Burning onions = ten years of therapy.

While Henry organized his Stormtroopers, I had some precious phone time with my friend.
“Damn, I burned my onions,” said Stacey.
“You burned your onions?” I said. “I didn’t even know you were cooking. You cook while you’re talking? You talk while you’re cooking?”
“I’m a multitasker,” she said.
Henry, meanwhile, was staring at me. “Who burned what?” he asked.
“Stacey burned her onions,” I told him.
“Let me talk to her,” he said. He grabbed the phone and confirmed the events surrounding the onions, and the burning of said onions.
Eventually I got the phone back. While I attempted to finish our conversation, Henry pulled at my leg, barraging me with questions regarding The Burning.
I began to lose my patience. I suggested that he play. Look at a book. Do something while I have the only interaction I’ve had with an adult all day except for those few minutes with the cashier at the supermarket that I continued way past an appropriate point.
His lower lip began to quiver. “But why did everything get all burned up?” he said. Then I noticed he was holding his special bear.

Finally I got it. Burning. Fire. Three-year-old listening, thinking our friend is aflame.

I explained to him as best I could about what we meant when we said the food “burned,” how it’s not on fire and etc. He was not appeased. I got off the phone and sat next to him. He leapt onto my lap and dug his head into my chest.

I explained it all again. “That was confusing, when we talked about something burning, wasn’t it? You were worried.” He nodded vigorously into my boobs.
“I didn’t understand,” he said.
“Well, why would you? When we say something’s burning, we usually mean it’s on fire, right?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t understand about the burning,” he said.
“You don’t have to be sorry about that,” I said, and held him tighter.

When I was three, a boy we called Little David began spending weekends with us. I am unclear about the reasoning behind this, but I know that he lived at an orphanage where my mother was a volunteer. It seems strange to me that the orphanage would loan children to volunteers, but there it is. Little David came for weekends, and according to my parents, I did not like this at all. He was maybe a year younger than me, and very physical and boisterous, and I was a little girl who liked everything just so and he was touching my stuff and he even slept in my room, and I wanted him out out out. So after a few weekends, my mom told the orphanage the weekend arrangement wasn’t working.

The following weekend I asked my mother where Little David was. “Don’t worry,” she said, “We know you didn’t like having him here, so Little David’s not coming back.”

The next morning I woke up and couldn’t talk.

I couldn’t talk for a while, actually. Well, can you imagine? I had wielded untold power! One complaint from me and I could disappear people! How could I say something? What would happen next? I would say I didn’t like my hamburger and then all the cows on Earth would spontaneously combust?

Eventually everyone in charge figured out what had happened; I was reassured and shortly thereafter I returned to my usual chatty self. And every time I heard the story of my temporary muteness, I would wonder at how impressionable little kids are. I knew, however, that when I was a parent I would certainly be as mindful as I could of my child’s fragile grasp on how the world works.

But the thing is, it’s haaaard. It’s like you’re raising an intelligent, perceptive, mildly psychotic Armenian. He’s got a good grasp of the language, the Armenian, but he doesn’t get the idiomatic expressions, he has frighteningly good hearing, he remembers everything, and he’s extremely sensitive. You can’t get away with anything with this Armenian. Don’t tell your husband, after a long day, that you’re pooped—because five days later the Armenian will shout to you in the supermarket “WHY WERE YOU POOPED DID YOU HAVE POOP ON YOU?” (For instance.)

A few months before the Armenian really wasn’t as interested in what you had to say. He didn’t have a real handle on the language, so if conversation went over his head he would let it pass him by. He was invincible, the Armenian—if he didn’t get something, it didn’t need to be gotten. All that mattered was what he knew. But now he’s figuring out how much he doesn’t know, and how much he needs to know, and suddenly he spends a lot more time with his bear, on your lap, needing some extra comfort.

Okay, so my metaphor has fallen apart, but you get what I’m saying.

A couple of hours later we were playing on the floor, and he asked me what the floor was made of. Was it made of sticks, like in the Three Little Pigs? He studied the floor, checking it for signs of weakness. “No, no, it’s nice, sturdy wood,” I said, and he knocked on it. There was a faint echo.

“Hey, it’s like someone knocked back from underneath there,” I said. As I said it I thought, hmm, perhaps this isn’t the image you want to give your child, and before I could even finish the thought he was back on my lap with his bear.

Hey, at least he can still talk.

Comments

[ozma]

Yeah, I'm glad she can hear and think for herself if only I could remember to shut the fuck up sometimes all would be well. Thank God for Pig Latin.

The Little David story is pretty incredible. Did the trauma of all that power go away or were there side-effects? The magical thinking never goes away completely, I think.

