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Voices…They Follow Me Where Ever I go.
I love kids.
Or at least that is what my heart tells my brain. My brain likes to remind my heart that I only love kids who are well behaved and don’t resemble future psychopath’s. Kids who play quietly in the corner while keeping their fingers out of their noses. Kids who are potty trained.
My heart tells my brain to shut up, that my own children sometimes have an evil glint in their pretty blue eyes and they have never understood the concept of quiet play. Not to mention, if one isn’t picking their nose the other is eating old gum peeled off the sidewalk or found stuck on the bottom of a desk. Then my heart likes to remind my brain that my youngest was never potty trained and I still managed to find a way to love him as I was changing his shitty almost-five-year-old arse.
My brain then tells my heart it is a moron and tells it ‘talk to the hand’ as it rolls it eyeballs and slams the door to my heart.
I can’t figure out why the psychiatrist questioned my sanity. Then again, it’s hard to think straight with all the voices screaming in my head.
Yet, my heart is right. I love kids. Mostly. I especially love all the kids in my life. My nieces and nephews and my best friend’s children. I love them all with the same passion and ardour I love my own children. And my dog.
However.
There are moments when I question why I love kids. Moments when I am shivering in the cold, rainy spring as my kids play soccer and my lips are turning blue. Moments when I’m fighting off the crazed masses in the department store trying to find the perfect gift. Moments when I’m wiping up the vomit my child has so politely hurled across the floor.
Oh, the glory of kids. I try to remember that one day these kids will be adults and will be responsible for visiting me when I’m senile and stuck in a nursing home. Changing my shitty arse. Clipping my toenails.
For all I love about kids there is one thing I can’t stand about them. Their fascination with the telephone. There is nothing more annoying than trying to have a conversation with a three-year-old who has a limited vocabulary and I can’t understand their garbled talk. Or worse yet, when they are simply content to breathe on their end of the line and their parents wander away leaving me stranded with the breather while they go get something out of the freezer.
Not that I haven’t done this to my friends and family a million times when my children were younger. Hell, I had kids before most of them so at one point it was them cussing me out while my child happily babbled incomprehensibly in their ear while I walked away to go do something.
Karmic payback can be a bitch.
Heh.
Luckily for me now, those days are mostly over. All the little children in my life aren’t so little any more. Or they are still little but can squawk like parrots demanding a cracker over and over. Irritating, yes, but completely understandable.
My days of dreading small children on the other end of the line are at a close. Halle-facking-lujah.
I rarely talk to any kids on the phone anymore except to answer the endless barrage of questions my own children harass me with while I’m out of the house with my cell phone dutifully turned on.
“Mom, can I have some juice?”
“Mom, can I play on the computer?”
“Mom, can we watch that video called MAY THE FORESKIN BE WITH YOU? You know, the one at the bottom of the video drawer?”
“Mom, is it all right I sit on Fric and try and spit in his eye?”
Tell me how the mothers of the world survived before the age of cellphones?
So when my cell phone rang the other day I answered it without checking to see who was calling. I just presumed it was one of my offspring wanting to know if I was serious when I said they had to clean their rooms while I ran to the store.
“Hello.”
“Hey Auntie.”
“Hey.” It took me a moment to register that while this was a child stalking me, it wasn’t one of my children. “How are you doing?” I asked all nicely, because I must maintain my image of being the world’s coolest auntie. Even if I was at the grocery store picking up tampons and bleach.
“Pretty good.” A man of few words. Just like his father, the Great White Hunter. Silence ensued.
“Um, Doodley, what can I do for you?” I prompted after several long moments of dead air.
“What is your car’s name?”
“Stella.”
“What is your truck’s name?”
“Bertha.”
“What is your washer and dryer’s name?”
“Karen and George.”
“What are the birds names?”
“Abe and Lester.” This was getting weird, I thought to myself as I perused the wall of toilet paper in front of me.
“What was your van’s name?”
“Um, Lucy.” Had to think about that one. It’s been a while since I had a van.
“What is the tractor’s name?”
Oh. Touchy subject. My husband has forbidden me to name the tractor, insisting grown ups don’t name farm machinery.
“Well, I when I’m not calling it a big pile of rusty crap, I call it Johnny Boy. Drives your uncle nuts.”
Silence. And then more silence. This was worse than the heavy breathing of a two-year-old.
“Um, Doodley?”
“Ya, auntie?”
“What’s with the 20 questions?”
“Well, Mom said you name all of your vehicles and things and I didn’t believe her.”
“Oh. Why not?”
“Well, the neighbour calls his cat Abby and I just thought that was a stupid name.”
I was totally following his train of thought. NOT.
“Abby is a nice name for a cat,” I countered.
“Ya, but you’re crazy. You name everything,” he pointed out.
“Aw Doodles. I’m glad you called long distance to tell me that. I love you too.”
“I know, Auntie. Love you. Bye.”
Click.
Fancy talking to you too, I thought to myself as I snapped the phone shut. Great. Now not only do I have my own children stalking me to drive me batty, but now I have other’s phoning me to tell me how insane I am.
