Off to Bad LauguageVille

Mimi AKA Brenda is being carried off to Bad LanguageVille

Where do you stand on raucous, naughty, semi-bad or down-right gross language? I’m forced to ponder this issue anew because of grandchildren.

When we discovered only half of our Christmas tree made the move from Raleigh and Lexington, grandson Tristan and I set out to buy a new one on a rainy cold Sunday afternoon. What was I thinking? Michael’s, the arts and craft store, was packed and a little boy’s wonderland of distraction.

After we had accomplished our goal and a dear-to-my-heart employee helped us get the tree into the car, I turned to Tristan in the back seat and said, “We did it! Tristan and Mimi bought the new Christmas tree and we got a big ass tree!”

Appalled, he shouted, “Off to Bad Languageville. Population: YOU!”

I like bad language. It expresses my feelings sometimes when nothing else will. I get annoyed with my carrot-up-the-butt friend (who shall remain nameless to protect the guilty) when he chastises every use of a colorful word.

When my children were pre-teens, I explained to them, “Language is neither moral nor immoral. But it is appropriate and inappropriate to particular situations.” Of course, they had to push the limits of my explanation most significantly by dropping the f-bomb to their great aunt, a retired missionary. So much for that parenting technique.

I’m currently reading Stephen King’s book titled, On Writing. He likes bad language more than I do. Does that make him less a writer? Less a person? Less a parent? I ponder these things.

We’ve even reached the point that we have words that are used at Mimi and Pappa’s house but not at school or church. Tristan told me he knew so much about the Noah’s Ark story he even knew the “freakin’ pigeons” built their house on the top of the ark. I reminded him that freakin’ is not a church word. He said, “It’s not a bad word, Mimi.” He’s right, but I still reminded him that it is not a school or church word. Are you drawing arbitrary lines between school, church, profession, writing and personal words?

What do you think? Do you also reside in Bad LanguageVille?  

Yes, Art Linkletter, Kids STILL Say the Darndest Things - Part Two

Husband John AKA Pappa-razzi says every weekend when we have Tristan overnight, “Are you writing these down?” He means all the cute, amazing comments Tristan comes up with on an hourly basis.

When we drop him back at his house, I ask his Mommy, “Where in the world does this kid get these comments?”

She replied, “Welcome to my world. I ask myself every day, ‘where did he get that?’”

A sampling:

He awakened in our bed Easter morning and I asked, “Do you want to get up now and go wish Pappa a Happy Easter.” He answers, “No, let’s just lie here and enjoy this Easter moment.” I didn’t even know 5 year olds had “Easter moments.”

We had a conversation about tears because he saw me putting eye drops in and asked what they were. I explained and went on to joke about them being tears of joy because he was spending the night. I asked if he had ever cried tears of joy just because something was so wonderful, joyful or emotional. He didn’t have to blink an eye before responding, “Yes, in the movie Mee-Shee because the music was so beautiful!” He was speaking of Jim Henson’s movie, Mee-Shee: The Water Giant. I have no idea how long ago he saw that movie but it was recent. Music moves his soul and he can tell you about it.

One of my recent favorites was the story he told me about asking the cafeteria lady, “Do these muffins have mosquitoes in them, because I’m allergic to mosquitoes.” He said it took the lunch ladies a couple of minutes to know it was a joke!

Tristan knows his Uncle Mark—never mind that Uncle Mark died three years before Tristan was born. For example, we were at Applebee’s one evening when Tristan ordered French Fries and an order of bacon. I ordered potato skins which, of course, had bacon on them. I said, “Tristan, look we’re having the same thing, potatoes and bacon. What else do we both like?”

Without missing a beat, he replies, “We both love Uncle Mark.” Yes, he melts my heart on a daily basis.

Another Uncle Mark episode began with a discussion about ghosts, Tristan current and seemingly only fear.

“Mimi, do you believe in ghosts?”

“It depends on what you mean by ghosts. If you mean the state of the human body when someone has died and gone on to heaven, then, yes, I believe in ghosts. And I’ll tell you a secret I have told very very few people. Shortly after Uncle Mark’s death, he was sitting in that very rocker and said to me, ‘Mom, I’m okay. Don’t worry.’”

Tristan took this in and shortly afterwards went to the bathroom. He came back all excited and said, “Mimi, Uncle Mark was in the bathroom and told me he was okay in heaven.”

What do you say in response to that?

And then he shows up the next weekend saying in a New Jersey accent, “What am I? Chopped li-vah?”

Yes, Art, kids still say the darndest things.

