Funny Stuff This Week

Positively No Negativity

Kiddo has an aversion to symbols or words denoting negativity. And by aversion, I mean outright hatred. Whether it has to do with feelings, words, or ... math(???? Yes, math) ... he cannot cope with anything that is not positively framed. 

My child goes to behavioral therapy to help him cope better with frustration and anxiety. When a person’s verbal skills are dysfunctional, it can lead to a lot of angst. Therefore, learning to express himself beyond throwing things is paramount for my child. Especially since the stuff that looks choicest to throw is the most expensive stuff in the room.

 

Fortunately, I have yet to make friends with those who own an ancient Ming vases.

Being lowbrow has its advantages.

Dealing with challenging emotions is made even harder since Kiddo doesn’t want to admit they exist. We do ‘feelings’ exercises every day, and he is quick to point out there is no such thing as anger or sadness. A transcript of a typical conversation follows: 

Me: How do you feel when someone won’t play with you? 

Kiddo: I feel happy! 

Me: You’re happy when someone won’t play with you? 

Kiddo: Yes. I feel happy. 

Me: I would feel sad or angry if my friend wouldn’t play with me. 

Kiddo: No, you are happy. 

Me: Show me a sad face. 

Kiddo: No. I am not sad. I am happy. 

Then he gives me a big fake smile to show how happy he is while plugging his ears to avoid hearing anymore negativity, as evidence below:

 

The school photographer charged me mucho bucks for this.

 They found out I express my unhappiness much better than my son does.

Kiddo’s dislike for negativity extends to the written word ... specifically the word ‘not’. At school as they study contractions, he makes a big stink about even laying eyes upon that word. When he reads out loud, he covers all nots with his hand. Words like ‘didn’t’ and ‘won’t’ are fine. But woe unto you if that three-lettered obscenity crosses his path. 

It got so bad last year that long car trips turned into a screaming nightmare. I never realized how many signs proliferate our highways that contain the word ‘not’, and my son greeted every last one of them like the coming of zombies.

 

 

A gazillion of these, summer vacation 2014. I counted.

 

Now we have encountered a new enemy in the battle against negativity. Subtraction. Kiddo wants nothing to do with it, and it has nothing to do with the usual general angst against school and homework. 

I know this because he will do addition all day long without a fuss. He counts by tens, learns about money value, and puts things into sets, never batting an eye at the work. But show him a minus sign and the apocalypse is on.

 

 

A shot of my son’s school during benchmark testing last week.

He’s gotten to the point of writing hilarious notes to his teacher. On his last math worksheet, the top half was filled with addition problems. The bottom half was all subtraction. The top half of the page was answered with great accuracy. On the bottom half, he scrawled ‘Coming Soon’ rather than work subtraction. 

I’m an awful mother, I suppose. Rather than trying to discuss the necessity of doing his work, I erupted into laughter and put the paper in the ‘save’ stack. That’s definitely my kid. 

It would be nice if we could follow Kiddo’s example and erase all the painful emotions, the ‘nots’, and negativity of life. At the very least, maybe he’ll show us how to find the positives in everything. If there’s one thing Kiddo has demonstrated in his 8 years on Earth, it’s that he not only learns but teaches as well. I’m taking notes.

Sunday's Serving - Lilith

 

            Enough light filtered down the hall to see Lilith when she appeared in the doorway. The demoness’ exaggerated body swelled against her sweater and slacks. Despite her impressive proportions, the sharp-toothed snarl that twisted her face ruined any semblance of beauty. Malevolence pulsed from her in noxious, malignant waves. It was as if a cancerous tumor had taken human form.

            Alex battled the urge to bolt. She kept motionless in the shadows as her enemy stalked into the room.

            Lilith walked past her. She passed by, not seeing Alex hiding there in the shadows. It was as good a chance as the Segreto could hope to get. Alex flung the vial towards the demoness and prayed that something remained in it.

            A sound like bacon sizzling and the sickly-sweet smell of burning flesh filled the already rancid air. Lilith’s shriek rebounded off the walls.

            Alex stepped out of the shadows. She shouted, “In the name of God, I command you to depart this world!”