And yet, here you are, trying to adopt more of them into the family, my brain sneered.
Yes brain, my heart countered. But we’re trying to adopt the ones who can’t figure out how to use the phone.
Oh heart, you’re so delusional. With your luck, even if the next one can’t work the phone you KNOW his or her siblings will simply hold the phone to their ear, just so they can breathe into it for you to listen to.
Shaddup, my heart huffed back.
Besides, my brain informed my heart all snottily, don’t you have enough kids in the world thinking your a lunatic? Do you really need more?
All the more to love, my delusional heart replied back.
Ya. I love kids. At least that is what one of the voices in my head tell me. The other voices are screaming at me to toss my cellphone into the trash and make a run for the border where no child can track me down to drive me insane.
Because, as my Doodley pointed out, I am already crazy. I don’t need any further prompting from a child to help me buy a pass to the looney bin.
The voices in my head are already driving me there.
April 9th, 2008 at 9:24 am
I’d be more concerned if you loved every minute of it, didn’t have voices in your head and never wanted to make a run for it.
Or at least it makes me feel better about myself.
Love your big heart RM. Can’t wait until there is another kiddo to benefit from it.
April 9th, 2008 at 9:26 am
Are you certain these adoption folks have a sense of humour about the voices in your head bit? Because some of them may have excruciatingly long sticks that make them unable to sit properly.
April 9th, 2008 at 9:32 am
It’s a good day that goes by when I’ve only muttered to myself, “I hate f$cking kids once.
There are so many ways to hate them. The extremes of insanity to which they repeatedly take me are just the starting point. My inability to convincingly relate the toll that these multiple trips to insanity, sometimes within an HOUR, take on my soul is said soul’s deepest frustration. It’s also said soul’s quest to describe it accurately and pithily, because that’s when I find my deepest relief. That and reading other mothers who get it right.
Creative complaining is my salvation!
April 9th, 2008 at 9:44 am
Bwahahahahaha!
April 9th, 2008 at 10:09 am
Some would argue that I’m have a few screws loose but I believe that when children call you crazy that’s actually a compliment.
Normal - bad
Crazy - good!
Call me anytime and I’ll have my children sing to you. “Ella Ella, eh eh eh, Under my umbrella”
April 9th, 2008 at 10:14 am
The only thing that keeps me sane sometimes is that I know one day I will be old and my children will have to fight it out over who has to wipe my ass!!!! I always tell them PAYBACK IS A BITCH!!! And I can be one helluva bitch at times!
April 9th, 2008 at 10:16 am
I don’t like too many kids - mostly just related ones I’m required to. I do have four of my own and would like to put your cell phone number on their speed dial.
Thankyouverymuch!
Kim
April 9th, 2008 at 10:43 am
ROFL!! Too good. I wonder at least three or four times each week why I have three kids, and why I want 6 more. I question my sanity. My mother also questions my sanity. Then one of them will hide their horns and do something so sneaky … er, wonderful that I momentarily forget why I’m upset, and by the time the cuteness spell has worn off, I’ve forgotten permanently. Those crafty little devils!!!
I think you’ll make a simply wonderful mom to a new addition … voices in your head and all!!
~Brea
April 9th, 2008 at 10:46 am
I hate kids.
Except my own.
And I really don’t like them all that much either.
*shrugs*
April 9th, 2008 at 12:57 pm
My daughter does the “hold the phone to the ear and breathe” thing whenever I’m talking to her mom.
She’s been doing it for half of her life now and she’s not yet one.
She just holds it to her ear, tilts her head down toward it, and SMILES.
It kills me every time.
April 9th, 2008 at 1:22 pm
Parents need to have a little crazy in them, otherwise they would go completely insane. Any child who comes into your family is so very lucky, the craziness, the love and the laughter, who could ask for anything more?
April 9th, 2008 at 1:31 pm
Hmmm…maybe I should name MY washer & dryer. Then maybe I’d be more incline to use the more often.
April 9th, 2008 at 3:22 pm
Hmm - we share the same insanity quirk with that naming thing. Why aren’t I surprized?
Anyhow, I know that I wouldn’t love reading you if the heart and brain agreed because I love nuts with my ice cream.
April 9th, 2008 at 3:35 pm
Be careful about those names you give the cars etc they can come back to haunt you I named my car then about 3 years later I ended up dating a guy with the same name and lets just say he was really confused when I yelled the name at the car cuz it wouldn’t start
April 9th, 2008 at 3:45 pm
Boy, if keeping fingers out of noses is a criteria, I guess you won’t be giving my Pumpkinpie any lovin’… Gah. I CANNOT make her stop! She thinks it’s hilarious now and smiles impishly at me as she digs. I keep thinking I have to post an SOS post and solicit suggestions that don’t involve removing her digits.
April 9th, 2008 at 3:46 pm
All of which goes to show that you actually are sane.
April 9th, 2008 at 4:04 pm
ya it’s nice when they grow up, then the give you grandchildren and it starts all over again!