Which Wolf Is Motivating You?

Photo by John Lynner Peterson AKA Pappa-razzi

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, "My son, the battle is between two wolves inside every one of us.

One is Evil: It is anger, envy, jealousy, conceit, sorrow, hatred, greed, arrogance, self-pity, resentment, inferiority, lies, pride, lust, superiority, and ego.

The other is Good: It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith."

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: "Which wolf wins?

The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."

The Conductor

The third vocational option for Tristan is conductor. Pappa and I took him to the children’s concert of the Lexington Philharmonic. We sat in a box that partially overlooked the stage and the pit. He asked, “Are those black curtains going to open up and people will come out in costumes?”

“No, Tristan, this is a concert not a play or musical,”  Mimi replies.

“Ok, then I’m not going to like it. I will be bored.”

“Let’s listen to the few pieces that will be played before the drum ensemble which is what we thought you would like. Then if after the drums you want to go home, we will go home.”

“It’s a deal, Mimi.”

We were only one piece into the drum program when he proclaimed, “I like this!” And we stayed to the end.

Tristan sings in the children’s choir of our church. Dress rehearsal for their first Sunday morning to sing came right after our philharmonic experience. All during the rehearsal, Tristan conducted his teacher.

His teacher waited to get him alone after rehearsal, bent down to his level and with the gentleness of a warm puppy pointed out to him that there can be only one conductor and that she was the one. She pointed out that he forgot to sing when he was conducting and distracted other children. He looked into her eyes with the sweetest, most innocent face and declared, “Sometimes I just go overboard.”

Conductor, NASCAR driver or museum curator? Stay tuned.

The Museum Curator

Photo by John Lynner Peterson AKA Pappa-razzi

In addition to NASCAR driver, Tristan creates an awesome museum and plays the role of museum director himself. One day when we arrived at his house, he adopted the museum director’s all-knowing voice and gave us a tour of the museum. The museum director also carries himself in a proper way with hands behind his back and an officious gait to assure you know who’s in charge. The museum houses the traditional dinosaurs and historical exhibits using all Tristan’s soldiers and props. The tour displays the length and width and breadth of his knowledge and takes hours and several rooms of the house to create.

Since still in the mood for museum directing when we had to leave his house, Tristan pretended the entire city comprised his museum as we drove to our destination. From the back seat, we hear his imitation of a grown-up voice describing every building, fire plug and tree. We play along and ask questions of “the director.” He hesitates but a moment with an officious, “Wellll, that fire plug is painted yellow and green instead of red because school children wanted to paint it that way.” He never lacked an answer regardless of the question. All the world is Tristan’s museum.

Pappa and I were most impressed with one of the exhibits back at the house. A memorial he built to dead soldiers. Remember this six year old museum director’s Daddy is a Marine who lost friends in Iraq and Afghanistan. A cardboard box rested on the floor with a child’s plastic chair on it and atop that is a rider-less motorcycle. The museum director, in his compassionate but professional voice, informed us that the box contained the belongings and memories of the soldier who was killed in war. 

The NASCAR Manager

Tristan ponders his vocational choices

Creative play forms the basis for all vocational dreams. Which really makes me ponder whether grandson Tristan will be the next Dario Franchitti on the NASCAR circuit, by the Executive Director of the Smithsonian or conduct our local philharmonic. His current preferences for spending his play time gives no hint of which way he will turn.

As NASCAR driver he requires the services of the “manager” none other than yours truly, his Mimi. He prefers Mimi as “manager,” who really does the job of announcing, because I capture his imagination about how race day excitement and events might unfold., “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to NASCAR. You are in for the most exciting day in racing and you will not be disappointed!” His preference for Mimi has nothing to do with my knowledge of NASCAR, cars in general or aerodynamic properties. It’s all about drama and the glib tongue.

Based on the engaging Cars movie and Cars 2, Tristan’s cast metal and plastic cars all possess personalities and moral characteristics. We line them up, sort them into categories and make a place for the pit crew and for President Barack Obama’s limousine and entourage. Tristan always gets to be Lightning McQueen and win every race. Losing is not one of Tristan’s self-identities at this point in his life. So we set up the race in Mimi and Pappa’s living room, family room, kitchen, breakfast room and hall way. It’s takes a lot of real estate to create NASCAR.

At some point in our early days, I must have referred to the attendees as “folks.” It stuck. The watchers of the race henceforth are called “folks.” He divides the cars into various countries usually according to style of cars---these designations zoom over Mimi’s head---but I can always expect Japanese, Chinese, British and Italian cars.

