SOOC Smiley Saturday

Slurping Life

Learning the error of your ways
From a few weeks back in the summer

On the third week they break a third vase, although I miss the magic moment to identify exactly which one committed the crime. I am excessively annoyed. The vase was cheap and cheerful, of no intrinsic value, but the mess, glass, foul water and dead flowers exacerbates my already frazzled nerves. As in all things, I adhere to the principal of three:- one vase in use, one in the closet and one in transit, just like knickers. Now I am vaseless which is a mild improvement on knickerless. How can this dastardly state of affairs have come to pass? I hear the dulcet tones of our Irish ABA guru waft through the ether, 'what incident immediately preceded the event in question?'

What indeed?

The tantalizing question that haunts so many of us. There must be a logical answer, although even an illogical one would do for the time being.

Three weeks ago? Three weeks ago? What could it possibly be? Probably about that time, was the time that my youngest decided that his body needed exercise, regular exercise, frequently. He would hurtle out of the house chanting in time with his self imposed exercise regime, to fly around the garden on his bike, three circuits before flinging his bike aside and hurling his body back indoors. I began to recognize the signs, faster speech, many nonsense words, cycles of ever speedier ditties before they burst like an ant hill to catapault him into the garden. Self regulation is all very well but why does it have to involve such destruction? Neither of them has ever volunteered to enter the garden until this summer.

I stare at the double glass doors, willing my brain to function. Once a week I collect the organic vegetable box along with a bunch of flowers. Once a week I take the old dead flowers and stick them outside until time permits me to visit the compost heap. Once a week I snip the elastic and drop the new fresh flowers in a different vase, not exactly tastefully arranged. It frees up a moment to clear a shelf in the fridge and shove ten pounds of organic vegetables in to chill. The same routine for about five years. What has gone so horribly wrong? Their dad appears by my side to note the latest dollop of carnage, “geez, I'd I thought you'd have stopped it by now.”
“Me? Stopped it? And how exactly do you think I should magic that one?”
“Stop dumping those vases in the doorway to trip over.”

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Bird brain

I check just to be on the safe side.

He is still bouncing from the sofa to the trampolene shouting “Geronimo!” at fifty decibels in the family room. He’s been at it for about 25 minutes. I detect no immediate indications of a flat battery. This kind of self regulation is to be applauded and encouraged. Horray! I return to the washing up and the view from my kitchen window.

It's bound to be a controversial campaign but something has to be done. I think a complete ban on birdlife is the only route available. There I am, diligently dragging home body bagsful of bird seed, and what do they do? Spread it all over the garden. Little hooligans! Why can't the birds appreciate a free lunch when it's provided? Are they all on some kind of a special diet?

The feeder hangs just outside the house in the empty space between the L of the family room and the kitchen, a view from each site. A special birdfeeder design to deter squirrels, a gift to me and them. Why don't they just eat it? Do they have malformed beaks or something? What is wrong with the modern birds of today? Why aren't they here now, to entertain me with their antics whilst I wash? Do we only have nocturnal birds to visit? Are owls the real culprits?  Flocks of unwise vegetarian owls.  I notice that the noise has died down as my son steps into the kitchen.
“I am be dah mouse.”
“Really.” What a pity he can't match his favoured vermin in the sound production department. I watch the birds gather around the feeder, fluttering and pecking.
“I am be energetic.”
“Indeed you are.” There must be nearly 20 birds. I wonder what kinds they are? I really ought to get a book on bird identification in California.
“Now I am bin done exhausted.”
“Oh, that's good.” I'm a wee bit weary myself. I do so hope ‘bin done’ hasn’t come back to haunt us again? Two little words inserted into every sentence. I thought that phase had faded? All too often they return. I console myself with notion that we’re only too lucky to have any phrases at all.
“I am beed have dah rest.” He exhales to demonstrate.
“What a good idea. Maybe we could sit down and have a cuddle, have a rest together?”
“No? Why not?”
“Coz now I am bin done……I am beed……….guy……again.” He tears off back to the family room to resume his regime, and as he roars “Geronimo!” the birds blast away, scattering seeds at warp speed.

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Wordy Wednesday # 7

Ms. Wordless Wednesday cuts straight to the chase,


“see! I'm not even going to bother this time Maddy,

go on,

just tell me all about it?”
“Golly, how gracious of you.”
“I get the picture, bad picture at that. I'm gonna get you that book 'Photography for Dummies.'”
“Your generosity overwhelms me, as always.”
“So what am I looking at then?”
“You tell me.”
“I can't.”
“Yes, you can, you're getting good at this now.”
“Well, I can't. I don't know your kids well enough and anyway they are a bit……er…….different.”
“I know what you mean but in this particular instance he's not being different he's being ordinary.”
“Is that supposed to help?”
“It's just a little hint to point you in the right direction.”
“Fine. Let me see. Well he has the mouth thing of course.”
“Well spotted. You remembered. When he's concentrating his mouth goes slack. Lip closure, or lack of it, is always a dead give away.”
“So he's concentrating on a…..what is that thing anyways?”
“Just an ordinary toy.”
“Ah! Got it. He's perseverating.”
“Nearly. I'm impressed. Perhaps I should have given you a ‘before’ and after picture?”
“Hang on a minute. There's a before? You're playing tricks with me. No fair!”
“You're right of course, but I didn't have a chance to do a 'before' picture and it would have been an even worse picture.”
“O.k. So what would the 'before' picture have been?”
“Major meltdown.”
“Not pretty? Probably just as well you skipped the 'before' then.”
“I thought so.”
“So what was he having a meltdown about? Do I really want to know come to think of it?”
“You don't want to know, and really it doesn't really matter, that's not the point.”
“What is the point?”
“The point, is that the meltdown passed. He calmed himself down.”
“So that's him calmed down right?”
“Exactly, or rather in the process of calming down, calming himself down in fact.”
“New toy?”
“Old toy, rediscovered.”
“The toy is magic?”
“Might as well be, but not really. It's just that we get all wound up sometimes, into a bit of a tizzy. We all need to learn how to calm ourselves down again. It doesn't really matter how any of us do it, just that we learn what works for us.”
“And that works for him? Watching those little coloured bubble things floating up and down?”
“Yes. Well……yes at the moment. It works at the moment but it might not work tomorrow or next week.”
“Bit like one of those Lava Lamps from the 70's?”
“You're showing your age dearie!”
“Oops! Still, progress nonetheless right? See I can use those English words too!”
“Indeed you can, and so eruditely.”
“Don't show off now!”
“As if?”
“O.k. so that's all for now huh?”
“Yes, lots of 'om' thoughts.”
“You kill me, you really do.”

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