April 9th, 2008 at 4:05 pm
I do love children, but spending time with them just about makes me weep blood.
Good thing I’m a stay-at-home mom, eh? No kids there.
April 9th, 2008 at 4:27 pm
Kids, gotta love them ’cause DFS (Division of Family Services) definitly frowns upon beating and/or maiming them. I have two and that is enough for me.
April 9th, 2008 at 5:05 pm
But wait! You need to name your heart and brain because CLEARLY there will be many more of these dialogs to come…!
April 9th, 2008 at 6:29 pm
So, I’m curious… what other inanimate objects with motors have names?
Wait. No, I’m not. Forget I asked that question.
April 9th, 2008 at 6:32 pm
I get revenge on my younger siblings who are now having their children by returning all the noisy toys they gave mine thinking they were ‘oh so cute and funny’.
April 9th, 2008 at 6:40 pm
That is one smart kid. You ARE out of your tree. But that’s why I love you.
Oh, and I’m willing to FedEx my kid to you if you need your fix of devil horns, spewed pea soup and dirty diapers. Just let me know and I’ll pack her up in bubble wrap for you.
April 9th, 2008 at 6:56 pm
Boo loves the phone. He loves to dial random (international) numbers and scream ‘Take out the trash!’ or call any number that is on the TV. Or the radio. Unfortunately his favourite string of numbers from the radio is the ‘mens help line’ for premature ejaculation. I try to explain to him that, at 9, he is too young to worry about such things but he doesn’t care. I wish I didn’t teach him our home address now cause I believe they are sending us a package…
April 9th, 2008 at 7:17 pm
When you get there - er, HERE - we can hang. I’ve made myself well at home in Crazyland.
April 9th, 2008 at 10:18 pm
You’re a fruitcake, you’re a teapot, you’re a sandwich short of a picnic. You have a few kangaroos loose in the top paddock.
And you’re not alone.
April 10th, 2008 at 8:04 am
oh my 3 year old LOVES the phone if she answers the phone shes very reluctant to give it to anyone else….and sometimes she puts it down and i find it off the hook.hahaha! should train her to answer when its telemarketers. that would teach them…
April 10th, 2008 at 8:09 am
Love your blog! I’m tagging you for Seven Things.
http://truthinsoliloquy.wordpress.com/2008/04/10/like-a-virgin/
April 10th, 2008 at 8:23 am
Our phone is a magnet. If I’m on it, no matter what the little people are doing, one or both inevitably ends up hovering and/or squawking as I try to talk.
As for your tendency to name things — I nickname all my editors. Makes going to work so much more entertaining.
April 10th, 2008 at 9:19 am
I make it a point to call the kids every night at bedtime if they are at their mother’s. Peanut is right at that age of either talking in gibberish or just breathing.
April 10th, 2008 at 9:26 am
The Breathers. Oh that made me laugh so freaking hard!
Without their voices dearest Redneck, I would go stark raving mad. I neeed their voices to fill me up. But they make me crazy as well.
You must be SO excited that you are going to meet me in two days!
April 10th, 2008 at 9:27 am
Oh. I call my Trans Am ‘Baby’. Even tho she is a low riding black devil.
April 10th, 2008 at 10:54 am
Loads of fun! We have a strict policy in our house to NEVER answer the phone. So tired of the endless ringing. Our machine picks up and our friends and relatives get annoyed and we answer whenever we freaken feel like it. Can’t imagine a cell phone in my pocket!
April 10th, 2008 at 1:05 pm
MAY THE FORESKIN BE WITH YOU?!?!?!
April 10th, 2008 at 7:06 pm
You’re not alone. Our vacuum, vehicles, lawn mower, and various body parts all have names. My husband started it and I totally thought it was a white trash habit. But it’s addictive.
April 11th, 2008 at 9:04 am
I adore my kids.
Just not all the time.
I’m someone who firmly believes in “absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
I think I would last less than a day if I were home-schooling. I am amazed that a human being could be a parent to their children, a wife to their husband, AND spend 8 hours a day teaching their kids schoolwork. I would commit hari kiri.
But some of my happiest moments come from being with my kids. They make me laugh. They are so hilarious. Here’s an example (and it’ll show you what a total heathen I am): My 9 year old is making a model of a church as a 3rd grade project and she had to name it.
So she says to me quite calmly, “Mami, my teachers laughed at me today.”
Me, “Oh really? Why’s that, honey?”
She gives me a quizzical look. “Coz I wanted to name my church THE CHURCH OF THE EVIL EYE.”
I almost peed my pants. Can you imagine the look on the teacher’s face?
Katrin
www.momstimeouts.com
April 13th, 2008 at 1:23 pm
Um, you said it waaaaaay better than I could have, but puhleaze go read my blog entries from last week when my nephews were left in my care for 7 days.
Because, you and I? Same brain.
But the verbage connection from your brain to your keyboard? Unparalleled.
You’re all I ever hope to be someday.
www.truthinsoliloquy.wordpress.com