[alice]

Hmm. Well, I look at pictures of him now and feel a pang, because he was so cute and he was an ORPHAN and if I had been the adult, it would have broken my heart to tell him he couldn't come to my house. As it was, I was just responsible. I deprived the orphan. ME. I DID IT.

See! All better!

[Alexa]

When I was four my pregnant aunt took me to McDonald's. She ordered a Coke, and I burst into hysterical tears, grabbing the beverage from her hands and flinging it to the ground. As it turned out, I had recently seen an episode of St. Elsewhere or General Hospital or something where a mother gives birth to a baby who dies shortly afterwards. She sobs about it to the Doctor, who says:
"Well, you just couldn't keep your nose out of that Coke."

Very traumatizing. My cousin was born healthy, thank goodness.

[Julie]

Egad, after only READING about Little David I'm not sure I can speak.

[Diana]

Poor Little David. Did your mother ever tell you what happened to him? now i'm all curious about him- instead of focusing on your little Henry. (sorry).
My Little Man doesn't speak yet (well, comprehensible words anyway) but if something frightens him he runs in between my legs. Nice comfort zone, huh?

[Meg]

My mom and dad used to call me Radar because I would show up out of nowhere if they were trying to have a discussion about anything I wasn't supposed to/wasn't ready to hear. This led to some traumatic overhearings.

The thing was, if they lowered their voices, I would get even more curious.

To this day, if people whisper, I'm all over them like white on rice.

But fortunately, if people say they are tired, I'm past the point of expecting to see them walking around with a Michelin around their necks.

[sumo]

HI. I'm still de-lurked.

Orphanages loan out kids to families if you are starting a sitcom, especially if it is a smart black kid in your white family. If it was a cute white kid, then the odds are your ratings were slipping and they were trying a gimmick to win viewers. Sounds like you guys jumped the shark.

[Jill]

Wow, what a wonderful blog! I admire your devotion to your child, I am always wondering if I am spending enough time playing games I LOATHE like build stuff and then wreck it 400 times in a row. I wonder what is wrong with me that I don't like to do it just because he likes it and I can be with him. Instead I do it twice and try to sneak over to my laptop for some quick lurking. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and talent.

[mom on a wire]

Fantastic post. Thank you for the important reminder to be mindful of their fragile little worlds.

[nate]

Henry breaks my heart. My daughter hasn't had any moments like that, but I can see as she approaches 3 yo that the chances will be increasing. For now it's along the lines of this sort of exchange:
Me to DH, handing him a letter: "I have a present for you."
DD: What KIND of a present?!?

But I was re-reading your Wow post today, and your comment about your jr. high nemesis reminded me of my least-favorite person from h.s., who has increasingly become one of my least favorite people in the world, even though I haven't spoken to her in (yikes!) almost 20 yrs. Then she was just obnoxious & kind of dumb. Now? Well, in 2004 she was chair of the Bush/Cheney ticket in the PNW. And now she's ambassador to Malta. So much for karma.

[Tracy]

Wow. Isn't it amazing how these little minds work -- and daunting? Your David story reminds me of Maya Angelou's I Know Why the Cages Bird Sings in which she named her attacker and her family offed him! She was mute for years. I had a caretaker as a kid (mom worked)and I loved her. Eventually, she started bringing her son, Scottie (no doubt because she HAD to...). I complained to my mom that I didn't like him (probably just on that one day, probably because he wouldn't share something). Mom told the caretaker she couldn't bring the son anymore (that was so COLD), and the caretaker quit. I couldn't get my brain around that AT ALL, and always felt responsible for hurting her feelings, and for losing her as a special grown-up friend.

[anne]

my mother used to say, "i'm late to work! we need to hurry or i'll be fired!" and it always got me moving really fast so, you know, effective.

i thought she was going to be burned at the stake.

[Sarcomical]

well let us know if you have to talk him out of trying to get the floor people out from under there anytime soon. ;)

[Lisa C.]

I'm 13 years older than my youngest sister. She turned 5 a few weeks before my 18th birthday. One day she came and sat in my lap and started crying.

Me: What's wrong?
Her: You don't have a mommy and daddy anymore.
Me: What do you mean? We have the same mommy and daddy.
Her: But you're going to be an adult.
Me: Huh?
Her: On your birthday you'll be an adult and you won't have a mommy and daddy anymore. You won't be in our family!

We hastily explained to her that even when people are adults they have parents and stay in families. It's amazing how young children fixate on certain things and just run with them.

[Angela]

Dear God... what is it with the floor people in the blogs today?? I'm starting to get mildly creeped out by you folks!

I always thought the floor people were just made up in my head. Now I'm going to have to leap into my bed from at least 10 feet away every night. (Because, you know that's where the floor people live, under the bed.)

