Are You Smarter Than a Kainth Pre-schooler?

Running errands last night, my four year old son and five year old daughter sat strapped in their car seats chatting and enjoying the night sky, as they are apt to do. I allowed my mind to wander for just a second while I navigated our van into the most prime parking spot outside TJ Maxx. I knew I was in trouble when I heard Navin’s voice.  I suddenly wished I had been paying more attention to their conversation, or at very least paid more attention in science class.
He was clearly annoyed at having to repeat himself. “Mom, is the moon following us or are we following the moon?”

“Well. That’s a tough one, buddy. I use to wonder the same thing when I was little…”

“Well,” he interrupted me, “if the Earth revolves around the sun, then that means we are following the moon.”

“That sounds reasonable enough to me.” I started my wrestling match with Navin’s arms and the car seat straps.

“Actually, the Earth revolves around the Sun, but the moon revolves around the Earth,” my daughter, Bani, chimed in. “So, that means the Moon is following us.”

“Well, that sounds reasonable too, and you’re both kind of right, but it has to do with…”

“Look, Mom,” Bani said abruptly, “I am five, now, and I know a thing or two about Astronomy, and I’m right!”

The three of us piled out of the car in silence and made our way into the store. The moon, shining down, obediently followed. 

I Do Think You're the Nicest Little Friend I've Ever Had!

The last couple of months have been a bit of a challenge for me. Between two perpetually sick preschoolers, helping a few friends with their projects, and keeping our house just barely running, I’ve been a very bad emerging author. I didn’t even emerge to say Happy New Year! Sorry about that kind readers. In honor of Groundhog’s day earlier this week, I am emerging, and damn the shadows, full speed ahead! I’m going to write and post as often as I can. Consider it my Groundhog’s day resolution. Some days it will be quality literary work and some days it will just be stuff on a blog. Let’s see what I have up my sleeve today.

Paul McCartney and John Lennon were right. All we need is love. Some people may argue, but really it’s simple. If someone loves you there will be food to eat; when love comes to town, no one gets left out in the street. With love comes kindness, and suddenly it sprouts a heart, legs and arms and manifests as your family and friends. At the end of It’s a Wonderful Life, Clarence writes to George in the pages of Tom Sawyer, “No man is a failure who has friends!” That little angel finally got it right. If you’ve got a friend, you’ll be okay.

For those of you who feel like that is just a little too cliché, consider this: The dead hooker friend. Someone recently asked me, “Who’s your dead hooker friend?” I was awash in confusion and worry for just long enough to feel like a weirdo, until they added, “You know, the person you’d call if you woke up to find a dead hooker in your house and no idea how it happened. Who’s the friend who would just show up with a shovel, no questions asked, no judgment and just start digging?” Now, of course, most of us would never have this situation arise in our lives, but suddenly, we can all name exactly who it is we would call, and not just because they still have your shovel.

Everyone should have at least one friend of this caliber during their life. Call it what you like: the dead-hooker-friend, or the no-questions-asked-friend, I’ve been lucky enough to have several. In fact, I had lunch with one of them yesterday. Usually having lunch with Joe is not a big deal, but this day he had conspired with my husband and arranged a surprise reunion with a second friend, someone I hadn’t seen for more than 30 years.

She had been my first no-questions-asked-friend, and the minute I saw her blue eyes I knew I could still count on her. She hadn’t changed a bit, and really, I suppose I haven’t either. I was instantly transported through time and space. I was a tough little tomboy perched in the branches of a sycamore tree, her by my side, scanning for the approaching danger of brothers. Her hair is still golden yellow, and her glasses are still stark black squares on her shining peach face. In the instant it took for my brain to process all of this, my throat tightened and squeezed tears from my eyes.  I couldn’t stop myself from laughing as I hugged her.

Decked out in her usual blue with white polka-dots, the first thing she said to me, after all these years was, “I do think you’re the nicest little friend I’ve ever had!”

