A Picture A Day Project: Day 1

I was inspired by another mommy blog (and no, I am not going to link it here. What? And redirect my ONE reader to some other blog? I think not) to start this project. Although she's not a professional photographer, her photos are awesome. (Okay, I may need to link it at some point here in my blog.) This project that she came up with for herself is ideal for me, given my perfectionist tendencies. I usually wait until I'm "inspired," which ends up resulting in Vaughn having big gaps in his photo album. "Vaughn, here you are at 2 years old, and then, here you are at 4. Yeah, the 3-year mark just didn't do anything for me." As she put it herself, the project forces her to think outside the box and challenges here creativity. We'll see how long I can maintain it.

Red or Black, Sailors Go Back; Yellow or Brown, Sailors Go to Town.

"Mom, the doctors said you need to look at the color of your pee and poop."

What? The doctors? What doctors? What?

"Yeah, the doctors. You know, the doctors on TV. They said you only need to worry when it's red or black." This said as Vaughn gestures animatedly, hopping around, demonstrating the different locations from which these substances emit.

Dave then interjects that there is a show called The Doctors that our hypervigilent, death obsessed child evidently caught a segment of.

"Uh-huh. If your poop or pee is red or black, it means you've got an infection in your butt."

As if I don't get enough of this at work, except this is like the Melena and Hematuria for Dummies version, not quite accurate but layman friendly.

"Well, Vaughn...that's...uh...good to know."

Touched by an Angel

"What are the chances of getting killed by a golf ball?"

This is one of many questions relating to mortality that my son has become obsessed with and has made me feel like a walking actuary table (and not a very accurate one at that. For my peace of mind and to stop my son from worrying incessantly, the chances of getting killed by anything, according to my statistical calculations, are 0.01%). This particular question was launched as we were walking around the golf course near our house, and is something, I am reticent to say, that has occurred to me more than once as I circle that particular route.

At first the questions and comments were sporadic:

"We're not going on the freeway are we? Tell me we are not going on the freeway. People DIE on the freeway!"

Then they started becoming increasingly annoying:

"Oh, not Jack in the Box...A kid DIED eating at Jack in the Box!" (How many years ago was that? Where does he hear this stuff?)

"I'm not riding on any rollercoasters. People DIE on rollercoasters." (This is upon learning about our, now canceled, Disneyland trip. How many rides are essentially rollercoasters at Disneyland?)

"Promise me I won't die until I'm old and that I'll be living with you until I'm..."

"Until your 18?"

"No, until I'm 63." (Say what now?)

"You won't live with me until you're 63! I'll be...Wait, you might very well be living with me when you're 63. Do you realize how old I'll be when you're 63? I'll be over 90, so yeah, there's a strong possibility you'll be living with me when you're 63." (It'll be PAYBACK time.)

So all this obsessing and worrying leads up to bedtimes that are fraught with "I'm scared." "I'm afraid we'll get robbed." "What if someone breaks into the house?" "I need to watch Spongebob until I fall asleep. It's the only thing that keeps me from being scared." (Riiiggghhhhttt.)

Last night's bedtime was no different. Exasperated, I decided to resort to my childhood theological roots:

"Vaughn, don't you know? Everyone has a guardian angel. A special angel assigned to them that protects them and keeps them from harm."

"What?!?" He's looking at me big-eyed and I can't discern whether this is incredulity or gullibility.

"Yes...Didn't you know that? What are they teaching you at church?" (What is the point of having someone else indoctrinate them if they don't propagate the proper mythical fodder?)

"No." (No, of course not. They're too busy teaching such useless character building blocks as respect, patience, grace...Missing the all important theological basics like Heaven, Crowns of Gold with jewels in them for every good deed, Mansions, GUARDIAN ANGELS. Of course, we want to leave out the nasty bit about the guardian angel looking away or crying when you do something bad...although, that could come in handy. Who needs to be taught patience when you know you're going to be making your guardian angel cry or possibly go on strike, leaving you completely unprotected, if you throw a temper tantrum?)

This then led to a 15 minute interrogation as to what these guardian angels look like, what they do, where they come from, etc., until he was literally crying with relief, or as he put it, crying because "I was touched."

I then filled Dave in on the latest Fear Factor update, cautiously patting myself on the back for my quick parenting reflexes. I say cautiously because there is, of course, the inevitable logical query of: If EVERYONE has a guardian angel, then why do some people die in accidents? I hoped I had bought myself some time, and Vaughn would for a few months, at least, not question the deeper philosophical contradictions in such theories. He is only 8, after all.

The next day:

"So if everyone has a guardian angel that protects them, why did Kyron Horman get kidnapped, HUH!?!"