Messing with SIP...

Many people have mentioned that they haven't heard from me in a while.  It's true, the end of the school year came plowing through our lives like a runaway Camry.  Since my last blog in March, spring break hit, then Easter, several field trips, countless evening programs at school and church, gift shopping for teachers, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Vacation Bible School preparation and execution for Imagination Station and SIP's birthday.  Even Hope, my bunny, almost had a heart attack after her third public engagement in April.  Somewhere in there, I've tried to launch a new novel and keep my wonderful retail accounts stocked with artwork.   

Now in the midst of summer, our earlier sprint has become a lazy jog and I can finally take a moment to check in.  After a few late night episodes of Disney's "Lab Rats" followed by mornings sleeping in, I took a look at my now seven year old and couldn't believe how much he had grown.  How did I miss that?  Somewhere it happened in between cool crisp spring mornings and balmy summer nights. He grew into a real boy.  I'm sorry to report that the precious sayings have become fewer and further between.  His wise comments have been replaced with feigned indifference, because right now, boredom is cool.  So in my deep parental dismay and depression at the loss of my light hearted innocent baby, I'm left with only one choice... to shamelessly mess with him.  Such is my new maternal charge.

Cale called me the other day after dropping SIP off at Oatland Island's day camp.  He said several campers, including them, were late because a truck was delivering a large water tank during camp drop off.  He said to SIP, "Hey, look at that huge tank!" For a glimmering moment SIP seemed excited and looked for the tank.  "Where?" He said.  "Right there!" replied Cale, "on that truck."  SIP slunk back down in his booster seat and said, "I thought you meant an army tank.  That's 
not a tank.  That's just a water container." 

After a couple minutes arguing semantics while the water "container" held up traffic, Cale finally sent SIP on his way into the historic building where he might catch a glimpse of the world's beauty outside of Minecraft and Infinity.  Then he called me to vent about our son's apathetic attitude regarding a rather impressive feat of moving a cylindrical ton of steel. 

The next morning, I had the great privilege of driving SIP to camp and I looked forward to commenting on the water TANK...

 

The False Dilemma In Big Hero 6

Last weekend I relented to SIP's constant nagging request to rent Big Hero 6 from Red Box.  ALL of his friends had already seen it, that is if Morgan and Sean were his only friends.  Anyhow, the riveting movie reviews have spread through the first grade like wildfire and SIP could not wait to see it for himself.

STOP:  WARNING!!!
If you have not seen Big Hero 6 and plan to watch it free and clear of plot spoilage or criticism...this blog is not for you...right now.  Come back to me after you've seen the movie. 

It's not a bad movie.  I love the robot, BayMax, the fluffy ultra conscientious personal health care provider to Hiro, the main character.  BayMax is so dedicated to his position, that the only way to release him from work is to say, "I am satisfied with my care."  BayMax, through calm and sweet demeanor finds innovative solutions to all sorts of problems throughout the movie.  In fact, one of the story's main themes is "discovering another angle."  When you find yourself in writer's block, geek stump, pitcher's slump, etc., shake things up, look at the problem in another way and there you will find the solution. 

We've almost made it to the end, deeply immersed in the climactic conflict, and we discover that BayMax, much like the Terminator, has to make the decision to sacrifice himself for his human counterpart.  The only way he can do this though, is for Hiro to say the words, "I am satisfied with my care."  Once this happens, BayMax will release his detachable rocket hand in an explosive burst, sending Hiro home and himself deeper into essentially, a black hole.  Hiro says the dreaded words and our hearts sink as his best friend separates from him.  It's quiet in the living room as we all try to digest this tragic turn of events and SIP says, "Why didn't BayMax just hold onto him with his other hand?"  Yes, ponder that for a minute.  The removable rocket hand could have propelled both of them home if BayMax had just held onto Hiro with his other hand.  Ironic oversight in a movie where the main point is solving problems through ingenuity. 

As always, I marveled at the wisdom of my small child, who sees things more clearly than I ever could; and I wondered, what am I missing?  What false dilemmas, excuses, speed bumps, are holding me back in my life catapulting me deeper into space and away from true LIFE?  I hope as you read this, you ask yourself the same question and I challenge you each day, as I do myself, to look at your problems from a different perspective if they are weighing you down.  Sometimes the answer is as simple as just holding on with the other hand. 

