One of my favorite songs as a kid was a novelty tune by Jim Stafford called "I Don't Like Spiders and Snakes." [I can still sing the entire chorus, but I cannot remember anything I learned in school. Isn't that sad?!] I was thinking of that song this morning, when Mother called to tell me about the repairs needed to our fridge and then spoke about Coco's adventure this morning.
Mother saw a big spider in her bathroom and stepped on it. She returned a moment later to scoop it up with a Kleenex, just in time to see Coco swallow the dead spider. It never ceases to amaze me what dogs will eat.
My parents' last home in Knoxville was on the lake, and they had 3 dogs while living there. All the dogs loved to find dead fish and roll around in them awhile. They also liked to play with skunks. I think about that every time I get the thought in my head that it would be nice to live in the country.
Michael was given a "dinosaur egg" at school on Friday, for some reason he couldn't articulate. We put it in a jar and covered it with water, as instructed. What actually emerged was a coiled rubber snake. I told him to keep it in his room, for heaven's sakes, as Mother got the willies just looking at it. This is what it looks like:
Speaking of gross things, we were watching the HBO miniseries John Adams yesterday, and it proved more educational that I had thought it would. There are scenes of Adams, in the Netherlands, sick, and being bled by a doctor. I had to explain to the kids how primitive medicine was then. There's also a scene of a really bloody amputation that results in the patient's death. Michael watched it with fascination. He didn't seem to make a connection between it and his experience, though.
I guess I am naive. It never occurred to me giving the kids a little history lesson would mean watching such gore. While the miniseries is really good, in most respects, I could do without those bloodletting scenes. I am not squeamish about blood, I just find them rather disgusting. Having spent a good bit of time at hospitals with my parents, I can tell you, being reminded of illness and blood isn't something I look for in entertainment.
For the movie last night after dinner, the kids were not inclined to watch another episode of John Adams, which moves, at times, glacially. I couldn't face another action tornado like X-Men, though. So we watched a movie I have owned for a while, Leap of Faith. In it, Steve Martin plays a con man/preacher who holds tent revivals that look more like rock concerts. It has awesome music. It's a complex film, too - I had to explain to the children there are some really unscrupulous people out there claiming to be men of God.
At one point, the evangelist's assistant explains that he grew up in an orphanage, after his mother left him on a street corner at age 5. It's a heartwrenching story, told touchingly but without fake sentiment, by Debra Winger. Alesia made a small sound of distress and sympathy. She then said to me, softly, "Has my life been as bad as that?" I was dumbfounded. Tears gathered in my eyes but I blinked them back.
"Sweetie, it would be hard to say. The hardest thing any child can face is being abandoned by its mother. You are lucky, though, because you were adopted by a loving mother when you were 13." She looked satisfied with that answer, and just nodded.
I don't think she was looking for sympathy. I think she was trying to put into perspective her own loss of her birthmom. Until we started therapy, I don't think she had ever really thought much about the fact that she had a birthmom who was a serious alcoholic and refused to even try and care for her. She lived in the moment. When she talks about it, she has sort of a disassociation about it, like it has to do with someone else. It's a survival instinct. We are working to get her to re-connect with her "inner child" - I hate that phrase but I don't know how else to explain it. You cannot mourn a loss you do not acknowledge.
I told Mother about this on the phone this morning and I started crying. I am such a big softy that when I think about children who are neglected or abused - any children, but god forbid my own - it just tears me up. I also cannot watch another human cry, even in a movie, and not start crying myself. The kids have learned to watch me and grab kleenex for me. It can be embarrassing. I guess it's better to feel too much, however, than not enough.