            Lilith twisted to face her. Before Alex could react, the demoness charged at her, talons reaching. Lilith crashed her body into the Segreto with the force of a runaway train, hurling her into the hallway. Alex flew backwards, and her head bounced off the wall. White spots exploded before her eyes. She crashed to the floor. She lay stunned, unable to move. 

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Funny Stuff This Week

(Dis)Grace(ful) Under Pressure

I am the first to admit that I fall far short of the person I wish to be. My greatest hero and inspiration is the Dalai Lama. I want to be like him ...  an everyday human who manages to be intelligent, openminded, and serene no matter what kind of poop the world slings at him.  

Instead, I am a big mess o’ crazy, at least on the inside. I do my best to not give in to the ravaging beast that is always looking for a fight, and for the most part I succeed. But it’s not easy. Instead of looking at my fellow humans with compassion and understanding, I have the constant urge to whack them all upside the head and yell, “What are you thinking?” 

Case in point: I am currently dealing with issues at my son’s school that have nothing to do with any wrong he’s committed. Let me tell you, there is nothing that brings my inner mean out faster than Kiddo getting slighted, especially by those who should know better. So I’m stomping around the house, swearing like a sailor, and generally getting my angst on. I’m ready to go Momzilla, breathing fire and stomping buses and buildings.

 

Mrs. Jock, our signs clearly state no smoking on school premises.

 

Obviously, me turning into a movie monster that requires subtitles to understand what I’m ranting about is not a good move. In order to make things happen in a positive manner, I must swallow my fury. I must extend my hand in goodwill and camaraderie so that we can all work together to find a solution. Hopefully no one will notice how that hand shakes, as it is the one I always visualize using to whack people upside the head, as previously mentioned.

 

 

Angry Hand ... not as popular a game as Angry Birds

 

I am therefore somewhat glad to note that President Abraham Lincoln used to deal with similar issues. When infuriated by someone, he would write a letter telling them exactly how he felt about them, what new nicknames he would like to assign them, and generally where on their anatomy he’d like to stick his boot. Abe and I are kindred souls in that regard.  

I write blistering e-mails similar in nature. Whereas Abe would tear his letters up and never send them, I read my missives to my husband. I may house a brute in my heart, but I’m smart enough to know not to unleash it without running its slavering growls past someone with better instincts. Hubs usually puts the brakes on my rants by calmly suggesting, ‘Stick to the facts, not your feelings.’ In return, I yell at him for his wisdom ... and then hit the Delete key.

 

Savior of humanity and what’s left of my reputation.

 

Will I ever find the kind of inner peace that allows me to ask questions first and lose my marbles later? It would be nice, but I wonder. For now, the best I can do is throw my fits in private and then go out into the world with good intentions, a fake smile on my lips,  and my Whack-A-Mole hands crammed in my pockets.

 

Sunday’s Serving – Willow in the Desert

 

The soldier paused, turned back around, and came close to whisper to Gordon confidentially.  “My lady is bringing a cream pie later tonight.  A real small one, you know, because we have to ration.  You poke your head in and I’ll make sure you get a slice.”

The man’s friendliness startled Gordon.  “Thanks,” he said with genuine feeling. He thought of how it was too bad he could only ingest blood now.  Solid food made him sick.

On the heels of that line of thinking, he suddenly became very aware of N.C.’s pulse and the sound of his blood rushing through his body.  Gordon froze all over.

Not noticing Gordon’s change in mood, N.C. chattered on.  “Keep it to yourself, okay?  I won’t have enough to share with everyone.  Just you, me, and Clint, who’s hanging in the guardhouse tonight watching the detectors.”

Gordon barely heard him.  He stared at N.C.’s throat, thinking how easy it would be to rip it open with his fang, how sweet it would be to taste the warm, soothing blood that would flow.

Horror at the idea brought him out of the sick but beguiling vision.  His voice weak, he mumbled, “I really appreciate it.  Thank you.”

N.C. gave him a lopsided grin and nodded.  “Sure, man.”  He went back to the other side of the gate and closed it, leaving Gordon alone, wrestling with the knowledge that Asperger’s or not, the transformation was catching up to him after all.

 

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Funny Stuff This Week