Tag Archives: Being Dead

Coco is Dead. Long Live Coco.

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I had been out of town for several days. My phone rang. It was Zaffron. She was crying.

“Coco is dead, Mommy! Coco is dead!”

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. Who’s Coco?”

“He’s one of the fish we bought for the new aquarium. There’s Zippity, and Sucker and Coco and… ”

She broke off into sobs. I waited, knowing the story would continue when she was ready.

“We found him this morning. He wasn’t moving so Daddy took him out and shook him. He still didn’t move. He’s dead, Mommy. Really really dead.”

Her wailing continued. When it turned to sniffles I said, “Oh baby. I’m so sorry. You know when I was a little girl I had a goldfish named Sprite. When he died, I got a new fish and named him Sprite Two. Maybe we could get a Coco Two.”

Silence. You know the kind. Stunned silence. The kind where you can tell the other person is actually stunned that you could say such a thing. It was only punctuated by a single hiccup. And then this:

“Mommy! How could you? Nobody can replace Coco!”

“Oh! Of course not, honey. I just meant –.”

“What? What did you say, Daddy?”

She paused and I heard my husband’s muffled voice in the background.

“Daddy says to tell you that I have only known Coco for less than 24 hours.”

“Ah, I see. But that doesn’t really help much, I guess.”

“No,” she said. “No, it certainly doesn’t.”

Need Last Minute Gift Ideas? How About a Deadly but Curable Disease?

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Sweet Mgazi

Please select the answer that best completes the following phrase:

The conversation below took place in the:

a) Bathroom
B) Bedroom
C) Vatican
D) Car

The correct answer is D, of course. I actually have a tag that links to all conversations that have taken place in the car. All the best do!

Mgazi: Mommy, can you give me a TB shot for Christmas?

Me: What?

Zaffron: What?

Me: Gaz, do you want to me take you to the Dr’s office to get another vaccination? Honey, you cried like crazy, don’t you remember? You kicked. You screamed. You actually bit me!

Mgazi: I didn’t bite you.

Me: Okay, you didn’t bite me. But I could tell you wanted to.

Mgazi: I want to have the shot so I can give it to you and daddy and Zaffy.

Me: Do you mean you want to administer the Tuberculosis vaccine to the entire family?

Zaffron: No, mom! Geesh! Don’t you get it? She wants to jab the needle in our arms and push the thingy down so that we can stay healthy and not get diseases! [Zaffron throws her hands in the air, exasperated that once again she has to explain something to her dense, and obviously slow, mother.]

Mgazi: Uh huh. I want my family to be healthy. So I’m going to stick you here [she points to her shoulder] and here [she points to her leg] and here [she lifts up her left butt cheek and pokes at it. (Or maybe it was her right, I'm not sure. I was watching all of this through the rearview mirror.)]

Me: Sweetie, that is a very kind thought but it’s not going to happen.

Mgazi: Fine then. If you won’t do it, I’ll just ask Santa!

Strategically Ignoring My Children Since 2005…

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It occurs to me that both of my girls, Mgazi, age 5 and Zaffron, age 7, ask me “why” multiple times a day. What I want to know is this:

Do I really have to answer?

I’ve been giving the whole matter some thought and I realize that my children’s questions usually fall under one of three categories.

Category 1: Technical questions. These are the ones that often stump me. “Why does ice melt?” Usually these questions are asked in the car, thereby thwarting a quick Google search. So, I answer the technical questions the same way each and every time without fail. “You know what, honey, that is a great question for your father.” Done.

Category 2: Abstract questions. “Why is the color orange called the color orange?” I answer abstract questions by throwing the question back at the inquiring child as though I think it’s important for her to come up with the answer on her own. “Hmmm… why do YOU think the color orange is called the color orange?” Of course, I’ve done this so many times that the children see through my ruse. After a typical toss-back, the child will reply, “I have no idea, Mom. That’s why I asked YOU!” There is a sigh and then a grumpy and defeated, “forget it.” The child is frustrated and I do feel a little guilty… for about 15 seconds.

Category 3: Must-Know questions. I look at questions from categories 1 and 2 as questions born from curiosity. If the child doesn’t get an answer, and let’s face it, she usually doesn’t if the question is posed to me, life will go on. Her education or mood may be slightly impacted but I’m pretty confident that there is no lasting damage. But Must-Know questions are a different matter altogether. These are the questions that just might play a role in helping my child “figure out” life. The ones where my answers or lack-thereof could influence how my kid views the world. I struggle to answer these questions. Mightily.

“Why does that little girl on the street not have a house?” or “Why does that person’s face not look pretty?” or “Why can’t you sing in a band if you’re dead?” The Must-Know questions always make me a little sad. Because I know that hard as I try, I won’t be able to give an adequate enough answer. “The little girl on the street doesn’t live in a house because her parents cannot afford to pay rent,” I’ll say. A second “why?” invariably comes back to me. “Well, it’s expensive to have a home, and some people don’t have jobs that pay enough to cover the costs of everything they need.” Pause. “Why?” It goes on and on. It’s heartbreaking. I can explain the simple economics or science but I don’t have a complete understanding of why the world is the way it is. It just is.

