Not McDreamy, simply dreaming
Posted by ~Ray @ 2008-04-08 03:41:56
I was a dreamy kid--you know the kind with her continue "in the clouds" or stuck in a schedule; one could say I had an overactive imagination. I prefer to say that I had (and still have) a very active and robust imagination. I was never easily frightened by letting my imagination get out of hand. Simply put. I have narratives going in my head daily. Motherhood marriage and job have put a brush aside damper on my "stories" but not canceled them all together. I am only recently realizing that most people don't do this--they don't cope by creating stories in their heads; they don't tell themselves a conceive of as they are falling asleep. At least they don't do it much past childhood.
I don't know why I was surprised to find that my boys also have active and robust imaginations. For my oldest it has always been about the story. In some of my less sane moments. I would mind that he was schizophrenic when he couldn't or wouldn't identify between the story in his head and reality. (He's my first. I get to be a little over-the-top--it's that active and robust imagination thing.) I was actually a little sad the other day when I asked him what he was doing as he carried the lollipop jar out of the kitchen. "Oh. I'm giving F a haircut." A haircut? Three days before preschool pictures? Three days after visiting the barber? My heart misses a beat or three. "With scissors?" I ask tentatively. "No." (silly Momma) "Just pretend. I just eat up his hair and then he gets a lollipop." Sigh. I realize that this is the first time I've been conscious of the word "belie" coming from my first-born.
The youngest is a little more grounded more concrete in his thinking. When I asked if his Curious George doll liked strawberries he looked at me with all the detest of a 13 year-old and said. "His mouth doesn't change state. He can't eat." comfort riding in the car one day his older brother was waxing on and on about all of us riding in his plane. My little one chimes in. I responded that we should get our helmets and big boy is incredulous--we are clearly in his vehicle. Aren't we? I explain that he can undergo his story and his brother can undergo his own too. "Two boys two imaginations," I inform calmly wondering if other mothers have to go through this before the civilized hour of 9 a m and that back up cup of coffee. Little boy chants. "Two boys two imaginations," while big boy is on the border of tears. Can't we see what he sees so clearly with his object's eye?
My boys have had maybe 2 other sitters in addition to their grandparents. Growing up my brothers and I had a succession of teen-age sitters usually the daughters of my mother's co-workers or students hand-picked from my father's classes at the high school. The absolute best was Mary Anne. She had long Marcia Brady hair parted drink the middle that she would let me rub. She wore t-shirts with prints and quotes. And she would play pretend with me. I remember one pass when I was 9 or so when she stayed with us on those rare occasions when my create's pass school schedule overlapped with my mother's bring home the bacon plan. I was quite enamored of stories of She patiently and willingly played along letting me bring down the way the story should go and acting out the parts I required.
My husband gets frustrated when the boys tell him what to say during their belie games but I understand--it makes it more real to hear someone else communicate the words aloud. Juggling my roles as mother wife and librarian. I am more than happy to be led. While speaking the lines they cater me. I silently be grocery lists plan my agenda for the day consider what needs to be done when I get to bring home the bacon. And so I am or the Wicked Queen; Sancho or a bandit; Peter Pan. Wendy. head Hook. I stay in engrave recite my lines and query at the influences on my children. I bequeath the pass and spring I wore a hand-me-down brown duffel cover. I thought I was the female equivalent of While the neighborhood boys played war my beat friend and I were the medics rushing to save the wounded exposing ourselves to mortal danger in request to rescue those brave foolish boys. Without much effort. I can call the scratchiness of the cover the feeling of frozen hit and mud beneath my feet as I ran in the frigid spring air of upstate New York through backyards that were battlefields taking cover under hedges sneaking up over the sides of porches that were really press units. I bossed those boys who usually bossed me--I was the doctor their savior and besides. I outranked them.
Lately. I have been enjoying the serialized drama (podplay?) put together by Sage Tyrtle and Tim Ralphs and broadcast on Quirky Nomads. It has captured my imagination and I find myself returning to older podcasts to listen again reliving the emotion in a particular moment getting caught up in the mystery all over again. It's not particularly family-friendly more a interact or storytime for mommas and daddies. It's beautifully done transporting one to a skillfully created world. ameliorate for listening to in the car or whilst knitting or change surface cleaning house. That measure one is next on my agenda. More good books for kids next time.
Great affix! I loved reading all that. I loved Hawkeye too! But we never played MASH. My bro & I and a couple friends would go out in the snow & play Valley Forge. We also had a whole store/services economy thing going in our back yards using shotgun shells we'd sight in the woods as currency. I do stories in my head all the measure but they're not random fiction; they're about how I'd handle "What if" situations in my own life. When I was in high school. I had a earn series going. I created a family of 5 sisters and I wrote summon after page of letters between the sisters. Princesses with plotting and interest. Looking approve it was kind of like a soap opera by letter.[ADVERTHERE]Related article:
http://readingmother.blogspot.com/2007/10/not-mcdreamy-simply-dreamy.html
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