And so it was that our successfully manipulated impressionable young minds were in pet ownership bliss. They sat around waiting for the moment the crickets would chirp. The crickets sat around too - waiting for nothing, generally quite clueless. It took all of 10 seconds and then one chirped! The kids were overjoyed. My son ran over to his room for his first greeting chirp. And what do you know, his crickets chirped too!
Crickets chirp about 62 times a minute at around 13°C and tend to be nocturnal. The higher the temperature, the higher the rate of chirping. In protest to the changing of the seasons, our home is set at a constant 25° around the year. Usually male crickets chirp, but females pipe in too - completely unnecessarily. So they chirped, and they chirped, all round the clock. Shrill, high pitched and constant - especially at night.
My daughter was completely immersed into her dear pets, maternal instincts in overdrive and all. This little cricket mother monitored their mating appetite closely, noting with some distress that the female didn't particularly fancy the male - that at least explained what all the chirping was about! She also insisted their chirps changed when she was near, or when their moods changed. The crickets would be impressed to know they have moods. So the whole educational side of the pet project was in full throttle and our nights and sleep on the whole were in total decline.
While our little girl dreamed of having hundreds of baby crickets through nights of incessant chirping, we lay awake in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, quite blinded now by my husband's dazzling brilliance! She couldn't sleep without the chirping and we couldn't sleep with it. But we were the adults and so we got our way. The crickets were rapidly downgraded from pets to pests, from the children's room to a small bathroom on the lower floor, far from everyone's conscience. It might take her some time and therapy to overcome the trauma of this separation. Such is life.
Both terrarium's adorned the window sill. Many layers of shuttable doors lay in between to seal out the noise. There they stayed and chirped, sullen with the defensive sullenness of the defenceless. We counted down from their life span of a 100 days for nature to take it's course - preferably sooner than later. Only a matter of time till we reclaim our bathroom, bedrooms, sleep and lives from this menace! Any case the kids presented on behalf of the crickets was struck down. A form of open fascism was adopted to sit out the shorter part of 100 days. It couldn't be much longer till the dreadfully sad demise of the 4 dear crickets came to pass.
We miscalculated nature. Sometime around day 20, little specks of black stirred in the terrariums. Like the sand on the floor had come to life. Each box had about a 100 little cricket babies. The creatures in captivity strike back by multiplying, literally, a 100 fold!!! The children were ecstatic, my daughter was in tears of joy over her cricket babies. And we had over 200 crickets to boast of!
Outside, winter is fast approaching, the temperatures are falling rapidly. Releasing the crickets will mean their certain end. It will be another 6 months till it warms up enough for them to survive outdoors. What do you think - will we call upon that last shred of decency, take responsibility and turn this lesson around for the kids, even if it meant perpetuating our cricket menace? Or take the quick and easy way out?
Let them live? Or let them go?
Eyes
Monday 17 November 2014
Thursday 30 October 2014
Let them live! (Part I)
Anyone knows when they are not loved. Even crickets. Crickets are not terribly bright about most things. They're fed water in a sponge lest they drown themselves attempting to drink from a dish. One of those creatures that does very poorly in the body mass to brain ratio, although some crickets do brilliantly in the testicles to body mass ratio - who needs brains when you've got ba**s, right? Still, I'm sure even crickets with their minuscule brains and ginormous testicles know when they are not loved.
We've been over this a few times. Working adults aren't meant to have kids, let alone pets. Our 9 year olds argue, quite irrefutably, that didn't stop us from having kids so why not have pets too? No reason to add insult to injury, but never mind. Finding the right pet for a family, one that becomes a part of the family is hard. We already have a fish tank, and that just became furniture. A dog would be great! They can be personal trainers, mediators through family crises, fluffy bean bags on cuddly evenings, watch guards, floor mops all rolled into one jumping, slobbering, loyal, lovable thing that's ecstatic to see you every single time you walk through the door - he's you're therapist, an any-time anti-depressant, you name it! Unfortunately they also need company, which we can't even offer each other enough of. So dogs were not happening for us. We were looking for something convenient. Something that the kids could love and care for as much, get attached to, but preferably didn't occupy as much space, cause us any work, take up any of our precious time and yet make for a perfect pet. My husband, this man just keeps dazzling me with his sheer brilliance, came up with the perfect solution - Crickets!
