Boston.

My kids listen to everything. ‘What are you talking about?’ is a question anyone who has hung out with us will have heard.

And Tuesday morning I heard it, ‘What are you talking about, Mama?’

So I said it. ‘There was a bomb in a city called Boston. Some people got hurt when it exploded.’

Silence.

‘What?’

‘Some bad people exploded a bomb, and it hurt other people. They had to go to the hospital for help.’

‘And the police came? To help?’

‘Yes.’

And off he scampered to play.

I’ve seen lots of posts about how to talk to your kids about tragedy. Surely we should talk to the the way we talk to them about anything – honestly, age appropriately, with clear language. Answer their questions. Don’t add anything unnecessary or confusing if it is a difficult topic and your child is very young, but don’t assume that because they are very young they cannot understand or empathise.

Just my opinion.

Keeping it real.

If you are matter of fact, kids don’t question shit. Case in point:

I’m observing bathtime. Snort splashes water in Coco’s eyes.

Coconut: OW. My EYES. Ow, Mama, ow!

Me: Are you okay? I can’t touch you right now, my hand is dirty.

Snort: What is that little cup?

Me: Every now and then, grown up ladies have blood come out their vaginas. So I use this little cup to catch the blood.

Snort: Oh.

Coconut (who has been listening and totally calm and fine): Oh, okay.

Coconut: MY EYES!!

Act two: the pillow vagina.

Last night’s entry took place just before bathtime. Seconds after I wrote it both kids ran in for a last second conversation.

Snort: Baby out, baby sad.

Me: the baby’s sad when it comes out?

TMD: they do cry a lot.

Snort: baby cold.

Me: Yes, the baby might be cold. The mama needs to give it a big cuddle to help warm it up.

Coconut: And a kiss. And boo boo (breastmilk). Milkies makes babies feel all better, and really happy too.

They had a bath. While TMD was still with Coconut, Snort ran back in.

Snort: Snort help baby out.

Me: I don’t have a baby in my tummy right now, honey.

He runs out and returns twenty seconds later with a babydoll.

He climbs on the bed and layers three pillows, placing the baby on the far side.

Snort: Snort help! Pull baby. Pull!

He reaches up into the pillow vagina and carefully guides the baby out.

He clasps her to his chest, face shining.

Snort: Baby cold. Wrap up baby.

He wraps his muslin around the doll and cuddles her.

Snort: Baby out! Hard. Pull! Wrap up. Baby happy.

——-

Our friend Aussie is currently pregnant, and we talk often about their planned visit. Coconut says she wants to help with the new baby. Even prior to these discussions, both kids often talk about a baby in my tummy and wanting a baby in the family.

A far cry from TMD, who at age two apparently refused to talk or interact with her mother for months because she brought home a little brother!

While Snort’s midwifery was strangely interventionist (!), I think the kid is determined to get a baby here No Matter What and As Quickly As Possible!

Bless.

A one act play.

Myself and Snort are on my bed.

Snort: Baby. Baby Mama’s tummy.

Me: There’s a baby in my tummy?

Snort: Yeah. Baby tummy. Mussie. Baby sad.

He pulls out the neck of my shirt and puts his muslin (his comforter) down my shirt onto my belly.

Snort: Baby better! Happy!

Coconut and TMD walk in.

Snort: Come on, Doctor!

(Coconut has a doctor case and spends most of every day fixing people and animals, helping them feel better.)

Snort: Come on! Baby tummy. He gestures toward my crotch. Mama, push! Push hard.

TMD: Jesus, they’ve seen too many of your shows with you.

Mornings.

Me: Sitting on toilet.

Coconut: Poop? Walks over, puts a hand on my butt and tries to move me over so she can look in the toilet. Poop? Poop.

Me: Yes, Mama pooped. Do you want to see? I get up.

Coconut: Very intently looks at my poop. Poop!

Me: Snort, do you want to see the poop in the potty?

Snort: Yeah. Manages to look utterly careless while he runs to the toilet and stares in.

Me: Stands and lets them look, all the while ready at a half-second’s notice to whip my hand out and grab anything if they try to throw it in. Okay, guys, Mama needs to clean her butt now.

Conversations, 2012 style.

Mom: Existere, are you going to teach your children about God?

Me: No.

Mom: Deep silence. Wow, no wonder the world is coming to an end.

(And people wonder why I think so highly of myself. Come on, guys, my mom leads me to believe I am solely responsible for the possible coming apocalypse.)

Conversations.