That night, after SIP brushed his teeth, he came to hug me.  I said, "I love you."  He replied, "I am satisfied with my care."  My heart swelled and I envisioned a piece of me exploding and floating into darkness...as I held on with my other hand. 

If you like my blog, you'll love my novel, Emerson's Place.

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Innocence Lost...Nevermind, False Alarm

Over Christmas break, on a chilly drizzly Savannah evening, we drove across the Talmadge Bridge to the Westin for their amazing gingerbread house display.  SIP chattered from the back seat, mostly about Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, as we had watched it every day since school let out.  When the conversation turned from ill-mannered children getting what they deserved in the creative forms of candy abuse, to...bad language, the protective glaze of maternal indifference left my eyes and I sat straight up on alert.

"And Mom," SIP said, "you know that 'stupid' is a bad word, right?"  "Yes, it is a bad word," I concurred.  "But," he continued, "did you know there is an even worse word than that?" 

My back stiffened and I looked over at Cale in the driver's seat.  "There is?"  I played dumb and pretended not to be very interested.  "Yup," said SIP confidently, "it starts with S-H-  Sebastian says it at school."

My heart sank as I realized the reign of innocence had ended.    We made it six and a half years without hearing one truly foul word come from SIP's mouth, and it was all going to end amidst holiday lights and Christmas music with Delilah on "The River."  "I'm not going to say it," he went on, "I'll just spell it for you..."

"No!" Cale and I both yelled in unison, not wanting to hear even the letters that made up the "sh" word.  But it was too late.  SIP was on a roll and feeling strong, "S-H-U...

Wait a minute, "S-H-U?"  Not only has SIP learned a bad word, but now I have to be concerned that he can't even spell it properly!

He continued slowly, working it out in his mind, "T." I cringed at the imbecilic horror.  But, he wasn't finished.

"U-P." 

The windshield fogged over from the gigantic sighs of relief Cale and I emitted.  "Yes, that is a very, very bad word."  I said sternly hoping he couldn't hear the smile in my voice in the glowing night, "so bad I don't want you even to spell it." 

 

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Merry Christmas and Happy Never-ending Year!

A few nights ago, SIP and I sat on the couch and he read Lego Star Wars, The Yoda Chronicles, to me.  SIP read the line from ever cynical C-3PO, "And just how do you plan on getting halfway across the galaxy in a bus?"  SIP, confusing the word "galaxy" with "universe," replied, "What?!  That's impossible!"  I asked, "What's impossible?"  He said, "The universe goes on forever...so there is no such thing as a half-way point." 

After my head stopped reeling from the savant-like comment more sophisticated than most grown-ups could ponder, I said, "How true."

Since then, I've gone over the words in my mind and savored them like fine wine.  They remind me of a time when a friend of mine turned fifty.  I wished her a happy birthday and gave her a big hug but she didn't seem at all to share in my excitement for her.  "What's wrong?"  I asked.  "I'm depressed," she replied.  "Oh," I said knowingly, "Feeling like just another year has passed?"  "Not just another year," she said, "THE year.  The point I know for sure that half my life has passed and if I'm lucky, I only have half of it left, but most likely, not even that long.  Considering how quickly this fifty years went by, it scares me how little time I have left here."

It was a somber truth, and at the time, I had little to say to comfort her; that is, until my six year old said the most profound thing I'd ever heard while reading a comic book.  There is no half-way point.  For those of us who live in Christ, there is NO half-way point.  In just a couple of days, we'll celebrate the inception of that truth, the birth of Jesus, who came to broaden our galaxy into a universe so large and vast that we will never know the end of it.   

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him, will not perish, but have everlasting life.  -John 3:16

Merry Christmas and Happy Never-ending Year! 

 

 

 

If you like my blog, you'll love my novel!

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A Life's Work, All in a Day's Time

I did it.  I wrote the great American novel.  For years, this story seeped out of me like toxins from my pores. In two, ten, and thirty page increments, an honest, daring and poignant adventure emerged.  It's a story we all share, the family saga just crazy enough to be true, the romance that never could be, but then it happened, and the hill that couldn't be taken, finally fell just after the fighting ceased.  This is a story about our collective journey alongside our individual battles, and how they intersect at the crossroads called, Emerson's Place.