“Me too,” I cried.

If you're first steadfast friend was an old woman in blue and white dolka dots, you might enjoy this collection of voice-box recordings from the beloved Mrs. Beasley. But, do be careful, dear, you may find yourself whisked away to a tea party in the distant past or up a tree, hiding.
http://ftp.wi.net/~candrews/Voice_Samples/voice_samples.html

Lost At Sea

Nobody influences your life like your family. Being the youngest child and only girl in a house full of stair-step, crazy boys certainly affected me, and gave me plenty of good stories. This post introduces the first in a reoccurring series: Mib Back Then.

In honor of the culmination of the LOST Underground Art project, the folks at LOST, Gallery 1988, my Lost ARGs friends, and my sweet husband, I give you, Lost At Sea!

Whenever I feel like a bad parent, I just think back to childrearing of the sixties and seventies. My parents had five children in the space of six years, and it seems their main concern was keeping us breathing, if we were lucky. Mine were not the only parents who allowed their kids to roll around the boat-sized family car, or left their kids unattended in all kinds of places, or the only parents who spanked their kids with whatever object was handy. Ok, maybe some of these only happened in my family. We were regularly lost in department stores, and someone was always getting hauled to the ER. One of my brothers actually got himself locked in a Sears store after it closed, and camped out in the sporting-goods department. I wanted to be the one who slept in a tent across from the Sears candy counter. Instead, I am the one, who at fifteen months old was lost at sea.

My Navy dad and perfect nineteen-sixties Mom had just relocated their young, rapidly growing family to Oahu from Virginia. After the stress of unpacking, my fair-skinned, redheaded parents needed a break and decided to take the kids to the beach. Damn the broken dishes, and damaged furniture, we all needed some sunshine. So, they slathered their whitey-white children in baby oil to help them work on their tans, and hit the sand!

My mother does not swim a stroke, and hid herself beneath a huge hat and umbrella. She watched her four non-swimming toddlers frolic and play in the surf, pretending to drown each other. My father was anxious to introduce his newest addition of the family to the crystal blue waters of Hawaii.

Now, if you’ve never been to Hawaii, consider this; surfers travel great distances to get to Hawaii for one reason: the waves. I have turned this scenario over and over in my head. I can’t help wonder if my parents had a little ‘talk’ before this outing. Maybe it went like this:

“Well, Margaret,” my father would have said, “I just can’t handle five of them. It’s too much. Let’s give one back, and since she’s the newest, let’s make it that girl. You haven’t gotten attached to her yet, have you?

Maybe my mom argued, but ultimately she must have given in, because my very intelligent father then took me, barely a year old, covered in baby oil into the waves looking for the Big Kahuna!

Maybe he held me high above the wave, and whispered “Kunta Mib-te, meet Mr. Ocean…”

“Well, hello, Mr. Ocean, how are… blurb blurb blurb?” I babbled then fell into the sea. I was immediately swept away by the wave from Hawaii Five O’s opening scene.

My father submerged searching for fat baby toes. He came up for air, dove again into a new wave, and searched again. He came up from the water clutching the arm of an elderly woman who didn’t need rescuing. By now, several minutes had passed, and a crowd had gathered. Newspaper reporters were licking their pencils and scratching out headlines: “Navy Couple Loses Baby in Ocean”, “Baby-Oil and Water Don’t Mix”, “Baby-less Husband Found at Topless Beach”, “Young Boys Cheer Death of Sister” (that’s a reoccurring theme).

After several more minutes, my father emerged victorious with a live, wiggling, seaweed covered baby. As some of us have seen in Russian birthing videos, babies take to water. We are little dolphins! We hold our breath, swim, and blow air out our little blow holes. Babies can survive in the water for several minutes. Now, I don’t advocate throwing your baby in the ocean, but they may be able to swim back home.

Much like my LOST friends, I was Lost, but now I'm found.