Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Monday, July 1, 2013
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Maybe a Game
My cousin Willie (a.k.a. Will, Wilderness, 4 Will Drive, Will-barrow, etc.) was eight when he moved into my room.
It was an adjustment for both of us.
Wilderness had come to live with us after years of neglect and abuse, and since my brother had recently moved to Brazil, there just so happened to be a vacancy in the bottom bunk of the bunk bed in my bedroom, so Will and I became roommates.
As a roommate, I found Will's behavior…um...
wild and unpredictable (thus the nickname, Wilderness). Initially his behavior was attributed to the very difficult circumstances he had been obligated to live in the first eight years of his life, however, time would later reveal there was more to the story of his behavior issues than just an unending series of hard knocks early on in life. Several years after coming to live with our family Will would be diagnosed with severe Asperger's (a disorder on the autism spectrum with varying degrees of severity. i.e. Temple Grandin has Asperger's and is doing ok. Will, not so much), but at the time we were "blissfully" ignorant of that fact and how to deal with it.
I had some frustrations with Will.
Will had his frustrations with me as well. Although only eight, Will was a voracious reader and at that time, neck deep in Harry Potter. He ate, slept, and drank Harry Potter and DID NOT approve of his new roommate's Harry Potter ignorance. This led to a discussion where he emphatically stated it was an absolute necessity I read Harry Potter. I, somewhat less emphatically, rebutted with my belief it probably wasn't as imperative as he was suggesting. I'm not sure if it was my stance on the matter, or my lack of passion regarding all things Harry Potter, but either way, those familiar with Asperger's can probably predict the outcome of that discussion.
Several days later, after the dust had settled, Will and I were in our room with a pile of tools and lumber that I would be using to repair some recently destroyed bookshelves (Harry Potter nuclear meltdown fall out victims). Will was very eager to help because the floor was no place for Harry Potter books, in his opinion. I believe he also understood the destruction of bookshelves had been counter-productive in achieving his goal of sharing a room with someone well versed in the works of J.K. Rowling.
In light of the outcome of our recent disagreement regarding whether it was acceptable to have not read Harry Potter, I wasn't overly anxious to categorically refuse his help, plus I think he felt bad about the whole incident and was wanting to make peace. Seeing this, my mom had stepped in, attempting to intervene.
"Will, would you like to come into the living room and play a game with me while Spence works on the shelves?"
"No, I need to help him fix the shelves because my Harry Potter books can't be on the floor."
"Well, you could come play a game, and then when the shelves are done, put your books back."
"No, I'm going to help fix the shelves so I can make sure my books will still fit."
"Well, if you change your mind, we would love to play a game with you out here," my mom offered as she walked into the living room and began setting up a game with my little sister.
Will was not persuaded, however, and after a few minutes of watching me assemble the shelves, felt he was ready to participate. Will picked up a hammer and began hammering.
Despite his best intentions, Will's hammering produced results very similar results to the original incident responsible for the shelve's destruction. Wilderness looked down at the newly broken bookshelf panels for a moment, glanced up at me to see if I had noticed, then back down at the broken shelves.
I pretended I hadn't noticed.
"Uh," Will paused, still looking down "maybe a game." He lingered there a moment longer then, without another word set down the hammer, stood up and walked out to go play a game.
To this day my family (including Will, of course- I shouldn't even need to say it) and I can often be heard saying "maybe a game." It is our favorite saying, because, it turns out, in life there is no shortage of situations where, despite our best efforts, we cannot fix, or make better, or even control the things that are happening around us.
Grandma getting mad at you because you're confusing her as you try to help her set up a Facebook account...(sigh)...
Maybe a game.
"Fixing" the broken floor tile in the kitchen because that YouTube video totally explained how to do it and now you have 3 broken floor tiles...yeah...
Maybe a game.
That lady with the blog that says she loves her kids so much because they're the best kids in the world is coming over and so you told your kids to not act crazy so she wouldn't write a passive aggressive blog post about "a certain acquaintance's wild kids who are in desperate need of some real parenting"...ha ha...and now there is NO chance your kids won't act crazy. None.