At first it was a bit of a hard sell, so he sold it hard. I wasn't sure about keeping creatures in captivity for the sake of the children's emotional development and entertainment. We were doing it with the fish in the tank and now we'd be doing it again. I tend to be a snob when it comes to principles - only the loftiest and purest will do. But I backed down this time. Apparently in the wonderfully convenient class system of creatures of the world, crickets really didn't matter. So I let myself be awed as he extolled the benefits of having crickets as pets. Each can have a pair of their very own, in their own rooms in terrariums! The investment is minimum since crickets are mainly sold as feed for other pets. They only live a 100 days and they might even have babies in that time, giving our kids the opportunity to witness the cycle of life first hand. And if not, the kids would have still lived out their pet phase, with all the nurturing and caring 9 year olds can shower on a pair of crickets in a 100 days. Everyone's served, pet chapter closed, we all move on. I must say, it all sounds pretty damn good!
So the crickets, aka our extended family now, were ceremoniously brought home. There were a few days of research and re-work that followed till the sexes were sorted to make pairs. The chap in the pet store just couldn't have been bothered to add sex-sorting services for 15 cents a cricket. Well anyway, they all got names, we learnt to tell them apart, it was all very exciting and everyone was so happy!
.........to be continued :-).
We've been over this a few times. Working adults aren't meant to have kids, let alone pets. Our 9 year olds argue, quite irrefutably, that didn't stop us from having kids so why not have pets too? No reason to add insult to injury, but never mind. Finding the right pet for a family, one that becomes a part of the family is hard. We already have a fish tank, and that just became furniture. A dog would be great! They can be personal trainers, mediators through family crises, fluffy bean bags on cuddly evenings, watch guards, floor mops all rolled into one jumping, slobbering, loyal, lovable thing that's ecstatic to see you every single time you walk through the door - he's you're therapist, an any-time anti-depressant, you name it! Unfortunately they also need company, which we can't even offer each other enough of. So dogs were not happening for us. We were looking for something convenient. Something that the kids could love and care for as much, get attached to, but preferably didn't occupy as much space, cause us any work, take up any of our precious time and yet make for a perfect pet. My husband, this man just keeps dazzling me with his sheer brilliance, came up with the perfect solution - Crickets!
At first it was a bit of a hard sell, so he sold it hard. I wasn't sure about keeping creatures in captivity for the sake of the children's emotional development and entertainment. We were doing it with the fish in the tank and now we'd be doing it again. I tend to be a snob when it comes to principles - only the loftiest and purest will do. But I backed down this time. Apparently in the wonderfully convenient class system of creatures of the world, crickets really didn't matter. So I let myself be awed as he extolled the benefits of having crickets as pets. Each can have a pair of their very own, in their own rooms in terrariums! The investment is minimum since crickets are mainly sold as feed for other pets. They only live a 100 days and they might even have babies in that time, giving our kids the opportunity to witness the cycle of life first hand. And if not, the kids would have still lived out their pet phase, with all the nurturing and caring 9 year olds can shower on a pair of crickets in a 100 days. Everyone's served, pet chapter closed, we all move on. I must say, it all sounds pretty damn good!
So the crickets, aka our extended family now, were ceremoniously brought home. There were a few days of research and re-work that followed till the sexes were sorted to make pairs. The chap in the pet store just couldn't have been bothered to add sex-sorting services for 15 cents a cricket. Well anyway, they all got names, we learnt to tell them apart, it was all very exciting and everyone was so happy!
.........to be continued :-).
Thursday 20 February 2014
Anchor.
We never stop seeking our parents approval. Their vote of confidence for our choices and our lives, remains consciously or unconsciously very important to us. So you can imagine how pink with joy I was when this year, on my 38th birthday like every year, that one travel worn birthday card, yet again, made the long journey across continents to my mail box. 'I'm so amazed and proud of you' it said 'that I want to shout out, "That's my daughter!"