So, back to my original question. Do I have to answer each and every time my kid asks a question? Heck no. Depending on the circumstances, I’m perfectly happy to ignore, pass off, or half-answer a curiosity question. It’s a survival technique.

But the Must-Knows… yes. I have to do my best to answer those — especially when they center on values or ethics. Because if I don’t take the time to guide my children on the things that matter, I risk that they might ask someone else.

I Kill Innocent Creatures — And Then They Cry.

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The 53 stairs leading up to my house are a minefield of slimy, disgusting slugs. Every morning, without fail, I have to dodge, hop, skip, and weave my way down the stairs in an attempt to not step on one of the suckers. I always make sure I have some extra change on hand, though, just in case.  If I squish a slug, I can assure you I will not be the one who scrapes it off the bottom of my Cole Haan’s. Mgazi will do it. She’ll do almost anything for a quarter.

So far, in the ten years that I have lived in this house, in the thousands of times I have trekked up and down those incredibly annoying stairs, I have never ever stepped on a slug.

I did, however, manage to step on a snail.

Damn! Did I just make it down to the bottom of the stairs, all FIFTY-THREE stairs, violence-free, only to hear (and feel) the dainty shell of a snail crunch under my sneaker?

Please say it isn’t so.

Oh, it’s so. The children saw it all and they made sure I understood the full impact of my actions.

Zaffron: Mommy! What did you do?

Me: What? Nothing! Get in the car.

Mgazi [bending at the waist, inspecting the sidewalk]: Oh no, Zaffy. She is lying to you. Mommy killed a snail.

Tears immediately spring into Zaffy’s eyes. She’s by the car, with me. She can’t even see what Mgazi is looking at.

Zaffron: Mommy! How could you do that? He was just a baby!

Me: Oh for heaven’s sake… I just –I didn’t — for God’s sake, just get in the car. The snail is fine. He’s going to have to crawl away and find a new shell.

Mgazi [still peering at the glob on the concrete]: Nuh uh, Mommy. He’s killed. You killed him.

Me: Gazi, get in the car. Zaffy, you too.

Everyone climbs into the car and I think the episode is over because there is a short stretch of silence (if you don’t count Zaffy’s whimpering.) What was I thinking? There are never stretches of silence in my car. Short or otherwise.

Mgazi: Zaffy, you know that snail that Mommy killed? (Like Zaffy could have forgotten in the last two minutes.) He was crying too.

Zaffy [now wailing]: What? What?? Why? WHYYYYYY MOMMMMMMMMMMY?

Me: I’m sorry! I am so sorry. It was a total accident. I feel awful, Zaffy. Mgazi, you didn’t see the snail crying. Stop trying to rile your sister.

Mgazi: I did. I saw his eyes. And there were tears coming out of them.

Zaffy: WHY MOMMMMY? WHY?

Me: Mgazi, seriously. You need to stop talking. I’m not joking. Not another word.

And we returned to silence… except, of course, for the sound of my oldest child’s sniffling  grief.

Glass of white wineRecommended wine: Do you know what goes great with snails? A chablis — chalky, crisp, and flinty, with a hint of earthiness. Try the 2007 Christian Moreau Chablis. You should be able to get it for around $30.

Snail photo: Copyright (c) 123RF Stock Photos

Long Live Russell (or Daddy, You’re Not Dead Yet?)

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Russell in a jetpack

Russell in a jetpack… but that’s a different story.

It’s late at night — about 10:30 p.m. the night before Russell’s birthday (last night to be exact). We had just picked up the children from the babysitter’s and we were driving home. The atmosphere inside the car was calm. Unusual.

The children were quiet but awake so I mentioned that their dad was going to turn 44 in a mere two and a half hours.

Zaffy said, “Forty-four? Daddy, does this mean that you are going to die soon?”

Russell said, “I don’t think so. I hope not. But I’m a day closer than I was yesterday.”

Mgazi said, “Daddy’s almost dead? That’s too bad.”

And the children drifted peacefully off to sleep.

Glass of white wineRecommended wine: Russell is a fan of bourbon. So, in honor of his impending death, I suggest his college favorite, Evan Williams. Long live Russell!

 

Don’t Forget Your Grandparents Are Dead!

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Work colleagues came over for a little christmas party last night. The last group of folks left, laughing and chatting as they walked down our 53 steps to the road below. Mgazi and Zaffron were calling their goodbyes out our window.

Zaffy yelled, “Byeeee!”

Mgazi shouted, “Don’t forget your grandparents are dead!”

Of course, the coworkers that experienced this particular piece of advice being yelled down at them from heaven above fell silent for a few moments. Then they erupted in laughter and my friend Lisa said, “I think I just wet my pants.”

Zaffy called down to her in reassurance. “Don’t worry! It happens to me all the time!”

Glass of white wineRecommended wine: I don’t have one. Anything will do really. I was so out of ideas (we were drinking SoCo and lime at this party) that I googled “best wine for a funeral.” Guess what? There is a funeral home called Drinkwine Family Mortuary. I kid you not. And guess what else? There’s a place called Goodwine Funeral Homes in Flat Rock. I don’t know where that is. But I do know where Buffalo, NY is. That’s where I grew up. And there was a funeral home near us that was called Amigone Funeral Home and Cremation. I can’t make this stuff up.