This afternoon, I was musing about scary things. This is a topic of interest to me, not only b/c my fears are wide ranging and diverse and so thoughts about them are triggered by no less than five thousand things a day, but in particular because of the goose at work. For example, it is no secret that I have an embarrassingly prominent phobia about zombie invasion. Said phobia has more than once required me to send a half-asleep Clayton on a middle-of-the-night excursion into our bathroom to “chase out the zombies” b/c I had a nightmare and had to pee but couldn’t b/c THERE ARE ZOMBIES IN THE BATHROOM….PROBABLY HIDING BEHIND THE CAT BOX. But that’s not the scary thing I want to focus on today.
At my office, there are several tell-tale events that you can always count on: 1) a new code for the cipher lock means that someone was fired (you may or may not ever hear this formally, just as office gossip), 2) almost every day, you will hear someone talking to themselves in the bathroom, and 3) you know spring has finally arrived because the mated pair of geese appears to guard the front door to my office building. And they were there today.
Apparently the flower garden by the door is prime nesting real estate, so if the landscaping crew isn’t called out soon enough in the season, you will inevitably see the female sitting on her eggs, looking as if she was planted next to the tulips, while her mate hisses at anyone trying to enter or exit the building. I have always had a fear of geese (stemming from my stupid childhood habit of chasing them and then getting chased right back), so this is a seasonal terror for me. And I’m not particularly tall, so the fact that the male is waist-high to me makes me want to pee myself a little at the thought of trying to get in and out of the building. I’m seriously considering bringing my dressage whip to work so that we are more equally matched. Every time it opens its mouth, I keep expecting to hear, “Answer me these questions three…”
And in the process of thinking about scary things, I had a revelation about why people ultimately decide to have kids. The logic-chain here is that having kids has long terrified me since I consider myself not too much more mature than a 7 yr. old and feared the ramifications of putting someone else’s mental stability in my already unstable hands. But I figured the revelation out while recounting (to Clayton) a conversation that occurred last night between some friends of ours and their 2.5 yr. old daughter, K—–.
It seems K—– has developed a recent fear of bees/wasps/buzzy flying things, and last night, at our Monday Night class meeting with a group of our friends, K—– started getting upset about some of the bumblebees buzzing around their back porch. So, after her mom reassured her that the bees were OUTSIDE and informed the rest of us why K—– was getting anxious, K—– turns to her dad and says, “Dad, what do bees eat?”
And because a closed mouth gathers no feet, I spoke before I thought about it and promptly said, “Children.” Thankfully, she didn’t hear, which would’ve probably resulted in night terrors for a week, but the horrified looks I got around the table got me to thinking…
I’ve decided that people ultimately have kids for one reason: to finally get their revenge on life by visiting it upon someone else. And who better than a kid? Think about it–for a long time they can’t talk so they can’t call for help, they rely solely upon you for EVERYTHING so the capacity for manipulation is really endless, and they can’t properly wield a weapon in defense until about 2 or 3. It’s the ultimate whipping boy (or girl)! And, on the plus side, you only have to invest about 7 or 8 years of ACTUAL parenting in them before you can plop them down and let Auntie TV and Uncle Internet teach them everything they need to know about the world. Easy as cake, really. I’ve got this in the bag, largely because I hold grudges better than anyone else I know and I’ve got loads of “life experience” to pass along.
I told the K—– story to Clayton over lunch today and then proudly told him that when we have our future kid, he should let me handle the fears and phobias b/c I’m obviously an ace at it. To which he replied that my capacity for “fear reinforcement” wasn’t exactly something I should be proud of. This tells me I should work harder at it, and I’m grateful our friends have a kid handy for just such practice, since our own niece of about the same age is all the way back in Tennessee and therefore useless for social experimentation.
Instead of being terrified of it, like I used to be, I’m now looking forward to having a kid and helping them deal with their late night boogeymen:
“Honey, of course there’s no monster in your closet. Everyone knows monsters live under the bed. Now go to sleep, I’ll see you in the morning. If you survive the night! Haha! *grins at the kid* Just kidding. But seriously, remember: under the bed, not in the closet.”
- “What do you mean you heard a scary noise? Was it a tapping noise? Hmmm, likely that was a leprechaun, coming to steal you away and sell you to a witch to eat. Now go back to bed. …..WELL, MAYBE IF YOU’D CLEANED YOUR ROOM LIKE I ASKED, MOMMY’D BE MORE INCLINED TO COME CHASE IT AWAY, NOW WOULDN’T SHE?”
- “Spiders? No, don’t be scared of them. They’re God’s creatures, too. And besides, I won’t let anything hurt yo—OH, GOD! THAT’S A DADDY LONGLEGS! THOSE THINGS HAVE ENOUGH POISON TO KILL AN ADULT! MOVE IT, KID–*punts the kid out of the way as I flee*”
I’m gonna be an awesome parent. You can tell b/c I’ve given it a lot of thought and feel I’m now prepared to react to a variety of situations. Also, because my dogs are really well-trained, so I can only assume that the average baby will follow the same learning path until about age 2 or 3. Sam’s got an excellent handshake and STAY, so I think if I were to multiply that to account for how much ability the kid’ll have after that age, I think it’s reasonable to assume that baby’ll be making perfect Mommy Margaritas by 4. I’ll even make it into a game, something like, “IT RUBS THE SALT ALONG THE RIM OR ELSE IT GETS THE BELT AGAIN!”
Yeah, this parenting thing? Bring. It. On.
P.S.–for the sake of “claiming” this blog in the Technorati database (searchable db for blogs that also ranks them): RAYG6TN3HDZJ