Why Can’t I Be Like Them…

December 4, 2007
By

Kids offer a unique perspective on life that somehow disappears with age.  We all had that quizzical perspective at one time or another I suppose.  It is refreshing at times but sometimes down right nerving to listen to those unique perspectives that seem to flow endlessly out of my children’s mouths. 

I’ve had a hard week.  My husband is away on business earning our family an income.  I hold down the fort here, lately feeling like one of those one-dimensional stick figures about to blow away in the wind.  I have milked and fed our dairy cow with the help of my oldest, fought with our 8 barn cats who like to live at our back door instead of the barn, listened to the neighbor’s dog (who is supposed to live 3 miles away) bark up and down our hollow every night warding off danger I am sure.  And then there are the children…all of them and all of their antics, their complaints, their troubles, their hurts as well as those good things that seem to not be remembered during times of stress.  The mounting housework, the meals, the homeschooling or what was supposed to be boys doing their school work who instead built a trebuchet out of the crayon box, rubber bands, train tracks and lincoln logs….then proceeded to launch map pencils across the room.  And then there is just being pregnant.  At least this week, the cat didn’t get locked in my truck and poop everywhere… like last time.  At least this week, the back window of my truck didn’t shatter out… like last time.  At least this time the animals didn’t escape and the kids weren’t throwing up.  Things could have been worse. 

To make life a bit easier today, after the chores were finished (and I don’t mean the house was clean by any means) we loaded up and took a trip into our small town.  At least for a brief moment, everyone would be in some sort of restraint device, including me.  

As we were driving, one of the boys thinks he spots a “HUGE black animal” on the side of the road that he is just sure is a rare black fox.  “Please….turn around mom…please….we can pick it up and take it home and skin it….We can sell the pelt and make $200 dollars mom!  Turn around…quick before someone comes along and picks it up.” 

At this point I am rolling my head side to side…my neck is tight and I feel a headache coming on.  No…we didn’t turn around. 

They begged and pleaded.  “If we don’t turn around someone will come get it, mom….That’s $200 dollars, mom!” 

We proceed with our my agenda for the day but at least I promised them I would go slow on the way back so they could see it again. We were on our way to take the trash to the dump (We don’t have that luxury of trash pickup that I just assumed was a given for everyone in America–silly me) and passed through our town square where a flurry of activity was happening for a town of 3,000. 

Evidently, 50 years ago the town buried a time capsule filled with all sorts of memorabilia and the other day they attempted to dig it up.  Well, they were still digging and now one of the large trees was knocked down and a group of about 5 city jail inmates were doing the clean-up work.  I stopped in a little shop on the square to pick up some thank you cards and, of course, overheard the town conversations about the whole ordeal.  Evidently they are still looking for it…the time capsule.  Hmm…interesting country town.  I can’t wait to read next week’s paper. 

We finally finish our errands and head home.  I, as promised, go slow so they can try and spot their “HUGE” find.  They anxiously look out the windows and talk about how when they find it again we can pick it up and take it home.  I nixed that idea immediately.  They countered with, “well, at least we can cover it with leaves so no one steals it and we can get it when daddy gets home” and other comments I couldn’t quite make out about why girls don’t like ideas that boys have. 

Thankfully, the only animal we saw was a baby dear grazing on some grass.  We arrive home.  I hand out orders, head inside to start supper and then head back outside to milk the cow.  My 8 year old girl meets me with a serious concern.  One of her kittens evidently isn’t purring right, something is wrong…and then she says, “I think she has a sore throat.”

I wish I was one of those moms who offered sincere sympathy for random childhood concerns.  At this point in life, dead animals on the side of the road and kittens with sore throats definitely do not top my list of things to think about! 

Ohh, to only have those concerns again and be able to see life with such unique perspective! 

One Response to Why Can’t I Be Like Them…

  1. December 5, 2007 at 7:58 am

    Wow…sounds like a fun day. ~said with a forced grin because I have had my share of those days also….

    I am glad I finally figured out how to make a comment. I enjoy your blog.