Eating Words

A few years ago, my sister gave our kids a book called "The Incredible Book Eating Boy".  It's a fantastic, adorable story about a little guy who eats books instead of food, and discovers...well, you should really just read it. *wink*  Anyhoo, he eats books.  Lots of books.

(The Incredible Book Eating Boy, by Oliver Jeffers)

Lately, I've been thinking about eating words.  

The other day at our home school co-op, I had a meandering discussion with a few other moms.  As our babies crawled around the floor or slept in our arms, we talked about our other children and their shenanigans. Someone mentioned the fact that two of her children -put together- might wear a whole outfit around the house: one in just pants, and the other in just a shirt...and she could care less. (We all giggled and nodded agreement.)  Then we proceeded to discuss the joys of getting and keeping children neatly dressed, and how all of us have given up the struggle.  It's just not a battle worth fighting. 

"Before I had kids," said me, "I used to see people out and about with their bedraggled children and think to myself, 'I will NEVER let my kids out of the house looking like that!'  And now...my only requirement is that they pick clothing without noticeable holes."

Those words from my youth have been chewed and swallowed.  In fact, I'm pretty sure that they are fully digested by now.

I think we're all aware that the certainty of our youth slowly disappears as we age and experience life. However, during each phase we tend to come to the conclusion that we are SO much wiser than we were before.  We risk superlatives in our speech and let loose our judgement on generations that are not yet our own, and condemn thoughts and actions that we couldn't possibly understand from our limited vantage point.

In elementary school, I worked pretty hard to be the best.  I was really well behaved, I did all my projects all the way, read extra books, kept my desk extra special neat and tidy, and loooooved my teacher.  Mrs. Haught was so awesome, and I made sure that she knew that.  I was also pretty sure I was her pet, even if I wasn't. But...next to my amazingly clean desk, donned in "thank you" cards and glory, was the desk of a messy little boy.

His space was catastrophic.  Papers were lost for months, and pencils held captive beneath the bedlam that occupied the belly of his school desk.  One day he couldn't find a worksheet, and I volunteered to stay in with him at recess to help him clean out the desk and find it.  This was not an act of mercy. It was the ploy of one who was unsatisfied with the way her neighbor's space was negatively effecting the property value of her own. I remember telling my mother after school that afternoon that I would never let my things be that messy. Never.

*gulp* Moving on...

see? peaceful sisters.

My childhood home was one of peace and order. My dad loves to clean (or was just trained to like it by his mother), and both parents are quiet(ish) people. Two kids, both girls.  That's all. We had the occasional sister fights, but in general, things were silent and there was no risk of bodily harm.  Potty humor was confined to the bathroom. Literally. And most importantly, there was nothing gross. 

This same boy that challenged my notion of proper desk etiquette also blew me away with his uncanny ability to be a lethal combination of crazy, gross, and extra special crazy.  He wasn't the only boy who did this to me, since -because I had no brothers- I had no concept of what little boys were supposed to be like. I only knew that this dude was nuts.  He was able to fart, talk about poop, pick his nose, make fun of girls, and break school rules all in one sentence. I vowed I would NEVER share a space with someone so hideous as him. Eww. Never.

That, folks, is my wonderful third child. (Be sure to turn on the sound to get the full effect.)

-Words eaten.-

Last night, he did that^ for 10 straight minutes while my husband and I laughed until we cried.  I have not only eaten my words, they actually tasted good going down. I am amazed, and slightly jealous of his armpit farting ability. Wow.

In high school, I knew everything. And by everything, I mean that the emotional universe and understanding of life and its purpose were completely within my grasp.  You could tell me nothing new, unless you were also in high school and possessed the same innate understanding of existence...in which case, you were permitted to speak. I'm pretty sure that I don't have room to write all the words I've eaten from that period of my life. Some of my assumptions were more embarrassing than others, but the ones I regret the most were my conclusions about other people and their actions.  

I would never act like her. 

I would never date a guy like that. 

I will never want to be around my parents.

College was a whole new realm of misunderstanding. For the first time in my life, I felt pretty stupid. The liberal arts education tore me down to a basic scaffolding of thought and rebuilt me in a manner that suited an atmosphere of learning with an open mind. This sounds like a good thing.  It pulled many of my assumptions out of their holes by their underwear. After much kicking and screaming, they gave up the fight and were eaten, only to be replaced with more postulations of a very different kind. 

I won't be dependent upon anyone.

I don't need God.

My abilities will carry me through life.

High intelligence is superior to all other things.

Following your desires is a good thing, no matter which direction they lead.

Eaten... every last one.

Since then, with marriage, child bearing, child rearing, and life in general, I've had my fair share of misguided superlatives:

I will follow a career path in music.

I couldn't possibly be a stay at home mom.

I will never have an epidural during childbirth.

I will never turn into my mother.

Homeschooling is ridiculous, and only weird people do it.

I will never use cloth diapers.

I will always make my baby food from scratch.

I will never give my children sugar.

I will never use disposable diapers again.

McDonalds is off the menu.

It goes on and on, back and forth. Over and over I speak something, only to realize down the road that -though that may have been true for that moment in time- it was not an eternal truth. 

There are some words that I never intend to eat. I will always love my children (even when I disagree with their choices or actions). I will never leave my husband except in death. I love and follow a great God that hasn't abandoned me, even when I've been severely misguided in my assumptions, and never will.

Everything else? Well, I've decided that from now on, I will do my best to make statements that don't preclude my need to change, learn and grow. I'm certainly wiser than I was a decade ago, but (God willing) I have so many of those left to live. I sincerely hope that 20 years from now, I'll look back at my 33 yr old self and chuckle at the foolishness and misguided thoughts. But between now and then, I have no doubt that I'll be feasting on my own words, and getting full on the goodness -and craziness- of life lived into wisdom.