My fb status last night: Existere Awesome has cracked 11,000 words. She’s well into the second decade of her nano novel.

TMD’s comment: Yay!

My comment: You are the best wife I ever had, TMD.

Fast forward to a couple of hours later. I’ve just come into the lounge for something.

Me: I left you a little message on my fb status!

TMD: I know, I saw it. That’s why I came in to say hi to you earlier. That was really nice.

Me: I didn’t say it to be nice, I said it because it’s true.

….

Me: Though technically, I could hate you and it would still be true.

….

Me: I smell a blog post!!

TMD has pleurisy.

Me: Shit. Everyone on Twitter is saying this can turn into pneumonia really easily. I bet you could have walking pneumonia right now.

TMD: Walking pneumonia? You made that shit up.

Me: No, we have it in Country A. I think it’s like, uh, you’ve got pneumonia but it’s not terrible pneumonia yet, so you are still walking around and going about your business.

TMD: You’ve got walking crazy.

Bathtime/bedtime conversations.

People in Country B spend a lot of time lying to people. But it’s classy lying, done in fun. For instance, TMD once told CurlyGirl that there were no elevators in Country B. These lie-stories are told for sport. Before I got wise to the fact that the rest of my life would be spent being made a fool of by my wife (or, indeed, learning to make a fool out of her – remind me to tell you about the soapnuts), she told me that ‘knock on wood’ was originally ‘touch the tooth.’ You know, that people had rotten teeth replaced by wooden pegs, and would touch them for luck.

Me: I don’t know why she’s crying. She’s not hungry. I think she’s tired.

TMD: And that crazy tooth is about to come through.

Me: I guess it does sound like an angry pain cry. I tell you, that tooth has been on the edge so long that when it comes through it had better be magic.

TMD: It could b-

Me: Or her gums are made of old leather.

TMD: It could be the original incarnation of ‘touch the tooth.’

Me: A wooden tooth, yes, that would be hard to come through.

Cue more angry crying. I walk into the lounge.

Me: You know what would be gross?? If all their teeth in the front were rainbow. Like one red, one orange, etc.

TMD: Ugh. Or maybe they are like Indigo Children -

Me: Hey, I was just gonna say that!

TMD: and their teeth are crystals. Rainbow crystals.

Me: Stunned silence.

TMD: Or what about gemstones?? ‘This tooth is rose quartz, it’s a sign of her creativity.’ That’s so gross. I’d rather they have rainbow crystal teeth.

Me: I need to write this down in my blog.

Me: Type type type.

TMD: Hey, today my hands started bleeding. Out of nowhere – it was like fucking stigmata.

Me: ….

Titanic conversations.

Me’ feels she has to share her disturbing feelings about a certain movie and get some reassurance.

Me: I’m just thinking about that scene in Titanic with the Irish lady and the…

TMD: What? What scene?

Me: You know, in the movie Titanic, the mum knows she’s not going to get her or her kids out from below deck, so she..

TMD: I am just thinking about that Irish lady we saw at the park today.

Me: Yeah, well, anyway – the Irish lady sees she’s not going to get her boy and her girl out, and so she takes them back into their room, tucks them into bed, and tells them a lovely story. But she knows they are all about to die.

TMD: Starts crying.

Me: What? What are you….are you okay?

TMD: Still crying. Why would you tell me that? That’s a horrible thing to tell someone.

Me: Thinking, I know, that’s why I told you. I wanted to say that wouldn’t it be awful to pass your baby through the gate and never know if they’ll survive, but you know you’ll die….but they probably will survive and that’s all that matters. Um, I just thought you would know that scene. I’m sorry.

TMD: I am hot, and tired, and emotional. I did not know that scene; I’ve seen the movie only one time. That is a horrible thing. Begins to cry again. I don’t know why you would tell me that. Grabs a baby from me and throws them in the bathtub, grabs the other kid and says, Your mama just told me a horrible story.

Me: …..Feels a terrible urge to laugh, even while still worrying about the boat going down scenario and the chance to save your child. Or the even worse one of knowing you’re all about to die, but trying to stay calm and make your children feel safe, loved, and happy.

TMD: Bathes children.

Me: Writes blog entry.

TMD: (in bathroom) I just love you guys. Starts crying again. I love you so much. You are the best babies ever, and I love you more than anything.

Me: Feels distinctly uncomfortable about writing about this, and clicks ‘save to drafts.’

——-

10 minutes later

TMD: You made me feel really uncomfortable with that story you told me.

Me: I wrote a blog entry about it.

TMD: I thought you would.