Five-year-Old Interprets Baby Babble

Five-year-old interprets baby babble and it’s a miracle. No, it’s not, she’s barely advanced passed the baby babble stage, herself, so it’s a natural that she would be able to understand the “&%$#(*^%$#” her sister utters. Speaking of utters, I need an utter attached to a Guernsey, somewhere out back in a fence, with a very-very long hose attached to a sippy cup that the baby, almost 3-years-old now, carries all over the house with her. I’m going broke buying milk.

The baby, all 40-pounds of wiry mischief—though her mother swears she’s only 30 some-odd pounds—has been a royal pain this week. Obstinate, bull-headed, stubborn, none of these words accurately describe a child that could plow fields with the determination she possesses. I only thought her mother had a head made of molten steel; this kid has proven that a combination of her father and mother is a willful determined child, not to be toyed with. If she screams at me, one more time this week, her dad will find her duct taped to the wall and I will call CPS and report myself…good grief. Not only can she scream in decibel that cannot be measured with any known instrument, she can stand her ground like a bull ready to charge.

We take her with us, from time-to-time, and people coo over the little tousled-hair darling…if only they knew. She is, she’s perfectly adorable, a beautiful child with a wry sense of humor and a temper that the devil turned down. She’s part angel, part devil, and part concrete formed from some accidental spill that would not clean up. My daughter didn’t believe the child had a mean-streak until the little angel whacked her sister in the head with a mermaid tail on a fairly large doll. She doesn’t need a toy to split your ears and crater your brain, her scream, alone, will do nicely for that task.

My daughter jokes about duct-taping them to the wall when they misbehave, and it is just a joke, but honestly, wouldn’t it be nice if someone made a non-allergenic tape or Velcro piece you could attach to the children in need of disciplinary actions. Just stick that little sucker on the wall and tell them, “I’ll let you down, when you quit screaming at me.”

Meanwhile, back at the baby UN, we need an interpreter because she is stubbornly refusing to say her words clearly enough to be understood. Not sure everything her sister is telling me is factual, since yesterday, she claimed the baby wanted a spanking…yea, sure, that happens a lot.

I need Valium, a boat-load of rum, and a nap!!

Properly Beating One’s Wife

Image from Creeping Sharia

A friend posted this on the Facebook wall. It’s an Imam giving instructions on how to properly beat your wife. My comment on the post was, “If I find my husband reading or listening to something like that, he had better hope they included a chapter on How to Outrun Your Wife” because the fight would be “ON.”

There’s a reason that deeply religious Muslims don’t marry Irish women; we don’t lie down and roll over. You hit us, and you have the fight of your life on your hands. In my particular case, with the instant menopause brought on by surgical removal of my femaleness, its best, most days, not to even look at me. My husband, to his credit, was raised Pentecostal, saving him the pain and embarrassment of ever thinking of “wife beating” as a marital disciplinary-action. In other words, he hasn’t met my fry pan, because good sense and religious raising spared him a hefty whop over the head.

The first Mr. Me wasn’t quite so bright and when I got fed up, he ended up between a desk, the corner of the wall, and sitting over a trash can. It was the last time he thought about hitting or knocking me around. He and I parted ways when word of all the women keeping him happy, got back to me. There’s another big “no-no” with me. I’m just stubborn enough to believe that if some other woman is keeping you happy, she might as well be doing your laundry and taking care of the rest of your needs.

Of course, that’s not to say I don’t ever have bruises, in fact, bruises have become a portion of my body’s make up. I’m exceedingly clumsy, therefore, I don’t need a man beating on me, I can even do that myself. There was a case, on television, that my husband and I had been watching and listening to that included accusations of spousal abuse; one of the woman’s children said she was abused, while the other said she was clumsy. I turned to my husband and said, “You know, my kids would testify that you didn’t beat me either, because they know I’m clumsy.”