Maybe a game!
Seriously, why are you even reading her blog? You know her boobs are fake, right? Her kids wore matching polo shirts to stand at her booth at a cupcake convention with their stupid faux-hawks because she "JuSt LoVeS tHeM SOOOOOOOO much (cupcakes ;)...my kids too. LOL!!! I'm so blessed!)." What part of that interests you? Seriously- Maybe a game
When myself or my friends or family find ourselves in those situations we can do nothing about, and especially when we're obviously making things worse, we say it, "Maybe a game" and then go do something else.
Ideally something fun
...like a game.
We can always play a game.
So can you.
That’s what Will does
and he’s a pretty smart guy- He read Harry Potter when he was 8, for crying loud.
like If Bears Could Type on Facebook and in 3 days time you'll be able to speak a foreign language to your friends. They'll be so impressed. If Bears Could Type Facebook page
It was an adjustment for both of us.
Wilderness had come to live with us after years of neglect and abuse, and since my brother had recently moved to Brazil, there just so happened to be a vacancy in the bottom bunk of the bunk bed in my bedroom, so Will and I became roommates.
As a roommate, I found Will's behavior…um...
wild and unpredictable (thus the nickname, Wilderness). Initially his behavior was attributed to the very difficult circumstances he had been obligated to live in the first eight years of his life, however, time would later reveal there was more to the story of his behavior issues than just an unending series of hard knocks early on in life. Several years after coming to live with our family Will would be diagnosed with severe Asperger's (a disorder on the autism spectrum with varying degrees of severity. i.e. Temple Grandin has Asperger's and is doing ok. Will, not so much), but at the time we were "blissfully" ignorant of that fact and how to deal with it.
I had some frustrations with Will.
Will had his frustrations with me as well. Although only eight, Will was a voracious reader and at that time, neck deep in Harry Potter. He ate, slept, and drank Harry Potter and DID NOT approve of his new roommate's Harry Potter ignorance. This led to a discussion where he emphatically stated it was an absolute necessity I read Harry Potter. I, somewhat less emphatically, rebutted with my belief it probably wasn't as imperative as he was suggesting. I'm not sure if it was my stance on the matter, or my lack of passion regarding all things Harry Potter, but either way, those familiar with Asperger's can probably predict the outcome of that discussion.
Stuff got broken.
Several days later, after the dust had settled, Will and I were in our room with a pile of tools and lumber that I would be using to repair some recently destroyed bookshelves (Harry Potter nuclear meltdown fall out victims). Will was very eager to help because the floor was no place for Harry Potter books, in his opinion. I believe he also understood the destruction of bookshelves had been counter-productive in achieving his goal of sharing a room with someone well versed in the works of J.K. Rowling.
In light of the outcome of our recent disagreement regarding whether it was acceptable to have not read Harry Potter, I wasn't overly anxious to categorically refuse his help, plus I think he felt bad about the whole incident and was wanting to make peace. Seeing this, my mom had stepped in, attempting to intervene.
"Will, would you like to come into the living room and play a game with me while Spence works on the shelves?"
"No, I need to help him fix the shelves because my Harry Potter books can't be on the floor."
"Well, you could come play a game, and then when the shelves are done, put your books back."
"No, I'm going to help fix the shelves so I can make sure my books will still fit."
"Well, if you change your mind, we would love to play a game with you out here," my mom offered as she walked into the living room and began setting up a game with my little sister.
Will was not persuaded, however, and after a few minutes of watching me assemble the shelves, felt he was ready to participate. Will picked up a hammer and began hammering.
Despite his best intentions, Will's hammering produced results very similar results to the original incident responsible for the shelve's destruction. Wilderness looked down at the newly broken bookshelf panels for a moment, glanced up at me to see if I had noticed, then back down at the broken shelves.
I pretended I hadn't noticed.
