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11th Nov 09
M. R. SellarsSometimes we simply can’t see the forest for the trees.
Yeah, I know that’s a cliche, but it rings true on a daily basis – especially as we age. I suppose it’s because we become mired in our own personal view of the world, often times forgetting to spritz a bit of cleaner on the windows of our minds.
That’s when kids come in handy. They don’t yet carry a mortgage on one of those “glass houses” in the overpopulated suburb of Myopia where most of us tend to reside as adults. And, every now and then they will fire up some metaphorical dog-poo on your doorstep that causes you to open the door and see things for what they really are.
Flaming poo, obviously, but let’s not digress…
You see, awhile back the O-spring smacked us with one of her verbal firepoo bombs…
E K was helping the munchkin with what can best be described as a guided meditation. You see, she was pretty much in the midst of a growth spurt and was experiencing “growing pains” in her legs. We all had them. It’s just part of the process. Of course, O-spring is a bit on the sensitive side so she perceived these as not so much a “nuisance pain” as flat out torture.
Now, E K and I have nothing against pharmaceuticals – as long as they are necessary. But, we aren’t the kind of folks who believe in popping a pain pill or antibiotic at the slightest twinge or sniffle. Therefore, instead of loading the kid up on Acetaminophen or some such, the Evil Redhead switched into mommy mode and was trying to soothe the short person by helping her get her mind off the ache.
During the “guided mediation” however, O-spring continued to talk and complain about the growing pains. Finally, E K told her she needed to stop talking and concentrate on meditating to make the hurt go away.
The kid fell silent for a couple of minutes and everything seemed to be working out when she finally spoke up once again. Apparently, she had been giving this whole meditation thing some serious thought.
“Mommy,” she asked. “How can I meditate if I can’t talk? I have to be able to say Om… Om… Om…”
You know, you just can’t argue with logic like that. Well, you could, but we’re talking about a 9 year old (at the time)… Do you really think you’d be able to win?
More to come…
Murv