[Liz]

I had some friends whose young son, over the course of several months, mysteriously developed debilitating fears of: walking on grass, shadows on his bedroom wall, and being around other children. Inconsolable shrieking and inconveniently stubborn refusals ensued.

It took my firends a while but they finally made the connection: they had recently participated in a local campaign to eliminate use of pesticides in the city parks; they had recently consulted a contractor about some renovations and had expressed concern about lead paint on the walls of their old house; and they had recently been lamenting a case of strep throat that was bouncing all around the preschool. Their son had only picked up the message that there is BAD SCARY INVISIBLE DANGER lurking in the grass, on the walls, and among the other kids at preschool.

Poor babies, life is so confusing when they're just starting to be smart.

[Arabella]

Reading this makes me want MY special bear.

Yes, I'm nearly thirty, and I have a special bear.

I don't blame the kid one bit.

[Elaine]

Maybe it was David under the floor boards...

[mamabird]

Oh, my, that's a funny image, Elaine.

[lindsey]

When I was three my dad was helping me get dressed and told me that I looked sharp in my new shirt. I started bawling.... "I don't look like a porcupine!"

[Christa]

So how come my vociferous complaints about my brother's existence didn't get HIM disappeared?? I guess some kids got the power... and others don't. Well, at least that explains school cliques...

[honestyrain]

my son is almost five and when he was almost three (or thereabouts) he asked about my mom and we told him that she died. why did she died, he naturally wanted to know and i said, because she smoked.

and so, away he went, thinking that my mother caught fire and died. there's a terrifying thought.

we don't know people who wmoke and he'd never seen anyone smoke. then one day he saw a man on the street smoking (this was long after we told him about my mom) and he said...is that man smoking? yes, we said. ohhhh, he said, but he still doesn't get how that killed my poor mother.

[margot]

Oh, ohhh Henry! My heart aches for his unBEARable cuteness.

[Tracy]

Reminds me of a book my kids love called "More Parts" where the young boy in the book is freaked out by common idioms such as "give me a hand" and the picture shows the kid holding his unhinged appendage by the thumb.

Amazon sez: "Arnold explores common figures of speech that amaze and frighten a young boy. "I'll bet that broke your heart," "give him a hand," "Hold your tongue," and "jumps out of his skin" are only a few of the sayings that worry the protagonist". Perhaps this would be fun to read with Henry to show him what idioms mean.

[Eileen Hengel]

Yea so I don't have children and won't have any for a while- I am in college- but I just thought this was very well written and thoughtful.

[Mir]

Hugs to your special little Armenian (I thought it was a pretty apt metaphor, actually).

[Nothing But Bonfires]

The first time I ever went to McDonalds when I was 4 or 5, the grandmother of the little boy who was my friend had medium fries, which came in a red packet, and everyone else had small ones, which came in a white packet. The grandmother was also in a wheelchair. So for AN EMBARASSINGLY LONG TIME, I thought old and/or disabled people got red packets when they ordered fries. Like it was some kind of honor for their age and wisdom and the trials they'd been through in life. Also, the white packet was just made of paper but the red one was sturdier and made of shiny cardboard. I thought this was so the seniors could grip it better. Because they were so old.

[blackbird]

My husband works in film.
Sometimes he edits.
Sometimes he edits with an editing program called a "flame."
Some days he would come home and tell us he had spent the whole day in the flame.
One day my then-three-year-old was very busy telling someone that his daddy worked in the flame -- but that he wasn't on fire.

[alice]

Just like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego!

[ChristyD]

What a sweetheart Henry is!

[Suse]

I'm still so freaked out about Little David stuck under your floorboards that I can't otherwise comment.

[clickmom]

It was a good thing we were living in a brick apartment building during the Three Little Pigs phase because my oldest son needed sturdy brick home reassurance daily for a few months.

Today my 12 year old told someone how he spells in front of his 4 year old brother and then lies about what he spelled. The four year old heard the whole thing, and now the gig is up-much to his brothers surprise he inderstood exactly what was going on. Hahaha

[Emily]

eep! Now you've got *me* scared about floor people! Kids always have weird ideas about things. When I was a kid, we always went away for the fourth of July. I grew up in Wisconsin, which has tornado sirens up all over. They look like three rows of horns all arranged to form a circle. Anyway, as a kid I did not know the tubes function, so I thought that on the fourth ice cream poured into the streets and everyone ran outside with spoons laughing with glee and stuffing themselves with ice cream. And I was pretty put out that I missed it every year.

[alice]

What's with you all obsessing about the floor people? There are no floor people. Little David is now probably too big to fit under the floorboards. He's out in the world, robbing people. Because of me.

[wordgirl]

Those little ones can be awfully literal, indeed. My oldest was like that. We forget so easily.

[S-Way]

Oh no Margot DIDN'T just go there!