They ended up convicting the woman of murdering her husband because there was no proof, other than the one child, that showed any history of abuse by the dead man. Personally, I think when two people can no longer get along, don’t love each other, or have found another person they think will make them happy, then they should simply divorce. No need for violence, just walk away with your body, soul, and pride intact.

As to disciplinary actions when a spouse has become errant, check to make sure all fry pans, sharp knives, and those handy little six shooters can be accounted for, before deciding that a beating is in order. The option to not being sure could be your name in the headlines of tomorrow’s paper, accompanied by a nice obituary in the back-pages of the daily news.

Nuclear Meltdown and Radiation

http://www.wikipedia.com

Yes, there is excessive nuclear waste in the air, I can feel it, and my eyelids are growing. What’s more, my ears have strangely developed super hearing and my toes are dancing on the floor. Remarkable, isn’t it?

I’m wondering, which will kill us first, nuclear waste, government interference, or fear? I’m betting on fear being the first to pay the reaper.

There most certainly are unusual levels of radiation over Fukushima’s nuclear plant...all that nuclear fuel was meant to be contained, but now…well, yea, it’s out. What are the nuclear levels? I don’t know and apparently, between sources, either people’s limbs are falling off, crops are being poisoned, or there’s nothing to worry about. That’s the problem, the sources.

Here’s the deal; we all care what happens to the Japanese and I think most worry and send prayers up for them, but its a million miles away from where I live and it’s certain that no one, in any country, has much faith in the governing powers. There’s supposed to be a plant, along the Missouri River, that is flooded and dangers exist that it could radiate us all into “glow-stage” but according to “sources,” the media has placed a black out on the news surrounding the plant.

If my squash, in the garden, develops legs and begins to talk, I’m going with the idea that maybe, just maybe, there’s a little too much radiation in the atmosphere around my home. As long the squash don’t talk, the maters don’t attack, and the peppers don’t take on a personality of their own, I’m going to wonder if there really is a plant leaking anywhere on the American continent.

You see, we won’t notice anything is amiss, if we are forced to go by our local news station, because bad hair, poor choices in clothing, and un-edited scripts are a staple of the local news. If the anchor were delivering a bit on nuclear waste and his/her arm fell off, she suddenly began to stutter, or some tragedy—not that the station is not a tragedy of poor proportions, already—were to occur, my husband and I would just say, “Well, that’s a new one.”

So, if I see a herd of cows leading a pack of dogs down the road out front, or the neighbor suddenly quits appearing in her backyard when my husband mows, then I might think the nuclear radiation has arrived. Until then, I’ll simply assume that running up and down the road, yelling, “The sky is falling, the sky is falling,” is a-bit that’s more suited to the talents of Chicken Little.

Unfortunately, I’m more concerned about surviving an irritated 2 (almost 3-year-old) until her daddy or mommy arrives to relieve me of the task. That’s another 3 and a half to four hours away, right now…do you really want to know what fear is, try it… you’ll love it.

It’s Me, No Really, It’s Me

“Mrs. Farrell, Mrs. Farrell, your daughter’s out in the drive and she done got rocks stuck up her nose!” These were the words of a lady that had babysat us from time-to-time and I was the daughter with the rocks stuck up my nose. Don’t ask me why I would do such a thing; I was only 3 or 4-years-old. If the rocks up my nose seem strange to you, then what about the fact that I was this little kid, playing outside, by myself? That’s the thought I always had when mom would tell this particular story.

I remember waking up when I was not much older than my granddaughter Alyssa—almost 5-years-old—and being within inches of the floor furnace. Do I know why? Nope, haven’t a clue, but I do know mom would tell people about it as if it was the most natural thing in the world for a kid to do. We lived in a house with floor furnaces, when our children were small, and I would threaten them within an inch of their lives if they got near the things, but not my mom. I often wonder if she thought, ‘Oh well, we have five kids, what’s the harm?’