And no, I am no nobel laureate. My accomplishments are nothing out of the ordinary -which is another way of saying I have none to boast of. I went through a decent education, work at a decent job, raise 2 kids and some fish.....I live an average life and grow some flowers in my garden. My biggest accomplishment is to keep physical and mental stability -when I do accomplish those, that is. And yet she wants to shout out with pride "That's my daughter!"
I was one of those delightfully charming rebellious adolescents. I raged a constant battle for justice, equality and freedom that I believed was enjoyed by my 3 older brothers in different measure and means than I was allowed. Swaraj was my birthright, and I wanted to have it too! (My own daughter is now 8 going on 16, payback time is around the corner I fear!). My mother's soft nature belies her steely strength. A clever camouflage that several sorry people made the terrible mistake of misjudging. My Dad, bless his heart, to this day is clumsily misjudging, perpetuating his learning process. It was a credit to her temperament how she deflected most sparks I flung her way, leaving the fighting up to me. I took it on. Someone had to do it! Although quite the opposite in character herself, shying away from confrontations, she patiently bore my renegade spirit without stifling it and sat out my rather tiresome effusions. If today I'm given to unabashed toughness, woman or not, it's because this gentle lady let me.
Of weaknesses, the greatest of hers are us, her family. Each time any harm comes our way, her otherwise calm composure receives a proper buffeting leading to a loss of control. Since I am a living germ-meter, I catch every bug there is to catch. Her worried brows have spent many a long hours, all summed up perhaps even years, watching over me.
A child's perspective is so wonderfully absolute. The world as they know it, is the world as it is. There are no other versions. I believed that's what mother's do. Their lives consist only of a string of opportunities to support and protect their children. What else do they have to do? She is here for me. For a child to know that with unappreciative detachment, is to know with complete and total certainty that it has unconditional, selfless, secure love. A standing invitation to take it for granted, to be reckless. Because it will never wear out.
She is funny too, with her fears. I remember the time, one of the many times, I lay in a hospital bed spent from some sub-tropical disease or the other I had merrily contracted. Exhausted, I had finally found sleep after restless hours. All the time, with her by my side. Watching me closely. No sooner had I floated into peaceful slumber than I was shaken awake vigorously with someone repeatedly yelling my name. 'Sorry, were you sleeping?' she asked into my aghast face. What she didn't say, but had splashed all over her face was 'I thought you were dead!'
The other time, at the spectacular end of a very challenging twin pregnancy, I made for a worrisome sight as my body kind of went on strike at the most crucial juncture, trembling violently with a rising fever. She was there too. She's just always there. The rock that we are all anchored to. The doctors decided on an emergency C-section. Everyone around must have spoken german and looked quite grim when the decision was pronounced. The next instant, my husband tells me, she was gone, had found her way to the hospital chapel and was deliriously explaining to a bunch of blank faced Turks, that spoke neither English nor German, that her only daughter was probably going to die giving birth to twins and there was nothing else she could do but to storm heavens!
There were times I observed with some amount of annoyance how thin she spread herself for us, wondering where the self-respect was. Provocatively I dug and poked, testing for the limits of this dedication. There were none. She always knew, with vivid clarity, which side of the fence she was on. She knows what she cares about and she could weather every storm for it. Fiercely independent, intelligent and hardworking, she taught me a women can raise (4) kids, run a home, hold a job and be her very own person. With her many faults, she still mastered motherhood flawlessly, by her own convention, giving effortlessly, naturally, unendingly.
In a place rife with mindless female infanticide, when asked why she had 4 kids, she has always answered (I love this part!), 'I was waiting for a daughter'.
For this and many more reasons, I'm so amazed and proud of you, that I want to shout out, "That's my Mother!!!"
And no, I am no nobel laureate. My accomplishments are nothing out of the ordinary -which is another way of saying I have none to boast of. I went through a decent education, work at a decent job, raise 2 kids and some fish.....I live an average life and grow some flowers in my garden. My biggest accomplishment is to keep physical and mental stability -when I do accomplish those, that is. And yet she wants to shout out with pride "That's my daughter!"
