Motherhood is full of stories - stories about our kids, stories we read to our kids, stories we remember from when we were kids. I have been entertained lately by my childrens' reactions to stories. Felicity is old enough now to understand more about a story's plot and Judsen does nearly nothing except make up stories about ... well, everything. "And the protoceratops (yes, this is a real dinosaur) whipped the predator with his tail..." and "When I was a baby, I had blood on my toe...", etc, etc, etc.
Recently I was reading to my kids the classic story of The Little Engine that Could. This was a favorite from when I was young and, being the noble mother that I am, I wanted to instill in my kids early the timeless lesson that one should never give up, even when the going gets rough. Plus, the illustrations are fabulous. So we begin to read this tale and quickly reach the part where the tiny engine carrying all the good things to the boys and girls on the other side of the mountain breaks down. She can go no further. We are looking at the picture of the broken engine and how sad all the toys are and talking about how the engine is stuck. I am ready to move on to the next page when Felicity begins to mourn forlornly, "Broke! Broke!" "Yes, honey, it's broken." I turn the page to move on to happier subjects, and she insists on turning it back. "Brooooke! Brooooke!" She nearly has tears in her eyes at this point, staring at the poor little broken engine, as if the desperation on her face can will that little fictional train up the mountain. Since it appears Felicity is a lost cause, I try Judsen. "Look, Jud, the engine can't go anywhere." He stares at the picture for a few seconds; it depicts the little engine and all of her toys piled on the tracks in front of her. Among these toys is a stuffed purple elephant. So Judsen reaches a conclusion; as I tell him the engine can't move, he says frankly, "Because there's an elephant on the track?" So while Felicity howls in despair about the poor, unfortunate engine, Judsen is explaining to me in a teacher-talking-with-a-slow-to-learn-child voice that if they would just move the wretched elephant, all would be well and we could be done with this story. Not sure whether to laugh, cry, or just toss the book across the room, I quickly press forward to the end, doing my best to highlight the little blue engine's triumph and how it's very important in life to just keep trying. I am certain that is not the message either of my offspring received from this novel and I am also certain it will be several years before we try this one again, regardless of what the moral of this story is.
Speaking of stories, we recently watched an animal documentary that featured the story of a man raising two young wolverines. This was interesting and something every mother can relate to. These animals, like children, are intelligent, messy, active and have distinct personalities of their own. It was sweet watching this guy teach these creatures what they need to know, provide for them, patiently clean up after them. They showed scenes of him taking them for walks and playing with them. They'd tumble over each other and climb on him, just one big happy family. How sweet. Warm feelings and memories of special times with my own family rush through me. Then, all of a sudden, there was a scene where the man was with just one of his wolverines. "Oh no!" I think, "Has something happened to one of his poor babies?' Just then the narrator announces that when each animal got to the point where it weighed 40 pounds, the man could only control one at a time and therefore left one at home each time he took the other out. Like a deflating balloon, my respect for this so-called "expert" died. He can only control one 40 pound creature at a time?? Well, so can the rest of us, but that doesn't stop us from taking our multiple wild animals grocery shopping, or to the cell phone shop, or the library, or the gym, or any other of a hundred places that we'd love to have only one living creature running around us while we try to carry on an intelligent conversation. We moms don't lock one kid up at home so our trips out will be more convenient or pleasant, no matter what they weigh (and for the record, I have one that weighs 40 pounds and another close on his heels at 30 pounds. And with the weight I've gained this pregnancy, it appears Baby #3 is already not far behind). Man, this guy is a pansy. If he's an expert, give me a P.h.D.
