Mommy, Read Me A Story About Death & Destruction

We're headed back to Pennsylvania AGAIN this weekend, travel exhaustion and desperate homebody desires to sit on the couch be damned.

Grandma's memorial service in on Sunday. We're taking the boys, since it's really not a "funeral" -- no viewing or casket or urn, just a family-and-friends gathering at her nursing home. My mother-in-law thinks their presence will be a welcome distraction for everybody, especially Grandma's remaining friends, who do always adore visiting grandchildren, no matter who they "belong" to.

(Of course, my mother-in-law also thought it was totally appropriate to take the boys to visit Grandma last week, when we were in New York, and she was officially on her deathbed -- a decision that, after Jason saw Grandma on Saturday, he was little upset about. Yes, it's a natural part of life and all but HE was so rattled and shaken by how sick and already dead she looked, and would have preferred our two- and five-year-old children being spared that particular sight. Or at the very least, being consulted ahead of time would have been nice.)

(Free babysitting! No such thing. There's always a price tag. Like say, your babysitters jumping the gun on the whole death discussion with your preschooler, and coming at it from a completely different point of view and religious philosophy than your own. Fantastic.) 

The kids know PopPop is sick. They know he's been sick for a long time now, and goes to the hospital a lot, but haven't really asked any questions about, say, whether he'll get better. Or what will happen if he doesn't.

And no, I haven't yet offered any answers to unasked questions. Because I am a big fat chicken.

Noah knows all the words related to death, like "dead" and "killed" and "BLASTED TO DEATH WITH MY LASER GUN PEW PEW PEW," but the concept exists only in the movie-and-video-game sense. Not real. Animated. Disney-Pixar montage-y. With plenty of respawn points when your health gets too low. 

Obviously, with this weekend looming ahead, it's time for us to sack up and have a talk with Noah. I don't think Great-Grandma's death will be a particularly affecting one for him (her dementia has been pretty profound for most of his life), but I know he needs a heads up about the hows and whys of the service and the sight of grieving adults.

So last night, we went to the bookstore. 

When Dinosaurs Die was recommended in the comments section 'round these parts at least a dozen times, after various entries about my dad's illness, and I swear I attempted to order it through Amazon at least two dozen times. But then I broke down and canceled the transaction at the last second, because I just wasn't ready for it myself. 

This time I was able to convince my brain that I was buying it because of Great-Grandma and only Great-Grandma. I know. I probably should have walked over to the Grown-Up Book Section for a Grown-Up Book About Grown-Up Coping Skills, but...eh. I have a Kindle. I'll look for something to download on there. Tomorrow. Next week. 

Anyway, SHOCKER OF SHOCKS, you guys were right. This was by far the best option on the shelf. It covers everything, but is laid out in a way that allows a parent of a younger child to decide just how much to read per page. I don't plan to read every word to Noah at five, but I probably would to Noah at say, eight or nine. Definitely one with a nice shelf life, so to speak. IF YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE. BOTH WITH "SHELF" and "LIFE" HA HA HA BOOK PUNS AND DEATH JOKES ARE UNCOMFORTABLE okay I'm done now.

(The afterlife discussion, if you're in the market for a book like this yourself [I'm sorry] and consider that a big wild card in the decision-making, is presented as: "No one knows for sure, but there are a lot of different ideas, and it's normal to have lots of questions." And then it encourages those questions to be directed at you, the parent, or a religious leader. Exactly the tone I personally was looking for.)

I picked up Lifetimes, too, just because I liked it. It's not as detailed as the dinosaur book, but is really limited to just explaining the fact that everything has a beginning and an end, and the middle part is living. It's very nature-focused (trees live hundreds of years, butterflies live only a few weeks) before it extends the concept to humans and our lifetimes, but certainly not hippy-new-age or anything. There's absolutely no discussion of the afterlife or even what happens to your body once you die, but it's a nice, matter-of-fact way to explain that death is simply part of how things are. 

