 I don't even like horror movies. They give me nightmares. There is
nothing that is less conducive to a good night's sleep than visions
of evil sugarplums armed with machetes and nefarious intentions.
Even my pillow couldn't help me sleep through that.Don't get me
wrong. It's not like I don't have those heart-stopping moments
throughout my life. I have children. When you have children, you
tend to live day by day on the edge of your proverbial seat.
You have nightmares anyway, but they are about your children
falling off cliffs or being abducted by a madman. Who needs to add
horror movies to your life when your dreams are already filled with
such menace?
The ups and down of everyday life with children can be as
challenging as the world's highest roller coaster.
My 8-year-old skipped off the bus the other day and announced
that he'd seen a murder on the way home from school.
The world stopped turning momentarily. As I tallied up the cost
of the therapy that would be needed for this child and tried to
force some reasonable response from my slack lips, he continued:
"You know, a murder. A group of crows."
This information sank in, my heart started beating again and
birds began to sing. Not crows, but some bird that tweets sweetly.
"You learned about groups today in school, huh?"
"Yep!" he answered proudly, as if he didn't almost give me a
heart attack.
"Well, then, what's a group of geese called?"
He squinches up his nose and says, "A google, I think."
"That would be a gaggle."
"I like google better because gaggle sounds like they are about
to puke."
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 "Which would explain the honking noise they make, I suppose. But
actually, Google is what you use to find something on the Internet."
"Oh, I thought that was called a computer," he says as he skips
away.
My heart rate settles down to normal, but the day is not over
yet. It's time to find something to make for dinner. I open the
freezer and my heart does another somersault because, right there at
eye level, is a plastic Dixie cup full of ants.
It took a moment for my frozen brain to conclude that they were
all dead and none had lived long enough to contaminate my food.
Then I did what any mother would do: I yelled out the name of the
most likely suspect, which happened to be my 13-year-old. Just to
make sure there would be no doubt about whom I was summoning, I
yelled, in staccato, his first, middle and last names.
He appeared before me, knowing by the tone of my voice that he
was in deep trouble. I opened the freezer door once again with an
implied question. No words were needed.
"I was putting them in a cryogenic freeze," he explained. "I
wanted to see if they would come back to life after they thawed
out."
He peered into the freezer. "I can't tell if their little eyes
are open, can you?"
"I don't care if they are spouting Shakespeare, you could have at
least put a lid on them!"
I find it difficult to stem the flow of scientific creativity in
my young progeny. After all, I might need that kind of science one
day after my heart decides to give up the fight.
[By LAURA SNYDER]
Laura Snyder is a nationally syndicated columnist,
author and speaker. You can reach her at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more info. |