[elisabeth]

as we say at our house...put another dollar in the therapy jar.....

[Devorit]

I have really vivid memories of being 4, having just started reading, and being very concerned when we'd get on the freeway to go to grandma's and the signs would say "Sacramento" for the northbound 5 freeway, because I *didn't* want us to have to go to Sacramento! :)

[Genevieve]

OK, it's not so much that I lurk as that with two children, I get the chance to read finslippy as often as i get the chance to shower. Be happy I DON'T live in your neighborhood.
Food. Thank you for writing that. I haven't read any comments because really I SHOULD BE IN BED. but i'm enjoying being "alone" in the house and decided to read finslippy. So, my nearly 3 year old has stopped eating everything except cheese, crackers, raisins, bananas and crackers oh, did i all ready mention crackers? And do you know what realization I've come to after many interactions you've all ready described (except picture a newborn sucking at your boob while also trying to turn her head to stare at your toddler emanating sounds that only dogs should be able to hear), fine, eat cheese and crackers and raisins. And not the $2 apricot i bought because last summer all you could say was "mommy, more cocks" because you loved apricots so much. And, by the way if you say dammit, you can convince your kid that you just said darnit.

[April]

I love your blog. I have a 5 year old son and an 18 month old daughter. Your stories remind me of where I've been and where I'm headed again. Henry sounds like such a sweetheart.
I loved your post about his eating habits. At almost 6 years old, Nick STILL won't eat anything so I feel your pain. Oh, there is one thing he always wants to eat: King Crab Legs. Go figure.

[Bihari]

My about-to-be-three year old boy has suddenly started needing more lap time and explanations (of everything) during the day, and more soothing in the middle of the night. I think you just explained why. I am a parent of epochal and unaralleled density (well, mentally speaking; we'll leave the physical right out of it). Fortunately for me, and my poor kid, you are smart enough to figure these things out and blog about them. I am most grateful for this public service!

[nathalie]

This belongs under the older post about how to find time to write while parenting but if I put it there no one would read it so...

Attn finslippy fans (excuse me Alice, I don't really know you and I hope you wont be offended. I'm feverish and I had this idea and it wont go away until I do something about it so here it is).

I propose that the fans of finslippy begin an email campaign to a publisher asking for Alice's book deal to be offered at once. I'm no marketing/demographic whiz but I think the publisher of the Nanny Diaries might be a good target. 400 emails to the appropriate decision maker should get some attention - no? Anyone know how to get President and Publisher Sally Richardson's email address?

p.s. Alice, I'm not crazy or anything - I just think you are talented and something nutty like this might work

[Christie]

I absolutely LOVE reading what you write. I've been reading your blog for several months, and I always enjoy it! I always look forward to your next post. I'm convinced that Henry is a genius - the things he says blow me away!

[Kathryn, The Daring One]

You have such a fabulous style. Love the onion story.

[Tree]

It's overwhelming, isn't it? This responsibility we have...this power we have with our kids! It's so tough for me to remember how literally my words are taken. If my older kids overhear me telling the baby he looks delicious, I'm attacked with a barrage of confused questions.
Henry sounds so sensitive! With all the concern and the snuggle-needing and the questions. The heart melts!

[katze]

I was in elementary school when Mt. St. Helen's erupted. I saw the pictures on the evening news and heard about the ash cloud and every time a cloud would pass in front of the sun for weeks after that, I would run to the front of the house to look for the lava flow that I was certain would be about to overwhelm the neighborhood.

[katze]

...aaaaand I forgot to mention the relevant fact that I grew up in OHIO. Very, very far away from Mt. St. Helens

[alice]

Whoa, Nathalie! Whoa, now! That's an incredibly sweet thing to say, but I need to write the book first. And I'm working on it! It just might take, you know, some time.

[Kate]

De-lurking ...

One day when I was about three, my mother was getting ready to go to work, and I didn't want her to go. After much pleading and an impressive display of histrionics, she said, "Stop it. You're going to make me late, and then I'll get fired. Do you want me to get fired?"

I'd never heard the word "fired" used to describe termination of employment; in my head it referred to what one did with a gun. So, I got it in my head that if my mother was late for work, her boss was going to shoot her. It took a couple of weeks before she figured why I'd suddenly gone from begging her to stay home to practically shoving her out the door 15 minutes before she had to leave.

[Debl]

Alice, I commend you on your excellent "How To Talk So Kids Will Listen" -style communicating when he was on your lap.

When I was very young (too young to remember), I went through a short period where I was terrified of moss, and eventually grass as well, which is a pretty tricky phobia to work with in the suburbs. I wouldn't set foot on anything remotely furry and green. My parents figured that because of all the Sesame Street I watched, I thought the moss/lawn would suddenly open its eyes or mouth and come alive like a Muppet monster.