"Uh," Will paused, still looking down "maybe a game." He lingered there a moment longer then, without another word set down the hammer, stood up and walked out to go play a game.
To this day my family (including Will, of course- I shouldn't even need to say it) and I can often be heard saying "maybe a game." It is our favorite saying, because, it turns out, in life there is no shortage of situations where, despite our best efforts, we cannot fix, or make better, or even control the things that are happening around us.
Grandma getting mad at you because you're confusing her as you try to help her set up a Facebook account...(sigh)...
Maybe a game.
"Fixing" the broken floor tile in the kitchen because that YouTube video totally explained how to do it and now you have 3 broken floor tiles...yeah...
Maybe a game.
That lady with the blog that says she loves her kids so much because they're the best kids in the world is coming over and so you told your kids to not act crazy so she wouldn't write a passive aggressive blog post about "a certain acquaintance's wild kids who are in desperate need of some real parenting"...ha ha...and now there is NO chance your kids won't act crazy. None.
Maybe a game!
Seriously, why are you even reading her blog? You know her boobs are fake, right? Her kids wore matching polo shirts to stand at her booth at a cupcake convention with their stupid faux-hawks because she "JuSt LoVeS tHeM SOOOOOOOO much (cupcakes ;)...my kids too. LOL!!! I'm so blessed!)." What part of that interests you? Seriously- Maybe a game
When myself or my friends or family find ourselves in those situations we can do nothing about, and especially when we're obviously making things worse, we say it, "Maybe a game" and then go do something else.
Ideally something fun
...like a game.
We can always play a game.
So can you.
That’s what Will does
and he’s a pretty smart guy- He read Harry Potter when he was 8, for crying loud.
like If Bears Could Type on Facebook and in 3 days time you'll be able to speak a foreign language to your friends. They'll be so impressed. If Bears Could Type Facebook page
Monday, July 23, 2012
Editing My Novel
In the novel I'm writing because I'm a bear who types so obviously I'm writing a novel, there is a scene where monsters have just barged in on a little boy with the intention of eating him because he throws fits and whines and doesn't obey. The nature of their entry, the roaring and being monsters, and that sort of thing startled the little boy so much that he was completely quiet, casting doubt on the monsters original belief that there was a little boy there they could eat. I don't know if the following segment will make it into the final project because it's not so much a novel as it is a children's book.
You be the judge.
Feel free to leave your comments.
The little boy was too surprised to answer them so he just stood there and stared at the monstrous consequences of his disobedience that were now standing in the living room.
The monsters stood there quiet, waiting for the cute little boy to answere them, but he said nothing.
He was too scared to say anying.
He knew who the little boy they had heard throwing a huge fit was.
It was him, of course, but he didn’t want to tell them that because he was frightened by their giant alligator snouts, their bright orange pointy horns, and their long sharp pointy porcupine needles that covered their entire backs except for a small spot where a excitedly wagging giant puppy dog-like tail protruded. He also didn’t like the look of their long, pointy bear claws attached to giant, hairy, bear-like paws which were attached to giant, hairy, bear-like arms which were attached to their... giant, soft, furry bodies? (except for their backs)
After several more moments of the cute little boy not answering, another of the monsters turned to his fellow monsters, “Say guys, you think maybe we got the wrong house? This handsome little guy hasn’t made a sound since we’ve been here.” He turned back to the little boy, and continued as reached towards him. “ I kind doubt that a quiet, adorable little sack of cute like this is who we heard throwing such a terrible fit, are ya little fella?” he said, tossling the cute little boy’s hair with his giant monster bear-like paw. A look of concern flashed across the monster’s face and He turned back to the first monster.
“Gene, I hate to bring this up again, especially right now, but I really feel like you’re frightening a lot of these kids with your barging in and roaring questions and not saying please. Look at him. You can’t tell me he doesn’t look a little scared.”