So the “manager” has to develop, at minimum, a British, Italian and Oriental accent because I voice most all characters. The bad guy/car, Francesco got in trouble yesterday. He broke one of the rules of NASCAR and the “manager” called for an investigation, penalty and fine. I must have been on a roll as Francesco’s angry mother who attended the race. I ranted and raved in my best Italian accent. So well, in fact, that Tristan broke character and inquired, “Mi---------mi, are you mad at me or are you still being Francesco’s mommy?” Guess I played my part well.

My little NASCAR fan also confuses whether the driver breaking the rules has to be accountable to the track rules or his mommy. Guess we know where is locus of authority still rests.

Genetics

A friend pointed out to me this week an article on new research that Tiger parenting does little to change the genetic bent your child arrived with. Another friend reminded me years ago that in his opinion parents always take too much credit and too much blame for whom their children become. I am forced to admit I constantly see the strong thread of genetics in my children and grandchildren in both positive and negative ways. I’m learning to embrace the reality of the blood lines and enjoy the journey.

Leadership runs strong and steady on the Sims side of my family. Grandson Tristan, six years old, proved this week the leadership gene has been passed to the next generation. Like his father and me, Tristan can be easily distracted. So his wise teacher came up with a fabulous solution. When expected to do independent work and unable to focus, Tristan is now encouraged to raise his hand and let his teacher know that he would like to move to his “office.” His office is the teacher’s table in the back of the room away from the hustle and bustle. Rather than feeling isolated or disciplined, Tristan assumes this is a place of honor and leadership and “acts professional and adult-like in his office.” You can see in the picture that he is large and in-charge.

It didn’t take long to remember an incident from his father’s childhood that exhibited leadership too. A dear friend of mine, who was retired from teaching, accepted a substitute day at my son Sims’s kindergarten. As she began to make the snack that morning, Sims told her, “You’re not doing it right. That’s not the way Mrs. Todd does it.”

She replied in her best teacher-ly voice, “Sims, Mrs. Todd is not here today and this is the way I do the snacks.”

Sims turned to the class of 25 kindergarteners and said, “Ok, everybody who doesn’t like the way she is doing the snack raise your hand.”

My friend who had taught for forty years said she knew in an instant that she had mutiny on her hand. Most all the children had raised their hands and Sims was now in charge of the class.

The genetic line certainly flowed through me also. My deceased husband supported my volunteerism when I didn’t work a “real” job. But he decried at one point, “Can’t you just be a member of an organization without being president of every group you’re part of?” The answer was, “No, I’m a leader and leaders lead.”

My Grandma Sims was taken to a nursing home at age 80 with Alzheimer’s disease. She thought she was being taken there to run the place! My sons exclaimed when they heard this story, “That’s exactly the way you’ll be, Mom!”

  

Lessons from Tristan Robert Bartella on his Sixth Birthday

 Photo by John Lynner Peterson AKA Pappa-razzi

Tristan has been six for some time now because most of the time when he was five, he would say, “I’m five years old but I’m six on the inside.” When asked how old he would be after today he says, “I’m six but I’ll let you know when I’m seven on the inside.” So I guess for today, he is content with six. It’s a great place to be in life when you’re content with your age.

As will all six year olds, Tristan values and social skills and ethics have been developing quickly the last few years. One evening when he was about four, I was playing cars with him. After a couple of races in which I allowed him to win, I made sure I won the next. He put his sweet little hand on mine and ever-so-gently said, “Mimi, let’s play nice and be friends.” Good advice for all of us.

When driving to church one Sunday morning, he said, “Mimi, you and Poppa use different words than my Mommy and Daddy.” We took that as a cue that he loved vocabulary words so we began the tradition of learning a new word each Sunday to share with our friend Don Lichtenfelt at church. Then one Sunday as this tradition was taking place, another friend, Jeannette Lucas remarked, “Oh, Tristan, you are a sesquipedalian. I am, too!” So Tristan has learned to tell you that he is a sesquipedalian and what that means. But when I asked if he had told his new first grade teacher about his love of words, he replied, “Mimi, she’s not like you. She doesn’t care about all those words.” I suspect he got that wrong and I also suspect that he doesn’t want to draw undue attention to himself. Another good lesson---especially for introverts---don’t shine the light on yourself unless you’re sure you want the world looking at you.

The best lesson to learn from Tristan is about love. You don’t have to wonder if you’re loved by him---he will tell you and he will include you in his prayers. A model we should all emulate. Emulate---that might be a good word for tomorrow!