Plus, a lot of the books about death were just painfully LONG. Thirty-plus pages. A hundred-plus words per page. This one is more your traditional picture-storybook length. Judge my kids' attention spans and my bedtime-story patience level all you want, but GAAAAAAHHHHH GET ON WITH IT, SUESS, IT'S 8 PM AND MAH SHOWS ARE ABOUT TO START, LET'S GET THESE MONKEYS TO BED ALREADY.

Ahem.

It was around this point that I picked up another book -- I don't remember the title, but it seemed like a kind of abstract take on the afterlife, describing heaven without being overtly religious, or even explicitly calling it heaven. I thought it might be a good option to have on hand if Noah brought up some of the stuff my in-laws talked to him about last week, but by the time I got to the fifth page I suddenly realized I was reading a book designed to help sick children come to terms with their OWN DEATH.

*strangled gurgled crying sound*

So! I decided it was officially Time To Back The Hell Away From The "Growing Up/Tough Issues" Shelf, Oh My God. 

Noah and Ezra were playing with trains, but I convinced them to join me on a bench and let me read them a story. 

I did not read either of the books I'd just picked out. I read this one instead:

We read it again last night before bed, and we laughed and laughed and laughed, because oh, that Pigeon. Will he EVER learn?

Tonight, we'll read one of the other books. Or maybe both. 

And then probably the Pigeon one again. 

There's No Crying In Blogball

It's been brought to my attention that my last couple posts have made a somewhat extraordinary number of you cry. At work, or other embarrassing places/occasions to be caught crying. Obviously, I assume MOST of you are exaggerating for the sake of affect (takes one to KNOW ONE, if you know what I mean), but I guess I do need to take some of you at your word and apologize for all the virtual sucker-punches, and promise that there will be nothing of the sort in today's entry. 

(BAM! SUNRISE SUNSET! MAGIC BABIES! PERSONAL GROWTH AND SHIT! GRAINY iPHONE PICTURES BECAUSE MY REAL CAMERA IS BUSTED! BAM BAM BAM!)

(What? No good? Not doing anything for ya? Oh well.)

Let's see if I can inspire some different emotions today. First up...

ANGER

I finally typed "Mockingjay" into Google this morning to figure out what the freaking frack everybody was talking about on Twitter yesterday, and what exactly we're giving away on Mamapop today. Spoiler alert! It's a book! Now here is my dilemma:

1) Take all of you at your word that it's omg!thebestthing!ever! and start the series at the beginning, looking for all the world like a shameless fad-follower and hopeless behind-the-timer, especially since I'll probably finish the third book riiiiiiight when the "thing that is massively popular" backlash begins and nobody will want to talk with me about it or care that I read it because oh my God, you're still TALKING about that? Whatever, loser, we've all moved on to that OTHER young adult book series that everybody is reading now. Man, you can't even manage to stay hip among the book nerds. 

2) Be the one to up and START the "thing that is massively popular" backlash, on the grounds that I allowed myself to get sucked up into that whole Twilight nonsense, which ended with me reading a book about vampire c-sections and werewolves falling in love with vampire hybrid toddlers, consumed with shame over...well, a lot of life decisions, but namely the one involving me dragging my pregnant ass and child to the bookstore to explicitly buy that horrible, terrible book in hardcover. 

3) Anger just about everybody in the world by comparing the Hunger Games series to Twilight, because they are so totally different, you giant ignorant asshole, for a zillion different reasons that I will outline for you now. 

(PS. Also, Jacob IMPRINTED on Renesmee. Totally different than falling in love. STOP MAKING JACOB SOUND CREEPY.) 

I decided to go with number 3! I bet it worked!

