Funerals + Silly Putty = Trouble

Hopefully reading my blog has the benefit of making you feel better about your own child's behavior after reading about mine. And the thing that makes my own daughter's behavior so horrid--or any child's behavior--is that it is so unpredictable. I mean, one minute you are having a quiet moment in your head that says something like, "Gee, this day isn't so bad. At least my kid is being good." And the next, you are either mortified or calling the emergency room.

My most recent Unviverse-Really-Sticking-It-To-You Moment came at a most inopportune time: Grandma Lee's viewing at the funeral home. And this is why this post is so hard to write--because Grandma Lee was such an extraordinary woman that it is almost disrespectful to not focus on her. But then again, maybe Grandma would have chuckled at my daughter's antics. Or maybe not. Perhaps she would have told me to look up a Bible verse about disciplining your children or something.

Anyway, we were at the funeral home. As with any funeral, it is an emotionally charged time. You see family you haven't seen in forever--which is great. You have the memories of this person who has passed away--which is both great and sad. And, of course, you have the body of your loved one right up at the front of the room for you to say your final goodbyes to--which for me, at least, has always been a very confusing time. I mean, I know she's in Heaven. I know that she is in an infinitely better place. But do I still need to say something to her? How long do I stay up there? How much do I cry? Obviously, these things are quite personal and varied among people, and that it is just the nature of going to a furneral. And since Grandma Lee was such an anchor in so many peoples' lives, it was really hard to even know how to act sometimes at this particular juncture. Even more tricky for me, is how to deal with Mountain Child on an occasion like this. Children and furnerals are an interesting combination. They can lighten the mood of even the most meloncholy of occasions. They can also cause a great deal of havoc. My husband and I decided that she didn't need to go up and see Grandma Lee. She is only three, and we felt that it might be too confusing and upsetting. We did tell her that Grandma Lee, or "Maga Lee" went to Heaven. She understood this--sort of, and she replied, "JUST LIKE ROXY." Oh, yes. Just like Roxy. Roxy was our dear German shepherd that died last July.

Anyhow, most of my time at the funeral home was a balancing act of me keeping Mountain Child away from the front of the room and out of everyone's way, along with playing Gracious Wife, introducing myself to family members that I hadn't yet met and greet those whom I had not seen in several years. It's funny. Mountain Man and I have been married nearly eight years and I still feel like such a newcomer to his family. I wonder if this feeling will ever wear off.

Some other kids were there, and after a while, they got into games of hide-and-seek and tag in the lobby. They were being pretty good, and it had the side benefit of Mountain Child forgetting to whine. She has made whining into a sort of art form/sport. And the more important it is for her not to whine is in reverse proportion to how much she will cry and complain. So I was grateful for at least a few moments to not be climbed upon and tugged on, with constant wheedlings of "I'M HUNGRY. I WANT WHITE CHEESE. I NEED MY BABY DOLL. WHERE'S MY BOOKS? WHERE'S DADDY? WHERE'S THE OTHER KIDS? WHERE'S MY BLANKY? I DON'T WANT TO BE QUIET!!!! I DON'T WANT TO BE HAPPY!!!!!" And so on and on and on...

So I am sitting next to one of Mountain Man's second? third? cousins and chatting. Then Mountain Man's aunt calls over to me and says, "I think you need to get her...she's got something in her hair." She points to the front of the chapel. The part of the chapel that was the one spotI am afraid to look, but I start walking over there anyway. And what do I see? My child with two other kids happily playing inches from Grandma Lee's casket with Silly Putty everywhere: in her hair, on the floor, laced with the flowers, and....the casket.

There are many disconnected thoughts running through my head: Who in God's name has Silly Putty? Who would be insane enough to give it to her?? It's amazing how this stuff grows and spreads everywhere. Oh, no--who was trying to have a private moment with Grandma while this was happening? Why am I not with-it enough to pay attention to my one kid? Why can't I even have a five-minute conversation with a person? Is this a good time to leave?

I turn around and see lots lots of people smiling that Please-Get-Your-Delinquent-Child-Out-of-Here smile at me. All of the kids freeze and have a guilty look of their faces, and the older ones try to explain to me what they were doing with the desperation that only kids that are caught red-handed can do--but at that point I hardly cared. I just told them to go to the lobby. I scooped up Mountain Child and wondered if Silly Putty in the hair meant a new haircut for her. Luckily, it's not like gum and comes right out.

So on a scale of one to ten, one being Dream Child and ten being Sociopath Kid, where does your kid throwing Silly Putty around by your husband's grandmother's casket fall? Just wondering.