively--just get out of the way.

Side-by-Siders and Up-the-Butts
There are then the people who don't really want to pass you; they just want to either drive right beside you, or right on your butt. Now, some measure of close driving is unavoidable on the interstate. There are some busy interstates out there and it's hard to get away from people. But as a rule, it's not necessary to hold door handles or kiss bumpers.

The Fifteen-Unders
I'm a ten-to-fifteen over, so it really makes my back teeth clench--painfully--when someone wants to go fifteen under. Anywhere. And I try to be polite about it, I really do. I figure if I have the right (even though I really don't--I'm going to get a ticket) to speed, other people have the right to not speed. It just irritates me. It irritates me because I'm going to be late. Can't people just go the speed limit so they don't make other people late? Please? But then of course there's that perfectly obnoxious, perfectly TRUE statement that's been going around in my head lately: if you're not early, you're late. Blah, blah, blah. I think God's trying to tell me something.

I'm saved one of my favorites for last.

The Always-Have-To-Be-First/Can't-Keep-A-Constant-Speed-Psycho
Sorry--there's a lot rolled into this one. This is the person that rides your bumper until you gladly pull over and let him pass. And then he pulls over into the right-hand lane in front of you, and after a few minutes, you realize you're creeping up on him fairly quickly. But wait. Something's wrong, because your cruise control is set. It has been all along. No worries. You check your blinds, pull on out in the left lane again, and go your merry way. After a few more minutes, however, you realize the psycho is once again on your bumper.

You play the game for around ten minutes until you get tired of it, clearly mouth the words "CRUISE CONTROL!" as you make the inevitable creep back toward him, and make a big show of punching the resume button as you pass him for the fifteenth time.

But...ooops...you're in front again, and that just won't do. It's a race, after all, even if you're not headed to the same destination, and this loser just has to be first. He puts on another spurt of energy and comes up behind me for the pass. This time, I set my cruise control back a few mph. The frustration of going back and forth, in and out of lanes, is just not worth the extra time.

Now, I don't want to leave you with the wrong impression. There are actually things I like about driving, and roadtrips. Music, for example. I just got an Ipod and a car adaptor, and it was so nice to have five uninterrupted hours of music I love and an excuse to listen to it. Scenery's another thing. I wish I had time to just drive all over the place, stop the car at will and whim, and explore with my camera. You can't really do that with places to be, and people waiting on you. Kind of crimps your style. And then there's food. There's just all sorts of interesting food on the road--like Slim Jims and YooHoos.

Riding in a car is the only good time for a Slim Jim and a YooHoo.

This is a trip, I think, that could go on forever, so I'm just going to end it now. I respectfully await submissions of your driving peeves.