Happy happy birthday, my dearest Tristan.

Tristan's Reading Choices

The Costume Trunk written and illustrated by Bob Fuller was provided to me through membership in FromLefttoWrite.com. This is not intended to be a review of the book but rather this post was inspired by the book.

Grandson, Tristan prepares for his bedtime ritual at Mimi and Poppa’s house---two Oreo cookies and milk, teeth brushing (“Tell me when I can stop, Mimi.”), good night hugs and kisses for Poppa and off to read books with Mimi. His wiry body, inherited from my son, wiggles up next to me with a stack of his reading choices.

Mimi, Tristan and Payden reading the Sunday funnies

“Tristan, I have this book that I’m going to right about for my website,” I say as I hand him The Costume Trunk. “Would you please tell me if it is too young for you, just right or too old for you?”

He takes one look at the cover and declares, “Mimi, this is too babyish for me!”

I don’t dare question that declaration. “Ok, what about Payden?” Payden is his 14 month old baby sister.

“No, Mimi, she would rip the pages and it’s too long for her.”

Finally, I ask, “Well what about our friend, Sydney?”

“Juuuuuuuuuuuuuuust right, Mimi,” he replies, so pleased that I’m finally getting a clue.

Our "just right" friend, Sydney Grace Dryden

I can’t help but agree with his assessment. Tristan is a five year old boy whose taste in reading leans toward super heroes, Garfield joke books and even, Gary Larson’s The Far Side cartoon collections. Payden hasn’t developed the ability to sit still long enough to make it through The Costume Trunk even if she would enjoy the illustrations. Sydney Grace Dryden, our two and a half year old friend, is just right for the adventures of Paddywhack Lane, the wonderful world Bob Fuller has created in The Costume Trunk.

As we scrunch up next to each other in bed, Tristan chooses Gary Larson’s Beyond The Far Side ® collection for his first choice tonight. At five, he doesn’t get all of Larson’s jokes, in my sixth decade I don’t either. But as we snuggle up and talk through them, I shiver with delight that he chooses his Uncle Mark’s Far Side and Garfield Fat Cat Three Pack Volume VII collections for his bedtime reading. Uncle Mark died before Tristan was born but his influence lives on. 

Tristan, Trains and Transitions

There is no greater bliss than Saturday nights and all day Sunday with Tristan, my five year old grandson (although he is six on the inside and when he turns six in August he will notify us when he becomes seven on the inside). We often plan something special to do on Sunday after church as a not-so-subtle bribe for his attending church with us.

Today we made reservations to ride the antique railroad in Versailles and tour the Bluegrass Railroad Museum. We boarded the train right on time and settled into our seats after marveling that we were on a 90 year old train car. There was a wad of gum on the floor near our feet.

I asked Tristan, “Do you think that gum is 90 years old too?”

“No, Mimi, I think the gum is just 20 years old.”

He could be right.

The ride was a history lesson about Kentucky, railroads and with the window open a scenic Sunday survey of all that’s beautiful about our countryside. Tristan asked questions or just listened to the conductor’s patter or lapsed into a contemplative repose with his face in the wind.

The sounds, sights, smells and having a little one with me stirred poignant memories of my teenage train trips from California to Missouri or Indiana to visit family---especially my mother’s mother, Grandma Whitmer.

We especially liked the Grand Canyon Line because its route through the states that divided us provided excitement and beauty. Putting together the pennies necessary to transport my mother and five kids on the train never got easy. I plead guilty to helping Mom once convince my younger sisters that they had already had lunch when our packed lunches were gone as well as all money. Finally, the conductor walked through yelling, “St. Louis! St. Louis! Everybody off for St. Louis!” we couldn’t wait to tell Grandma about convincing the kids they had been fed and the delay out west that caused the train line to provide one free meal in The Dining Car---a first class experience for a band of ragamuffins.

As we toured the little museum after the ride, I swear the china displayed was exactly like what we used on the Grand Canyon Line.

Since Tristan had informed us when we invited him to the opening reception of Poppa’s photo exhibit, “Mimi, I’m not the kind of boy who goes somewhere just to look at pictures.” So after the ride today, we went by the exhibit so he could just see the gallery and Poppa’s photos without the hoopla of the opening reception.

Poppa couldn’t resist posing the big boy Tristan in front of the two photos of him in the exhibit. In one, he is a round-headed baby in the bath tub and in the other he is a toddler in his stroller and a little African-American girl asks to touch his hair. Poppa caught the moment.

Tristan, trains and transitions---a fulfilling Sunday.