I was one of those delightfully charming rebellious adolescents. I raged a constant battle for justice, equality and freedom that I believed was enjoyed by my 3 older brothers in different measure and means than I was allowed. Swaraj was my birthright, and I wanted to have it too! (My own daughter is now 8 going on 16, payback time is around the corner I fear!). My mother's soft nature belies her steely strength. A clever camouflage that several sorry people made the terrible mistake of misjudging. My Dad, bless his heart, to this day is clumsily misjudging, perpetuating his learning process. It was a credit to her temperament how she deflected most sparks I flung her way, leaving the fighting up to me. I took it on. Someone had to do it! Although quite the opposite in character herself, shying away from confrontations, she patiently bore my renegade spirit without stifling it and sat out my rather tiresome effusions. If today I'm given to unabashed toughness, woman or not, it's because this gentle lady let me.
Of weaknesses, the greatest of hers are us, her family. Each time any harm comes our way, her otherwise calm composure receives a proper buffeting leading to a loss of control. Since I am a living germ-meter, I catch every bug there is to catch. Her worried brows have spent many a long hours, all summed up perhaps even years, watching over me.
A child's perspective is so wonderfully absolute. The world as they know it, is the world as it is. There are no other versions. I believed that's what mother's do. Their lives consist only of a string of opportunities to support and protect their children. What else do they have to do? She is here for me. For a child to know that with unappreciative detachment, is to know with complete and total certainty that it has unconditional, selfless, secure love. A standing invitation to take it for granted, to be reckless. Because it will never wear out.
She is funny too, with her fears. I remember the time, one of the many times, I lay in a hospital bed spent from some sub-tropical disease or the other I had merrily contracted. Exhausted, I had finally found sleep after restless hours. All the time, with her by my side. Watching me closely. No sooner had I floated into peaceful slumber than I was shaken awake vigorously with someone repeatedly yelling my name. 'Sorry, were you sleeping?' she asked into my aghast face. What she didn't say, but had splashed all over her face was 'I thought you were dead!'
The other time, at the spectacular end of a very challenging twin pregnancy, I made for a worrisome sight as my body kind of went on strike at the most crucial juncture, trembling violently with a rising fever. She was there too. She's just always there. The rock that we are all anchored to. The doctors decided on an emergency C-section. Everyone around must have spoken german and looked quite grim when the decision was pronounced. The next instant, my husband tells me, she was gone, had found her way to the hospital chapel and was deliriously explaining to a bunch of blank faced Turks, that spoke neither English nor German, that her only daughter was probably going to die giving birth to twins and there was nothing else she could do but to storm heavens!
There were times I observed with some amount of annoyance how thin she spread herself for us, wondering where the self-respect was. Provocatively I dug and poked, testing for the limits of this dedication. There were none. She always knew, with vivid clarity, which side of the fence she was on. She knows what she cares about and she could weather every storm for it. Fiercely independent, intelligent and hardworking, she taught me a women can raise (4) kids, run a home, hold a job and be her very own person. With her many faults, she still mastered motherhood flawlessly, by her own convention, giving effortlessly, naturally, unendingly.
In a place rife with mindless female infanticide, when asked why she had 4 kids, she has always answered (I love this part!), 'I was waiting for a daughter'.
For this and many more reasons, I'm so amazed and proud of you, that I want to shout out, "That's my Mother!!!"
Friday 14 February 2014
Walking with dinosaurs.
Oh sleep........thou art everything to me! Whatever happens in between, only assists in the passing of time from one sleep unit to the next. Some mornings I feel a great magnetism pulling me back to my cozy duvet and plush pillow, and there is only so much I can do in my humble strength to resist it. And when I do, it's with the single ambition of being reunited with both, that I go through my waking hours. My sacred sleep. It's one of the first things I taught my twin babies to do - to fall asleep and stay asleep until daylight was well underway. They cooperated - well, mostly.
They aren't babies anymore, and you know kids and putting to bed routines! It always includes any number of stalling tactics, sometimes old and unimaginatively lame, often creative clever ones that warrant bonus stay-awake minutes - no, you can't do away with those, it's what good parenting calls for. Though be on your guard parents, pay close attention. These negotiations are prescient warnings of things to come. The little sneaky tykes are way ahead of us in the game of dodging bedtime! I'm not yet ruling out the possibility of a secret bedtime-terrorist outfit of little brats thinking up new sabotaging strategies for their bratty followers to implement. Ha! But I am on top of this. There will be no dinosaurian approach here, careful balance will be struck between setting fair limits and authoritarianism. Nothing happens by chance - I've read 'How to raise resilient children' cover to cover. Also, I happen to have a knowledge bank that cunningly files away every trick up every sleeve I have ever seen - I don't fall for the same things twice! Seriously, how many can they have? So let it be known, I am the adult here!
'Wait Mummy! STOP! Don't put down the blinds!!' he shouted, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Bored me goes, 'Why not?'
'Didn't you see it?', eyes still sparking. Still bored me 'See what?'
'A shooting star! I saw a shooting star!! quickly pull the blinds back up again, Hurry!" he urged. My daughter runs into the room 'Did he see a shooting star? I want to see the shooting star too! How come I never see shooting stars?'
'I'm sure you were mistaken, it couldn't have been a shooting star' I said patiently, but ever increasingly more bored. 'Off with you Aurelia, back to your room and into bed. And you Ewan, into bed!'
'Why not?' he persists, 'Don't shooting stars exist? You said shooting stars exist!' his sparkle turning to disappointment.
'Yes, of course shooting stars exist. You couldn't have seen one though.' I said as kindly as I could.
'If they exist, why couldn't I have seen one? ' sparkle turning to disappointment and hurt. Remind me to chuck that lousy book!
'Because honey,....... Oh well, it would be gone by now anyway. Shooting stars shoot away you know. Why don't we just roll the blinds back down and crawl into bed ' I said in a weird friendly stern tone.
'Well, I saw the shooting star and you didn't' he said resiliently (perhaps the book isn't all crap). Aurelia's back again, 'I'm sure you just imagined it' she says huffily.
'Good for you Ewan, I'm happy for you if you saw a shooting star. Now lets get to bed, both of you' I said, reassured about my parenting skills.
'I made a wish you know, I made a wish upon a shooting star. It's going to come true' he said smiling, and I smiled a fake smile back. 'Don't you want to know what I wished for?' he asked.
I've got this one! I reply 'They say if you tell me, it won't come true. Lets say our prayers......Good night honey.'
Lights out, in bed, at last! Clear up dinner, check! Tidy up kitchen, check! Should be catching up on work...ah, what the hell, no check. The laundry is pouring out and ready to crawl......nah, tomorrow's as good a day as any. Will just call it a day and crash.
I hear a soft whine. I'm sleep drugged and trying to place it. I look at the clock. It's 12:33 a.m. I hear it again, I'm trying to move. It's that magnetic force again keeping me in bed. The whine gets more distinct, now he's calling for me. Heroically, I break through the force, bringing up my protesting body, moving my legs of lead. I trudge over to his room, he's sitting up in bed and crying. Wide awake. 'What's wrong honey? Did you have a bad dream? Why don't you try going back to sleep?'
Between sniffs and snorts, what I can decipher is, 'I'm gonna eat you all, carnivores eat....gonna eat you all, my whole family and......and everyone else'
I'm blank. 'What? What're you......why...come, come, go back to sleep honey, no one's eating anyone.'
Quite frantic now he says 'No you don't understand, I wished upon the shooting star to turn into a Giganotosaurus when I wake up tomorrow. They're carnivores, MEAT EATING dinosaurs. I don't want to be a Giganotosaurus!'
I'm waking up. He goes on 'Now I can't go to sleep! If I do, I'll wake up as a Giganotosaurus tomorrow.'
Oh, for the love of God!!!!
'Don't worry honey, that won't happen. It'll be fine. You won't..um...er.. turn into a Trex. I don't think you saw a shooting star.....' I'm trying here.
