Today’s Billie Quotes

“I can’t take a shower. All I can do is stay alive. And poop.”

And

“The Sandman got me in my eyes. Right in my eyes. All they want to do is close. I don’t think he knew that I was trying to party.”

Today’s Billie Quotes

Cat’s Got Her Grade

“How was your day at school today?”

Billie: “Good.”

“Were you a good girl today?”

Billie: “No. But I was a great kitty cat.”

“Did the teacher want you to be a kitty cat?”

Billie: “No.”

“Did she ask you to stop?”

Billie: “Yes. Again and again and again.”

“Did you stop?”

Billie: “No.”

“Why not?”

Billie: “Because I was a kitty cat. Kitty cats don’t know how to stop.”

Either she’s as obstinate as her mother or she’s taking method acting to a whole new level.

Cat’s Got Her Grade

The Zombie Struggle is Real

“Dude. You’re naked. Still. Why are you still naked?”

Billie: “I hear noises outside. I hear the scratching. I think it’s zombies coming up from the ground. It’s zombies coming up from the ground to eat our whole brains out!”

“And that’s why you’re naked? Why can’t you get dressed? Do you really wanna fight zombies naked?”

Billie: “I CANT FOCUS ON CLOTHES WHEN THERE ARE ZOMBIES, MOM.”

This is our morning so far, folks.

The Zombie Struggle is Real

Alligators

Billie’s school has decorative tile that spreads across the entire campus in opaque lines of blue and yellow. Where there are no decorations, the tile is replaced with the obligatory champagne tile that was all the rage in the early 90’s.

Regardless of the tile’s origins, Billie has decided that all the “white” tile is infested with alligators.

This makes our morning walk through campus quite entertaining. While all the other parents shuffle their students in lethargic, herd-like fashion, I weave in and out of the crowd trying to follow my monster as she screams excitedly and narrowly avoids certain death by imaginary alligators.

This morning Billie almost collided head first with a little boy walking with his father, still sleepy and fully unaware of his egregious error of not sharing the blue tile. Billie smacked head first into him, expertly rolled off his shoulder, tip toed around him, and continued on her quest of not getting eaten while simultaneously screaming, “WE NEVER KNOW WHERE THEY ARE! THE ALLIGATORS! THEY COULD BE ANNNNYWHERE.”

I look at the father apologetically. “I’m so sorry,” I say, “the white tile is infested with alligators.”

“Oh,” his eyes widen with empathetic understanding, “I totally get it.” He smiles and looks down at his son who is now asking him about the alligators.
“Yup,” he responds genuinely, “you heard her, there are alligators in the white tile. You’d better run!”

His son paused a moment, looked at me, looked at his father, then ran after Billie screaming, “Ah!! Wait for meeee!!”

The father laughed with his whole belly before looking at me and saying, “This’ll get him to class faster. Good trick. Thank you.”

Ha. Anything we can do to help, buddy.

Alligators

On Scary Movies & Overactive Imaginations

I made the mistake of leaving the room while the T.V. was on this morning.
Billie’s program ended in my absence and was replaced by some sci – fi movie where some dude takes another dude’s eyes out with a pencil.
I only know this happened because Billie calmly walked into the kitchen and informed me, “Mom. I just saw a man get his eyeball ripped out of his head.”

I tried to tell her it was pretend. I tried to explain that it was make believe. And that mommy would be more careful with trusting daytime television programming. Of course, none of that logic stopped her from telling everyone in the world that her mommy put a bad T.V. show on and scarred her for life.

“Daddy, did you know that mommy put on a bad show and I saw a man stab a man in the eyeball with a pencil and RIIIIPPPP it all the way out of him? ALL THE WAY OUT, DADDY.”

It has persisted into bedtime. She’s currently in her room with her covers up over her head wishing away the evil eyeball snatchers of the world. Occasionally I hear her saying things like, “But I have beautiful eyes. I like my eyeeeesss” before shivering back under her comforter.

This is the problem with imaginations, folks. They make what you saw so much worse. They amplify and magnify every crazy, scary, beautiful thing and propel it into a realm of psychotic proportions. And it does not shock me that some of us lose our imaginations as we grow older. Who can blame us? Every nerve, every synapse, every iota of you gets completely wrapped up in a reality that only exists to you. And sometimes it is so beautiful and fragile, like a bubble garden made entirely of blown sugar, that one small step, or unkind word shatters the whole thing. Other times it can be so consuming and devastating that you feel trapped inside it with no escape. It brings you to the best parts of yourself and holds a mirror up to your greatest fears.

What a fucking weight to carry.

But I can’t help but admire it. I can’t help but want to foster it and hold her in these dark times just to show her that she can conquer this. She can wrangle it and learn to use it in powerful ways that no one has even dreamed of yet. She comes to me constantly with pictures of winged serpents fighting ferocious dragons and giant squids battling sharks and I think she already knows this. She knows enough about the frightening things to want to identify with them and tell their stories. She sees the fear. She processes it. Then she headbutts it with an artistic fervor that I can’t help but be awed by.

The squid battling the sharks
The squid battling the sharks

And, again, here we are at that super cheesy revelation that inevitably comes as I write these things: She’s helping me. Don’t get me wrong- my imagination is pretty on point and always has been. But I think she’s showing me how to process the fearful parts.
You lean in.
With blind hope, faith, and sometimes unapologetic rage. You handle the squids and the sharks and the creepy eyeball stealers in your nightmares, then your dreams, then on paper. And, slowly… eventually… they become as fragile as the page you drew them on. They become characters that no longer frighten you. You begin to realize that, even in your imagination, only you can frighten you.

On Scary Movies & Overactive Imaginations

Since We’re Talking About: Failing (At Breakfast- But Totally WINNING At Imagination)

FLASHBACK: February 11, 2014

Me: “Dude. How is our dog always ending up with Cheez-its in her crate?”
Billie: “Well, mommy. I think her was hungry.”
Me: “If *she* was hungry, she can eat her doggy food. I mean, this bag was opened so cleanly.”
Billie: “She opened it with her doggie claws.”
Me: “Oh, yea? Did she also magically levitate to the top shelf of the pantry to retrieve the bag of Cheez-its from the closed box?”
Billie: “No. She got her doggie friends to come in here and make her steps and she walked up to the top shelf, opened the box with her teef, and got the bag.”
Me: “…Billie. Is there anything you want to tell me?”
Billie: (thinks a moment) “Yes. Jazzie’s doggie friends also ate the cake in the refrigerator and den frew your shoes in the trash.”

Right.

_____

It was my last good pair of shoes, too. The others have *magically disappeared* as well. I’m going to have to ban all imaginary doggie friends in order to keep my wardrobe in tact.

Also: my kid totally went to school with a belly full of cake and Cheez-its this morning. Sigh.
A+ parenting, ya’ll.

Since We’re Talking About: Failing (At Breakfast- But Totally WINNING At Imagination)