Gene, looked irritated. “Well you would know with your Child Psychology degree now, wouldn’t you, Jerry? Oops. Did I say child psychology degree? what I meant was that 3 semesters of community college followed by “just taking a little break,” a break, which you’re still taking 17 years later. Help me out, Jerry, because I’m always getting the two confused. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of that whole, I want to be a composer thing during the Classical era. It’s been, what? 250 years? and what have you composed, Jerry? I didn’t say a thing when you ordered all that music writing software after we watched The Holiday because you were going to compose movie scores “just like Jack Black did” - So what if I cried when that blonde chick went to the award banquet with the nice old Jewish man and then Jack Black acted on the old Jewish guy’s advice and confessed his true feelings for her in front of everyone. That was just emotionally powerful, compelling story telling. All I’m saying is you didn’t compose shit. Did you ever even install the software. God Dammit, Jerry! I’m so sick of your know it all bull shit. We all are. FUCK! JERRY! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUUUUUCK!”
The final “fuck” exploded out of Gene’s monstrous mouth in a roar of anger and frustration, his enormous paws, which he had been waving with increased animation throughout his tirade, came smashing down on a coffee table he had been standing next to with a violent force, smashing the little table into a pile of splinters and parenting magazines.
The other monsters were now staring uncomfortably at the floor, several of them awkwardly shuffling their giant monster bear clawed bunny feet as if kicking an imaginary ball back and forth amongst each other. A tear ran down Jerry’s monster face and dripped onto the carpet , burning a golf ball sized hole all the way through to the concrete where it landed.
Gene continued glaring angrily at Jerry and then his face softened and he looked ashamed.
“Oh man, Jerry. You’re right.” Gene said apologetically. “I am coming across too strong, but not just to the kids, to all of you guys, my fellow monsters, as well...and especially to you, Jerry. I’m really sorry.
Look man, I know you’ll go back to school and finish that associates in office administration so you can get a better paying job and then hopefully get into a Child Psychology Program like you’ve been dreaming about. And you think I don’t remember 1782? I do. Mozart was killing it. Who didn’t secretly want to be a composer? You were the only one with the monster balls big enough to actually do something about it then when Mozart inspired you and again later when Jack Black’s character in The Holiday inspired you the same way Mozart did. You never let go of that dream I admire that about you. Being 900 years old has made me such a cynic...plus I’m just so hungry right now, and Jerry, you know I get edgy and today I crossed the line. I feel really terrible.”
Gene then looked down at the cute little boy, who was still standing there watching them, not saying a word. “I’m sorry, little guy. I’ll replace that table. Uncle Jerry, over there, is right. I owe you an apology. Here’s the thing. We are very hungry and we only eat one thing: boys and girls who whine and cry and who throw fits and don’t obey. We heard someone throwing a fit so we came over to eat him, but it looks like we’ve made a mistake. Can I tell you a little secret?”
The boy nodded his head.
“We do eat 3 other things. Pudding, string cheese, and...well...I’m sure a sweet little boy like you wouldn’t have any of the third, parents who abandon their kids, so if you have some pudding or string cheese, we could all eat some together. You like pudding and string cheese don’t you?”
The little boy nodded his head again.
“Good. Do you have some pudding and string cheese we could eat? Then we’ll get out of your hair, I promise.”
You be the judge.
Feel free to leave your comments.
The little boy was too surprised to answer them so he just stood there and stared at the monstrous consequences of his disobedience that were now standing in the living room.
The monsters stood there quiet, waiting for the cute little boy to answere them, but he said nothing.
He was too scared to say anying.
He knew who the little boy they had heard throwing a huge fit was.
It was him, of course, but he didn’t want to tell them that because he was frightened by their giant alligator snouts, their bright orange pointy horns, and their long sharp pointy porcupine needles that covered their entire backs except for a small spot where a excitedly wagging giant puppy dog-like tail protruded. He also didn’t like the look of their long, pointy bear claws attached to giant, hairy, bear-like paws which were attached to giant, hairy, bear-like arms which were attached to their... giant, soft, furry bodies? (except for their backs)
After several more moments of the cute little boy not answering, another of the monsters turned to his fellow monsters, “Say guys, you think maybe we got the wrong house? This handsome little guy hasn’t made a sound since we’ve been here.” He turned back to the little boy, and continued as reached towards him. “ I kind doubt that a quiet, adorable little sack of cute like this is who we heard throwing such a terrible fit, are ya little fella?” he said, tossling the cute little boy’s hair with his giant monster bear-like paw. A look of concern flashed across the monster’s face and He turned back to the first monster.
