Theology of a five year-old

A Guest Post by Tater Tot

So the only one that can never die is God, but really, even He can die. You know how he did that Ohhh! I died! Oh wait, I'm back now! thing. So really, even God dies sometimes. Well, his body can. When his body is Jesus. Actually, no one's spirit dies. Ever. The bodies die and then the spirit parts just all run around. They go visit places.

Wait! Then what's with mummies?

Oh yeah, those are just our bodies when they rise from the dead. It doesn't happen very often, but every now and then... LOOK OUT!

(That could've been a mummy behind you!)

Oh, and zombies. Those happen sometimes, too. But only when God says they can.

It's going to be really interesting at the end of the world when all those spirits stop wandering around and all those bodies pop up and start running around!

The Window Washers

Today on the way home from dropping the boys off at school, Tater Tot and I spotted some window washers dangling off the side of one of the high-rise towers downtown. They were scrubbing away, supported only by a thin rope attached to a harness, about a hundred feet above the busy street we were on.

We watched them for a minute and I wondered out loud if they ever felt scared up there. Tater Tot actually snorted. "Mom, of course not! They're grown-ups!"

I looked down at her little preschooler self. "Tater, grown-ups get scared sometimes too, ya know."

She looked at me with that long-suffering expression she gets when she thinks I'm being dense. "Mom, grown-ups aren't afraid of the foot, Coraline, creepy piano music, or the emperor. Soooo, if they aren't afraid of those things, then they aren't afraid of anything."

Just to bring you up to speed, the foot would be from the fake scary movie from Diary of a Wimpy Kid:Rodrick Rules. Coraline would be a truly creepy movie that even I, a card carrying grown-up, thinks is scary. And last but not least, Emperor Palpatine, from Star Wars.

I love that she believes that the only truly scary things in this world are pretend and easily tucked away in a box or put away with the piano. Because being a grown-up is scary. And, in too short a time, she'll come to understand that herself.

But in the meantime, there's something comforting in knowing that she feels she has nothing bigger to fear than a cartoon character, her brother playing creepy music on the piano, and a fake foot.

Procrastination Haiku

Haven't blogged in days
Too many things to get done
Why'd I start that book?

Take a Deep Breath

Things at our house can get a little dicey sometimes. Anytime you have five people living in close proximity, there's bound to be some um, words exchanged on occasion. Add Autism Spectrum Disorders to the mix, and things can get downright explosive. Big Guy, for example, has very particular ideas about life, and how it should be lived. Not just his life, everyone's life. And, you can guess how well his ideas go over with the siblings.

Today, was one of those Armageddon days. Dr. J, as we are all now calling my newly doctorially anointed hubby, bought the kids the biggest, coolest, most pieces to be potentially stepped on Lego set he could find at the store. It was a "hey, I'm done with my 6+ years of 24/7 schooling and now we can have some FUN" purchase, as well as a way to thank the kids for being so patient.

The upside of this gift is that it's totally awesome and the kids all loved it.


The down side the kids all loved it and had different ideas for what to do with it. Tater Tot and Doodle Bug are from the touchy-feely school of thought: "Let's crack this baby open and PLAY!" Big Guy, on the other hand, likes to build Lego masterpieces and then display them on a shelf. A very high shelf, out of reach of everyone.

The actual building part went really well. The three of them came up with a way to divvy up the building, and they finished in no time. Then, it all fell apart. No, not the Legos. The beautiful, United Nations of respectful cooperation and sibling love. Tater Tot reached out and put one finger on the finished castle, and poor Big Guy came unraveled.

That was about four hours ago.

It's finally time for bed, so my special guy finally got the chance to set the world to rights again. He transformed from a tornado of fury into a calm, focused kiddo again. You could see the weight lifting off his shoulders as he meticulously repositioned each part of the castle and matched up the figures with the appropriate wands and accessories. When he put the last piece in place, he sighed and looked over at me.

"Mom, I can take a deep breath now. Thanks."
Me too, buddy.

The Bomb

My kids are better than any TV show.

I could sit and listen to and watch my children all day long. Well, most days. Some days I just want to hop on a plane to some tropical local.

One that doesn't allow anyone who's actually related to me who is under the age of 18.

Take today. We were riding home from church when the following conversation occurred with Big Guy. He's ten.

Me: I got dive bombed by a duck yesterday!!

BG: Did it poop on you?

Me: No.

BG: Darn!

Me: WHAT?!

BG: Uh, I mean Yeah! Sorry about that. I almost always say darn when you say the word 'no' to me. It's kind of a reflex reaction. You probably shouldn't say no to me so much.

Me: ...

This is when Tater Tot piped up with: I didn't know they have time-outs at church, too. Did you know that? Uh, I mean, not that I know they do. Have time-outs at church. I don't know it at all.

I wonder what airfare to the Caribbean is running this time of year.

Life is Scratchy

This week was, quite literally, a life of scratch. Poor Tater Tot picked up a towel that had been on the ground outside of our house, and spent the day in the ER as a result. I get so many askance looks and raised eyebrows when I mention that my kid has a peanut allergy, and I do get that. There are people out there who say "allergy" when it's not. But I think touching microscopic peanut shell molecules and ending up in the ER on loads of drugs to keep your airways from closing qualifies you for the allergy label.

As usual, she came away from it all recovered and more happy than not. After all, she got to sit in a mechanical bed, watching cartoons while the nurses catered to her every culinary whim for hours on end. I however, came away feeling more shaken that usual. If we can have a reaction like that without actually ingesting the little death nuts...

Being a mom of a special kid is always challenging. One of the challenges is raising our kids so that they don't turn out to be neurotic, paranoid lunatics. (Come to think of it, isn't that the challenge of raising any kid?) With all her health challenges, I want her to be careful and thoughtful, but not have issues because of them. After this little episode though, I'm having a tough time not feeling over-protective and paranoid. Life is fragile. Being reminded of that this week, looking into her puffy, blotchy little face, I think I may turn out to be a neurotic, paranoid lunatic after all.

Fifty Years Ago...

In an attempt to get writing again, I've decided that I need to stop aiming high. In fact, I am just going to let my literary expectations join my dirty laundry and my pride down there on the floor, hidden behind the bed so I can't see them and feel guilty. This way, I can write and post and not look back. It'll be very liberating.

So in that vein, here's my blot for the day:

Did you know that the under five feet crowd live in some kind of bizarro vortex? No, not the Lego one, the food fetish one or the talking about inappropriate body parts one. I'm talking about the Time Vortex. Today, the kid posse spent the car ride to school discussing things that had happened in their past. Their distant past. Like about fifty years ago, according to Tater Tot. You know, when she was three. She's five now.

I wish I could remember stuff that happened to me fifty years ago, but I can barely remember yesterday.