As if it would matter, he says even more agitatedly, 'Not a Trex mummy, a Giganotosaurus.' Then he draws a long breath, and bellows, 'AND I DID SEE A SHOOTING STAR!!!'
'Ok, Ok, you saw a shooting star alright! You saw a ***$%&!!#@ shooting star!'
Seriously, I'm going to burn that book!
I tried again, 'But...um..... wishes on shooting stars don't always come true.'
'They don't? I thought wishes on shooting stars come true? You said so.'
Focus on the greater cause here my child!
'Well, think about it' I said, 'you couldn't hurt us even if you were a.. um.. a.. T.. Giganotosaurus. Dinosaurs didn't live alongside humans.'
I'm awake now, good and proper and I can see him thinking 'Then when I wake up tomorrow I'll be alone, a lone Giganotosaurus. I won't have you or daddy or Aurelia, I'll be alone in the Cretaceous period making a meal of everything that's slower than I am.' Waaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!
'The Cret...what??'
Well MAYBE you should have thought about that before ??!!
Aurelia is awake now and wants to know why Ewan is yelling about a shooting star he didn't see in the first place.
I'm outdone, I give up!
They aren't babies anymore, and you know kids and putting to bed routines! It always includes any number of stalling tactics, sometimes old and unimaginatively lame, often creative clever ones that warrant bonus stay-awake minutes - no, you can't do away with those, it's what good parenting calls for. Though be on your guard parents, pay close attention. These negotiations are prescient warnings of things to come. The little sneaky tykes are way ahead of us in the game of dodging bedtime! I'm not yet ruling out the possibility of a secret bedtime-terrorist outfit of little brats thinking up new sabotaging strategies for their bratty followers to implement. Ha! But I am on top of this. There will be no dinosaurian approach here, careful balance will be struck between setting fair limits and authoritarianism. Nothing happens by chance - I've read 'How to raise resilient children' cover to cover. Also, I happen to have a knowledge bank that cunningly files away every trick up every sleeve I have ever seen - I don't fall for the same things twice! Seriously, how many can they have? So let it be known, I am the adult here!
'Wait Mummy! STOP! Don't put down the blinds!!' he shouted, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Bored me goes, 'Why not?'
'Didn't you see it?', eyes still sparking. Still bored me 'See what?'
'A shooting star! I saw a shooting star!! quickly pull the blinds back up again, Hurry!" he urged. My daughter runs into the room 'Did he see a shooting star? I want to see the shooting star too! How come I never see shooting stars?'
'I'm sure you were mistaken, it couldn't have been a shooting star' I said patiently, but ever increasingly more bored. 'Off with you Aurelia, back to your room and into bed. And you Ewan, into bed!'
'Why not?' he persists, 'Don't shooting stars exist? You said shooting stars exist!' his sparkle turning to disappointment.
'Yes, of course shooting stars exist. You couldn't have seen one though.' I said as kindly as I could.
'If they exist, why couldn't I have seen one? ' sparkle turning to disappointment and hurt. Remind me to chuck that lousy book!
'Because honey,....... Oh well, it would be gone by now anyway. Shooting stars shoot away you know. Why don't we just roll the blinds back down and crawl into bed ' I said in a weird friendly stern tone.
'Well, I saw the shooting star and you didn't' he said resiliently (perhaps the book isn't all crap). Aurelia's back again, 'I'm sure you just imagined it' she says huffily.
'Good for you Ewan, I'm happy for you if you saw a shooting star. Now lets get to bed, both of you' I said, reassured about my parenting skills.
'I made a wish you know, I made a wish upon a shooting star. It's going to come true' he said smiling, and I smiled a fake smile back. 'Don't you want to know what I wished for?' he asked.
I've got this one! I reply 'They say if you tell me, it won't come true. Lets say our prayers......Good night honey.'
Lights out, in bed, at last! Clear up dinner, check! Tidy up kitchen, check! Should be catching up on work...ah, what the hell, no check. The laundry is pouring out and ready to crawl......nah, tomorrow's as good a day as any. Will just call it a day and crash.