SCORN

Speaking of shameless fad-following, I bought myself two (2) packages of ZanyBandz last weekend. And then promptly lost them. I last saw them on the dining room table, after I opened them and carefully selected the cutest assortment of colors that matched my outfit, AS ONE DOES, WHEN ONE IS A MATURE, FULLY-FORMED ADULT-TYPE PERSON, but then they vanished soon after that. I'm thinking the babysitter moved them, but I am too embarrassed to ask her about whether or not she moved my ZanyBandz, as this would entail:

1) Admitting to a 24-year-old that I purchased ZanyBandz,

2) Admitting that the ZanyBandz were not actually intended for my children, in case she assumed they were and put them in a toybox or something, 

3) That I care about the whereabouts of said ZanyBandz, and care DEEPLY, and have basically been driving myself crazy all week looking for them, as I'm only admitting defeat days later, and

4) Possibly finding out that she threw out the ZanyBandz, not realizing that a brightly-colored pile of misshapen rubber bands were like, a THING, an IMPORTANT THING, and being forced to smile and assure her that it's okay, I don't mind, because seriously, I'm not going to be an entitled asshole boss about ZanyFuckingBandz.

And yet:

1) I kind of can't help but wonder if damn, bitch stole my ZanyBandz!

Anyway. If you're not feeling particularly SCORNFUL yet, perhaps this will push you over the edge: One of the missing packages of ZanyBandz was the "Moonlight" collection, which includes hearts, wolves and vampire fangs. 

(PS I was actually thinking of True Blood when I bought them. And I bought them IRONICALLY. And yes, I'm totally judging myself for suddenly caring so non-ironically about their whereabouts.)

JEALOUSY

 

I have a snack, and you don't.

GENERAL MIND-FUCKERY

This one is really more for Ezra. I took this photo today to hold for future discussions about faith, reality, Santa, the Easter Bunny and the idea that none of us are really unique special snowflakes. Also that mothers are tricky, sneaky bastards:

 

LAUNDRY DAY IS A CONSPIRACY! EVERYTHING YOU LOVE IS A LIE! THERE IS NO SPOON!

PITY

Wait, have you not even been READING this entry? You MUST be feeling all kinds of superior to me by now. I'd suggest you go back and re-read it but I already promised that I wouldn't make anybody cry today. 

Ephemera Thursday

Today! I accomplished nothing! Except the continued life-sustaining of two small reckless humans, the consumption of an entire package of American cheese slices, and a small handful of additions to the When You Marry gallery, covering chapters six and seven: Will Yours Be A Happy Marriage? and Wedding Plans. The former is mostly obsessed with warning the Youth Of America about the dangers of marrying someone who is...you know...different than you. Like...church-y different. Or...well, okay, we're just going to use the word "culturally" a lot and hope that you GET OUR DRIFT, OKAY?

The wedding chapter is actually rather boring, as very little has changed in the spectacularly dull world of wedding etiquette. Except for the price tag -- couples who got carried away with their wedding plans could ultimately spend close to $4,000. Take heed, Youth Of America! One day you will instill similar values in your bratty-ass kids and spend 10 times that on a sweet 16 birthday party while MTV tapes your daughter dirty dancing with someone very, VERY different than she is, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

Unfortunately Brenda does not add any commentary to these chapters, so I'm afraid we'll never know if she hoped for a Small wedding in church, home or club or an Informal chapel wedding with her beloved Zion. (Yes, yes, YES, all right, you guys are right, it's very likely Zion and not 2wn, although in my head [and my heart!] I will continue to pronounce Zion as "Two-on," because that's just how I picture him now, okay?) (Sob!)

Main gallery link here, newest pages start here.

Love and Sheared Beavers,

Amy

Select Book Reviews From the Storch Family Library

FULL DISCLOSURE: I was not paid to do any of these reviews and I paid for all of these books with my own cash money, except for maybe one or two that I received as political campaign hush incentives
Christmas presents from my mom. Also, these are not actually reviews at all, because whatever, like I care about giving you people useful content. I mean, really.

Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?

Noah (at age 3 months to like, two years): Awesome! Eric Carle's finest work. A tour de force of meter and rhyme and bright colors and OMFG PURPLE CAT AAAHAAAA HAA HAAAAA.

Ezra (like, always, and still): I hate this book. Stop reading me this book.

Polar Bear, Polar Bear, What Do You Hear?