I can remember my mom introducing my sisters and me, “These are my three beautiful, smart daughters, Duhha, Durhee, and Diddee, and this is Donna, she can draw.” It was rather like, “Yes, we do have to let her out of the closet from, time-to-time.” Mom and I were always like fire and ice. Not the best relationship a girl or woman can have with their mom. Most of the really, really stupid things I did, while growing up, I did to irritate her.

Mom was right, I could draw, and I stopped drawing because it seemed to be the only thing she ever really knew about me, but it was never enough. I was my father’s child, with his ability to hide  feelings within myself. However, while my dad was out-going, never met a stranger, and had the rare talent for telling people “How the cow ate the cabbage” I was very introverted and shy. If I had not been, it’s doubtful I would have lived to see life after mom.

But, I learned a lot from watching my mom interact with other people and the lessons, once learned, stuck with me through life. Mom taught us that it was impolite to make a scene in public, and then she would proceed to do what she had taught us not to do. She was the worlds worst for making a scene in public and she was right, it was extremely impolite, and worse, it was embarrassing.

She was, and still is somewhere behind the mask of Dementia, one of the smartest women one could ever know, but she had a temper. My dad and I could set her on edge without really trying. Making mom mad, didn’t require a great stroke of genius, on my part, just my presence was enough to do it, most days. It’s not as if it was all bad, sometimes she really didn’t like me…and as an adult, I learned that her silence was my piece of mind.

 I believe that children learn everything their parents teach them, but are not always willing or able to be the person the parent wants them to be. My brother and I have had psychological discussions about things…neither of us is a psychologist, yet we have come up with some interesting theories pertaining to the “Whys” that lead to children growing up in the same house, with the same parents, and the same set of rules, and turning out so differently. We agree that exterior forces have the most impact on the differences, friends, and environments that one might find themselves in that the other does not, also figure in to the theories.

And perhaps, the last reason; not all children are treated the same by their parents. While dad always treated me as if I were one of the kids, mom treated me as if I had a learning disorder and was a thing to be ashamed of, so I reacted in kind. If drawing were the only thing good that I ever accomplished it occurred to me, at some point, that it was not worthwhile. I still draw, occasionally, but more in cartoon form and most often when making fun of myself. It’s my sense of humor, finally unleashed, after all these years.

Strong Women?

http://www.wikipeida.com

After the disastrous news conference with Anthony wiener this morning, I wondered is his wife a strong woman, a determined woman, or a woman thrown into a situation and trying desperately to survive. Not only has her husband, of less than a year, been embroiled a nasty scandal with other women—the most hurtful deceit a man can cause—but her family, and her religious beliefs have come under fire, as well.

There’s an old saying, “Don’t kick a dog when he’s down” and it should apply to any woman or man dealing with a cheating spouse. I’m thoroughly disgusted with those in the media that have attacked her, as well as her husband. He deserves the attack, she does not. She has been out of the country—likely by choice because Hillary should be  the most understanding boss about such things—and has only recently returned to a firestorm, made worse by her husband, his activities, and his lies. So why is the media attacking her?

Her mother and some other relative are related to those within the Muslim Brotherhood…guilt by association does not work where religion is concerned. I have relatives that are Pentecostal, Baptist, Presbyterian, and several other religions, but it has little to do with my marriage or my husband. Hers is not guilt, but possibly a bad mistake in judgment that has hit her, at a very sensitive time; she’s pregnant. Huma Abedin is a victim of her husband’s inability to keep his personal problems private, not a person that deserves any of the ugliness being thrown at her.

Hillary Clinton put herself on the spot when Slick Willy got caught with his pants down, and she stood beside him; it’s an admirable trait, but she wanted more from his career than he did, so the slurs that might have been tossed her way were her doing. Ms. Abedin has chosen to stand back and it is “likely” her way of doing the best she can to deal with an awful situation. Hillary is a very strong woman, even to those of us that do not like her. She was able to handle the misfortunes in her family with some sense of dignity.

Hillary has been far-from alone where infidelity and marriage are concerned. Elizabeth Edwards has reached out from the grave to settle the problems that she and John Edwards experienced. I truly admire that lady, she sank his battle ship from beyond…but other women have been strong, in so many different ways, and they too should be commended for their strength and determination. For Ms. Abedin, we should all hope for her life to be made easier by those around her. The media should leave her where she has chosen to be; in the background.

If I am the Prize…

I remember thinking many years ago, ‘If I’m the prize, it wasn’t much of a contest.’ It’s a thought that would come to me every time my second husband accused me of doing something with some imagined lover. He had a problem and he transferred that problem onto me…in fact, he did it so often, that I began to think there was something seriously wrong with me.

People that know me, either love me or hate me, there doesn’t seem to be any “in-between” and I don’t mind that. Because I realized it, early on, I came up with another little ditty that covers that too, “Everybody loves me. They either love to love me, or they love to hate me, but I have it all covered.” Some things you cannot change, and I cannot change giving an honest answer to a sincere question. With some people, people that believe they have to be right, all the time, it’s unsavory to hear someone disagree with them, with others, it’s just an opinion. To me, it’s just an opinion. However, there are opinions and emotions that do true damage to any relationship; jealousy and anger are two that are difficult to deal with, particularly in a marriage or long-term relationship.

When my second husband and I were grocery shopping, we might meet someone and that person might begin a conversation. My husband never minded me talking to people that I didn’t know as long as they were female. “Talking to men that you don’t know, even when your husband is with you, is very cheap” he would say. If the man were someone that we both knew, it was alright for me to talk to them, but if he didn’t know them, then I looked like a “Whore" talking to a man he didn’t know. Jealousy becomes a way to control another person’s actions; under whatever circumstance the other person feels it is necessary. He knew that if he could make me feel cheap, make me feel bad about myself, that it would make me think twice about talking to someone he didn’t know or didn’t like—in some cases.

 I never found the right way to deal with his problem, but I do know it was his problem and not mine—that part took time to realize. I also know that jealousy is a manipulative emotion and it causes more harm than any other emotion in the great realm of human interaction. My second husband was never physically abusive, until the chemotherapy took his mind. He didn’t have to be, he was always emotionally abusive, and that left deep scars. You don’t  have to be a beautiful woman to have an emotionally controlling husband. It can happen to anyone, and it has happened more times than most people are willing to talk about, even among women.

Sunshine, Brutal Heat, and a Great Texas Summer

Asleep at last. Looks sweet, doesn't she?

The grandchildren and I have been enjoying the sun, the heat, and the best days in Texas. Of course, after an hour or so, we head back in the house and eat lunch, then back outside to have more fun. I enjoy watching them run, blow bubbles with their little bubble toys, and toss dirt all over themselves while digging for sandcastles. Today, they had a scavenger hunt and returned with acorns, empty snail shells, leaves, and grassy-weeds. I told the older granddaughter that she had the makings of a bird nest—that came back to haunt me when they attempted to make a bird nest in the living room floor. Happy, happy, joy, joy, “clean that mess up” I yelled, not realizing what they were doing.

The baby has an allergy to the outdoor life, as I’ve discovered, it makes her crabby. It’s not an illness; she simply does not want to go back inside and becomes fairly aggravating when she’s made too. It’s been a week of afternoon fights as she throws fits, refuses to sit still with the other children to watch cartoons, and has decided that I can no longer make her take a nap. If it’s a test of wills, I’m losing, big time!

The older children seem to notice the heat more than the baby and are ready to go in within an hour’s time…and I’m grateful because I’m not good with the heat either. We played three games of Wii Golf this afternoon and I don’t know about them, but I’m worn out. For the most part, they’ve been demanding snacks and trying my patience with rough-housing and moping…LOL…ah, summer time!!