I hear a soft whine. I'm sleep drugged and trying to place it. I look at the clock. It's 12:33 a.m. I hear it again, I'm trying to move. It's that magnetic force again keeping me in bed. The whine gets more distinct, now he's calling for me. Heroically, I break through the force, bringing up my protesting body, moving my legs of lead. I trudge over to his room, he's sitting up in bed and crying. Wide awake. 'What's wrong honey? Did you have a bad dream? Why don't you try going back to sleep?'
Between sniffs and snorts, what I can decipher is, 'I'm gonna eat you all, carnivores eat....gonna eat you all, my whole family and......and everyone else'
I'm blank. 'What? What're you......why...come, come, go back to sleep honey, no one's eating anyone.'
Quite frantic now he says 'No you don't understand, I wished upon the shooting star to turn into a Giganotosaurus when I wake up tomorrow. They're carnivores, MEAT EATING dinosaurs. I don't want to be a Giganotosaurus!'
I'm waking up. He goes on 'Now I can't go to sleep! If I do, I'll wake up as a Giganotosaurus tomorrow.'
Oh, for the love of God!!!!
'Don't worry honey, that won't happen. It'll be fine. You won't..um...er.. turn into a Trex. I don't think you saw a shooting star.....' I'm trying here.
As if it would matter, he says even more agitatedly, 'Not a Trex mummy, a Giganotosaurus.' Then he draws a long breath, and bellows, 'AND I DID SEE A SHOOTING STAR!!!'
'Ok, Ok, you saw a shooting star alright! You saw a ***$%&!!#@ shooting star!'
Seriously, I'm going to burn that book!
I tried again, 'But...um..... wishes on shooting stars don't always come true.'
'They don't? I thought wishes on shooting stars come true? You said so.'
Focus on the greater cause here my child!
'Well, think about it' I said, 'you couldn't hurt us even if you were a.. um.. a.. T.. Giganotosaurus. Dinosaurs didn't live alongside humans.'
I'm awake now, good and proper and I can see him thinking 'Then when I wake up tomorrow I'll be alone, a lone Giganotosaurus. I won't have you or daddy or Aurelia, I'll be alone in the Cretaceous period making a meal of everything that's slower than I am.' Waaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!
'The Cret...what??'
Well MAYBE you should have thought about that before ??!!
Aurelia is awake now and wants to know why Ewan is yelling about a shooting star he didn't see in the first place.
I'm outdone, I give up!
Thursday 13 February 2014
Creatures of habit.
The winter that never came will soon pass. The winter road services, hundreds of tonnes of gravel and salt put away without ever being put out. The one year we changed to winter tyres on time, cost us more fuel and no additional safety. Central Europe is having the anti-thesis of the American winter. There are even theories flying around about one causing the other. I personally, am suspicious of the weather God's ulterior motives for sparing me its winter wrath.
We in Munich, have had virtually no snow, apart from some soggy, half-hearted flakes that briefly lingered on the ground in little white piles of mush. The temperatures have been mild at best. I can't even remember when it was unpleasantly wet and windy last. Nature in it's great wisdom seizes the opportunity wherever it can and adapts quickly - trees and bushes are already swelling at their tips with new life. Chirping birds tell of a change in plan, the effort to migrate to the warmer south just didn't seem justified this year. The Great Tit and the Nuthatch are already going about the business of finding a mate and starting a family, or perhaps two, with all the additional time on their wings! Toads are migrating earlier, rabbits and hare are already on the scurry hop, squirrels aren't worrying about their winter stocks not lasting. It's still February, but who's to point that out to nature.
On the tube this morning I noticed most everyone, myself included, is still wrapped and mummied in heavy winter coats, steaming beneath them, complete with wooly hat and scarves, some even wore gloves - at almost 14°C! It is winter and that's a fact. There won't be any cheerful spring colours sported yet, NO NO, the dark grey and blacks and heavy blues will have to sit it out through the official end of the season and no earlier! Why??? There is an odd stubbornness about the way the humans go about it, with an unyielding inflexibility. Unwilling to accept that things are different now, things that we have been instrumental in changing - changes that we can't have. The fur lined boots trapped in sweaty feet in heated rooms. Drippy sad snowmen get built by eager desperate little hands. It IS winter!