“Gene, I hate to bring this up again, especially right now, but I really feel like you’re frightening a lot of these kids with your barging in and roaring questions and not saying please. Look at him. You can’t tell me he doesn’t look a little scared.”
Gene, looked irritated. “Well you would know with your Child Psychology degree now, wouldn’t you, Jerry? Oops. Did I say child psychology degree? what I meant was that 3 semesters of community college followed by “just taking a little break,” a break, which you’re still taking 17 years later. Help me out, Jerry, because I’m always getting the two confused. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of that whole, I want to be a composer thing during the Classical era. It’s been, what? 250 years? and what have you composed, Jerry? I didn’t say a thing when you ordered all that music writing software after we watched The Holiday because you were going to compose movie scores “just like Jack Black did” - So what if I cried when that blonde chick went to the award banquet with the nice old Jewish man and then Jack Black acted on the old Jewish guy’s advice and confessed his true feelings for her in front of everyone. That was just emotionally powerful, compelling story telling. All I’m saying is you didn’t compose shit. Did you ever even install the software. God Dammit, Jerry! I’m so sick of your know it all bull shit. We all are. FUCK! JERRY! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUUUUUCK!”
The final “fuck” exploded out of Gene’s monstrous mouth in a roar of anger and frustration, his enormous paws, which he had been waving with increased animation throughout his tirade, came smashing down on a coffee table he had been standing next to with a violent force, smashing the little table into a pile of splinters and parenting magazines.
The other monsters were now staring uncomfortably at the floor, several of them awkwardly shuffling their giant monster bear clawed bunny feet as if kicking an imaginary ball back and forth amongst each other. A tear ran down Jerry’s monster face and dripped onto the carpet , burning a golf ball sized hole all the way through to the concrete where it landed.
Gene continued glaring angrily at Jerry and then his face softened and he looked ashamed.
“Oh man, Jerry. You’re right.” Gene said apologetically. “I am coming across too strong, but not just to the kids, to all of you guys, my fellow monsters, as well...and especially to you, Jerry. I’m really sorry.
Look man, I know you’ll go back to school and finish that associates in office administration so you can get a better paying job and then hopefully get into a Child Psychology Program like you’ve been dreaming about. And you think I don’t remember 1782? I do. Mozart was killing it. Who didn’t secretly want to be a composer? You were the only one with the monster balls big enough to actually do something about it then when Mozart inspired you and again later when Jack Black’s character in The Holiday inspired you the same way Mozart did. You never let go of that dream I admire that about you. Being 900 years old has made me such a cynic...plus I’m just so hungry right now, and Jerry, you know I get edgy and today I crossed the line. I feel really terrible.”
Gene then looked down at the cute little boy, who was still standing there watching them, not saying a word. “I’m sorry, little guy. I’ll replace that table. Uncle Jerry, over there, is right. I owe you an apology. Here’s the thing. We are very hungry and we only eat one thing: boys and girls who whine and cry and who throw fits and don’t obey. We heard someone throwing a fit so we came over to eat him, but it looks like we’ve made a mistake. Can I tell you a little secret?”
The boy nodded his head.
“We do eat 3 other things. Pudding, string cheese, and...well...I’m sure a sweet little boy like you wouldn’t have any of the third, parents who abandon their kids, so if you have some pudding or string cheese, we could all eat some together. You like pudding and string cheese don’t you?”
The little boy nodded his head again.
“Good. Do you have some pudding and string cheese we could eat? Then we’ll get out of your hair, I promise.”
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