After countless nights and early mornings typing away in the studio, one day in late November, the final proof arrived in the mail.  Eager to show SIP, my six year old son, what I had accomplished, I sliced the box open with a dull pair of scissors and pulled the book out.  I held it up to him and flipped through the many pages.  "You see," I said, "This is what I've been working so hard on all this time."  SIP's eyes opened wide in appreciation and he said, "Wow Mom!  That must have taken you like, ten hours to make!"

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Future Leader of America

It was a big night for me.  I love Night Rider, Magnum P.I., Star Trek and Judge Judy.  When people ask me if I watch one of the thousand NCI don't give a damns... I just shiver and remember a time when a show could scare me to death without blood, guts and strippers.  Among my many loves of fiction, romance, and great story telling is Doctor Who, the classic Sci-Fi drama that has stood the test of time for decades; a story about a great cosmic alien being who saves the universe time and again from complete destruction, struggles with the human weakness of love, devotion and commitment, the temptation to judge and act on revenge combined with the curse of knowing the future outcome of every decision he makes...the butterfly effect on steroids magnified a billion times...yeah, try to accomplish that nighttime drama hacks...

Anyway, thanks to SIP'S awesome buddy on Tybee Island who had a birthday party tonight with the Doctor Who theme, SIP was open to watching the show.  So, after the party, we caught our favorite booth at Jalapenos for some cheese dip and good ole' neighborhood fun, went home, turned on the electric fire (a story for another blog) and queued up season one, 2005 on Netflix.  For those of you following me, this was Rose's debut...I know, she is fabulous.  This was the episode with the mannequins who attack London.  The plastic evil. 

SIP was immediately captivated, reassuring me that he is actually my child.  When he realized the "plastic" was a malicious alien being set to destroy earth, he said, "If that plastic came after me, I would shoot it, stab it, cut its head off and kick it in the FACE!  Then, do some research to find out what went wrong." 

Worse than throwing up...

I was especially excited to pick SIP up today from school.  His first grade class took a field trip to the Savannah Children's Theater, and being a thespian myself, I hoped my extremely introverted only child might have found some kind of "ham" down in his gut once introduced to the stage.  So, I embarked on the daily adventure of "pick-up" at Marshpoint Elementary, arrived fifteen minutes before last bell, threw the Subaru in park, played a round of Candy Crush before the tail lights in front of me glowed with activity and we were underway! I pulled up to the curb, the daily intense and distraught looking woman shoved him into the backseat, and before he could get his seat belt on, I asked, "How was your day?"  

His reply, "Curtis threw up in the cafeteria."

Not at all what I expected to hear on such a monumental day, but we've all been there.  If it was you, I'm sorry.  If it wasn't, then it was some other kid who turned white and sometimes green before emitting that guttural noise followed by acidic fluids.  Your teacher pressed the "panic" button on the wall and the voice of Oz came from the office, "Is everything okay?"   If your teacher was cool, she said, "yes, we just need a janitor." If she wasn't cool, then she ran out of the room gagging and your class Vice President said, "we need a janitor."  Either way, a less than enthusiastic forty something year old man appeared with a bag full of kitty litter and poured it all over the vomit that had already eaten through the enamel on the government contracted linoleum floors.  You don't forget that smell, bile and limestone mixed with vaporous humiliation...Forget nuclear warfare, if we could bottle that stuff and spray it on our enemies, then we'd have something...

So SIP didn't have much to say about his rare trip on a bus with no seat belts to a theater where all children become stars.  Instead, he only mentioned his good buddy who blew chunks in the cafeteria.  I can't blame him, that sort of thing makes an impression on a person.  "Oooooh," I exclaimed, "there is nothing worse than getting sick at school!"  SIP considered my comment and replied, "Except a house falling on you."

Once again, I was humbled by the perspective of a six year old.  A house falling on me would be worse, much worse than getting sick at school.  Curtis, stick close to this guy, he'll keep you smiling all the way back from Mexico after that wild senior trip...