Spring is a reward that's earned well after a bitter cold winter. There is even a sense of guilty privilege, not having gained the right to the warmth of Spring. Perhaps humans are simply domesticated creatures of habit and routine - needing to do the same set of things over and over again, for security and reassurance and safety. In the German national service, winter was commanded from November to March. During this period the soldiers had to pack themselves in furs and winter layers - T-shirts were forbidden, whatever the temperature. From the 1st of April, summer was commanded, all winter paraphernalia had to go - only T-shirts were permitted, even if it snowed. China has a neat border demarcating the north - with what qualifies as a winter hence deserving central heating, and the south - with what doesn't qualify as winter, hence by policy, having summer all year round. It's pure fate for the poor freezing unfortunate that live on the wrong side of the border in the same weather conditions without central heating.
Even when we do have the choice, we rigidly stick by the routine we know. Determined to maintain a sense of control. Making things exactly the way we want it to be. So It's woolies and warm clothes and hot cups of tea and long sofa snuggles wrapped in cozy warm blankets.
An officious looking rabbit hurry-hopped across my path. He jerked a look at me - not of fear, more incredulous, curious sympathy at me carrying my own weight and that of a dark black bulging down coat on my back. He seemed to be daring me to embrace the change, showing me how it's done.
We in Munich, have had virtually no snow, apart from some soggy, half-hearted flakes that briefly lingered on the ground in little white piles of mush. The temperatures have been mild at best. I can't even remember when it was unpleasantly wet and windy last. Nature in it's great wisdom seizes the opportunity wherever it can and adapts quickly - trees and bushes are already swelling at their tips with new life. Chirping birds tell of a change in plan, the effort to migrate to the warmer south just didn't seem justified this year. The Great Tit and the Nuthatch are already going about the business of finding a mate and starting a family, or perhaps two, with all the additional time on their wings! Toads are migrating earlier, rabbits and hare are already on the scurry hop, squirrels aren't worrying about their winter stocks not lasting. It's still February, but who's to point that out to nature.
On the tube this morning I noticed most everyone, myself included, is still wrapped and mummied in heavy winter coats, steaming beneath them, complete with wooly hat and scarves, some even wore gloves - at almost 14°C! It is winter and that's a fact. There won't be any cheerful spring colours sported yet, NO NO, the dark grey and blacks and heavy blues will have to sit it out through the official end of the season and no earlier! Why??? There is an odd stubbornness about the way the humans go about it, with an unyielding inflexibility. Unwilling to accept that things are different now, things that we have been instrumental in changing - changes that we can't have. The fur lined boots trapped in sweaty feet in heated rooms. Drippy sad snowmen get built by eager desperate little hands. It IS winter!
Spring is a reward that's earned well after a bitter cold winter. There is even a sense of guilty privilege, not having gained the right to the warmth of Spring. Perhaps humans are simply domesticated creatures of habit and routine - needing to do the same set of things over and over again, for security and reassurance and safety. In the German national service, winter was commanded from November to March. During this period the soldiers had to pack themselves in furs and winter layers - T-shirts were forbidden, whatever the temperature. From the 1st of April, summer was commanded, all winter paraphernalia had to go - only T-shirts were permitted, even if it snowed. China has a neat border demarcating the north - with what qualifies as a winter hence deserving central heating, and the south - with what doesn't qualify as winter, hence by policy, having summer all year round. It's pure fate for the poor freezing unfortunate that live on the wrong side of the border in the same weather conditions without central heating.
Even when we do have the choice, we rigidly stick by the routine we know. Determined to maintain a sense of control. Making things exactly the way we want it to be. So It's woolies and warm clothes and hot cups of tea and long sofa snuggles wrapped in cozy warm blankets.
An officious looking rabbit hurry-hopped across my path. He jerked a look at me - not of fear, more incredulous, curious sympathy at me carrying my own weight and that of a dark black bulging down coat on my back. He seemed to be daring me to embrace the change, showing me how it's done.
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