Dancing Without Rhythm

So, I stumbled across a post today that was titled "I Hate Mommy Bloggers". I was surprised that a person who probably values diversity and intelligence would post something so short-sighted and ignorant. Unless of course a blogger who happens to be a mother also savagely attacked her entire family, tied them up with extension cords, burned vinegar incense, and forced them listen to a scratched CD of Yanni (pre-domestic altercation). Then I could understand the hate--COMPLETELY.

I have read a lot of stuff that I categorically disagree with, or sometimes find offensive (I use that term loosely because I do believe offense is taken more readily than given), or writing that's just not my style. To quote a fellow mommy blogger "The worst that could happen is....click that little X". That's pretty much as ugly as it should get in the blogging world, in my opinion. But, this post, it was like a bad accident. The kind my mom always told me to look away from if we passed by. "If you were the one in the accident, you wouldn't want people staring at you." I didn't mean to be the one staring, but I couldn't look away. I wanted to see how a person could justify making a public, published on the internet, judgment on me because I blog and because I've given birth.

And somehow, because I find humor, or frustration, or enlightenment, or fatigue, or befuddlement at the hands of a 3 year old and 1 year old---my world is small, my mind has gone limp and useless and I have nothing worthwhile to contribute to the blogging world or to conversation. That's a shame. Before my mind became useless, I was going to raise some spectacular children who were going to find a cure for heart disease or develop a strategy to end homelessness or grow up and have children in whom they find humor, frustration, enlightenment, fatigue... I was going to raise children who were kind and true and strong. Ones who are not easily offended nor easily dissuaded from their convictions. I was going to raise people who would consider the effects of their words. How unretractable they are. How powerful they are. How permanent they are.

But alas, I will instead wallow here in the numbness of my mind and the deep puddle of my drool.

OR I will tell you how my life today was dramatically better than yesterday and nothing had changed except me. My Avee is sick and teething and whined enough to make today alone feel like the entire month of August. I got to hear Benja say things like, "I'm just not feel liking that Mom" and "Mom, say 'Good job Ben for putting water in the toilet!'" and "Help me take off my pants, I want to go outside".

I stood at my kitchen sink, wiping off a high chair tray for the 43rd time today and searched my brain futily for the best approach to answering some of Benja's questions. I thought I had at least until Pythagorean Theory before I was in over my head, but it has come much too soon.

A sample conversation:
Benja watched a cartoon about the Good Samaritan today.
6 hours later:
B: Mom, why did that man get hurted?
M: I have no idea what you are talking about, give me a minute. (grasping for clues) What was he wearing?
B: A dress. A green dress.
M: (in my head: Oh crap, he turned on Jerry Springer today while I was in the shower!) Did he have all his teeth? Was there a naked woman beating on him?
B: He was hurted and needed help and no one helped him, why did no one help him?
M: Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh---parable, no Jerry Springer---YES!
B: Who's Jewwy Fpwingoh?
M: Nobody. So, the man got hurt and he needed someone to help him---who helped him?
B: The man in a purple dress. Why did he get hurt?
M: Well, it was bad men who hurt him, they were being very naughty.
B: Why were they being naughty?
M: I'm not sure---I guess they were making bad choices, or maybe their moms didn't teach them to be kind to people. (if you think that's a lame answer, you're right. I am not a fast thinker when it comes to 3 year olds. Or 17, or 23, or 42 year olds) (I know it's not "olds" either)
B: Why not, why didn't their moms teach them to be kind?
M: Uhhhhhhh....so tell me about the man who helped him.
B: You tell me.
M: He was a Samaritan. The cool part about that story is, the man who got hurt thought that Samaritans wouldn't be nice, but it was a Samaritan that helped him after nobody else would.
B: Do Samaritans wear purple dresses?
M: Almost exclusively.
B: I sot so.

I can handle fashion questions. At least with a 3 year old boy. I have until Avee can say Gucci before I get in over my head that way. But I really don't know how to answer moral-type questions. I know what I think and believe, I just don't know the best approach in conveying it to a 3 year old. I'm dreading the question about skin color. He's had a lot of exposure to different races and has never said anything, but he will, right? He's bound to notice his lack of skin pigmentation, isn't he? I want to be able to teach him perfectly on such matters. I want to teach him about looking at a person's eyes and hearing the words that come out of his or her mouth, long before he notices anything else about their appearance. I want him to immediately want to help if he sees someone hurt or being hurt. I want him to know what kinds of things are worth his time and energy, and what kinds of things aren't. I want him to understand the importance of his choices and how to make wise ones. I want him to know so many things and I'm not sure of the approach. His mind is SO RIPE right now---he wants to know everything, and I'm supposed to be the one providing the answers. Pretty soon I'll be the dumbest person he knows, so I need to seize the day here.

I would love any ideas on teaching effectively and appropriately for his little mind. My knee jerk reaction right now is to call Grandma or Grandpa and have them answer his questions, and well, I think I should start doing things on my own now.

Posted by Angela on Thursday, August 17, 2006 at 8/17/2006 | Permalink