Noah: *learns a very important lessons about the inevitable disappointment of sequels*

Panda Bear, Panda Bear, What Do You See?

Amy: "And that's how George Lucas and the Wachowski brothers ruined their franchises. The end. Goodnight, sweetie."

Peek-a-Boo Baby Faces!

Noah: Are you kidding me with this nonsense? Photos of stupid babies with one word of text per page? Honestly, Mother, I'm not sure what's worse: that you paid money for this crap, or that you didn't think of it yourself, thus making a fortune and then using that money to buy me MORE INTERESTING BOOKS.

Ezra: Babies! Hi babies! Yay babies! A tour de force of absolutely nothing happening! Two slobbery thumbs up!

Almost Practically Every Book Sandra Boynton Has Ever Written, And Holy Shit, That's a Lot

Noah: Yeah, I'm a little old for these, but MAN, that Blue Hat, Green Hat one gets me EVERY. TIME.

Amy: *is probably a little overly fond of What's Wrong Little Pookie? than she should be*

Guess How Much I Love You

Noah: Ugh.

Ezra: Whatever.

Amy: SOB

The Giving Tree

Noah: What happened to the tree? Where'd the tree go? Mommy, WHAT HAPPENED TO THAT TREE?

Ezra: *poops*

Amy: SOB SOB SOB SOB SOB SOB

Love You Forever

Noah: BOOOORING.

Ezra: I concur.

Amy: You know, this book is kinda creepy, what kind of mother spies on her grown son and...oh...Oh. OH. SOB SOB SOB SOB SOB SOB SOB SOB (breathes) SOB SOB SOB SOB

T-Rex & Friends, aka Some Hand-Me-Down Cloth Busy Book Thing

Noah: It CRINKLES. It MAKES NOISE. It FEELS WEIRD. I HATE IT.

Ezra: *nom nom nom nom delicious busy book nom*

You Can Go To The Potty!

Noah: I liked the part where the boy went to the potty.

Amy: I dunno, but the exclamation point in the title had me thinking this book would be a bit more exciting.

Hands Are Not For Hitting

Amy: Damn skippy.

Make Way For Ducklings

Noah: My favorite book in the entire world, the only one that is remotely acceptable to read before bed, and OMFG DUCKS! LOOK! LOOK! I SEE DUCKS IN A BOOK ABOUT DUCKS WHAT ARE THE ODDS?

Amy: Please let me read you something else Please let me read you something else Please let me read you something else

Jason: *quietly retells the story of a shrewish Mrs. Mallard and her deadbeat husband who abandons the eight ducklings to run off with a slutty swan*

Noah: *totally doesn't notice because OMFG DUCKS DUCKS DUCKS*

The Monster at the End of This Book

Noah: Yay!

Amy: Yay! Something from my childhood that is actually as good as I remember! Take that, stupid ducks.

The Snowy Day, by EZRA Jack Keats, Bitches

Noah: Also yay, although mostly for the page that says: PLOP. Because "PLOP" is apparently the funniest word in the English language.

Amy: This book should be required reading for everybody on earth, just so they'll stop thinking that we 1) made Ezra's name up, 2) gave him a girl's name, or 3) named him after a band that I didn't even think was around anymore, because I guess I suck at fact-checking.

Green Eggs & Ham

Noah: I love this book, I adore this book, I refuse to notice any sort of applicable life lesson from this book.

Amy: Holy crap, does this book ever end? Was this book always this long? My God, it's like if J.K. Rowling wrote The Half-Blood Prince using just 50 words for 800 pages. More, more, Dumbledore said with a roar, just before slamming Snape's hand in the door.

Amy: *totally has a brilliant, not-at-all-copyright-violating idea*

Goodnight, Moon

Noah: Pure board book magic.

Ezra: The greatest book I have read in my entire life, and I'm pretty sure I've read AT LEAST four.

Amy: Why is no one concerned about the fucking mouse? Why don't the kittens kill the mouse? And just who is that quiet old lady? Shouldn't somebody put that leftover mush in some Tupperware? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS.