Skip to main content

"na na we do, is he talking Spanish, mama?"

As I zone out and prepare supper, I always flip the radio on and listen to the drive home show or the news.  I find it really relaxing to let someone else do the talking.  I've had to re-evaluate this practise a bit since I've had kids for two very different reasons.  For my son, he seems to have a knack for picking up little snippets that he hears and launching into surprising lines of questioning. The other day, he exclaimed, "I just heard him say "they cannot find his head"".  

In my daughter's case, she not only tunes out the radio, but also, ever since she was little, me turning the radio on, was like a challenge to her to begin speaking or to speak louder.  When we are driving she prefers that if someone is going to talk, it should be us doing it not someone on the radio.

My son, on the other hand, will exclaim with delight, "Canada day! Mama, they just said Canada day on the radio" or incredulousness, "sell-off-vacations????"  Occasionally, there is a brief lull in the conversation and the radio, which has been quietly playing in the background, is suddenly the loudest thing in the room.  "The plane was shot down" echoes out into the room.  My daughter proceeds to begin loudly planning our next lemonade stand and my son starts down another path.  "The plane was shot down!?"  "With a gun mama? Why would they shoot down a plane? I want to fly a helicopter."



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Small Craft

I accompanied my mother-in-law to an appointment this week. On the paper, preparing her for the appointment, it invited her bring along something to read or a small craft. As soon as I heard about this invitation to bring a small craft into an otherwise austere waiting area, my mind started to do bouncing somersaults in many different directions. Googly eyes? Glue gun? Feathers? Play clay? Friendship braclets?

The words coming out of my mouth

  These days I wear a mask. I don't wear a mask all of the time, only when I am indoors or unavoidably up close with people who I don't usually interact with.  I wear one when I am ordering things, or buying things or attempting to enjoy some form of public entertainment.  I cannot rely on reading others lips. My lips are hidden. We ask each other to repeat.  We move our eyes or our whole heads to try and enunciate more clearly.  I say fewer words, more carefully chosen words behind the mask. Sometimes that is helpful, sometimes that just causes more confusion. I walked into the woods. I did not need a mask.  I only saw a few other people and they were distanced. Masks were unnecessary. After so much talking and not talking and avoiding talking out loud I am forced to examine when I speak and when I choose not to. This is not a bad thing since I can be an insufferable chatter box, just a new thing for my brain to adjust itself to. When I am not standing aro...

Bringing her back

 As the first anniversary finally passed, I exhaled.  The sadness still nibbled away at the edges, but not clawing deep into my chest like it had been with varying degrees of ferocity in the twelve months previously.  She died in early summer, so I plunged into ocean and lakes and ate fruit straight from the plant.  The grief became softer, the folk songs carried me along in the potato patch we planted in therapy. But then, I started to miss her.  The deep grief kept her so close and now as the pressure eased, so did her presence.  I held my breath and decided to be really sad this morning just to see her face.  To sit in her prescence.  My breath became jagged as I cried for her, for us.   This Taylor Swift cover  by Marc Maron broke me right open this morning.  Here's to staying broken open enough to keep your loved ones close. And then, I walked into her garden. The garden she envisionied, planted over and over and still pre...