Can't Touch This!

My friend Christine posted this image on her blog:

Photo credit: Christine @ Writing From Scotland.

I could write a book about this. Seriously. Let me begin by presenting a few observations about the individual who posted this sign:

1. She is a woman.
2. She is a mother.
3. She has at least one boy.


How do I know this, you ask.

1. I am a woman.

2. I am a mother.

3. I have birthed three boys

When Tim and Kolbe hit, oh, second and sixth grades, I had this vision of them trotting off to school together. Our school is not quite a mile away. I walked to school for years. Camarderie! Exercise! It's all good.

Problem is, the walk takes them through, well, not the best street and the other problem is, well, this would require them to walk and walking takes time. My friend Laurie strongly cautioned me against doing this. Let me note a few observations about Laurie:

1. She is a woman.

2. She is a mother.

3. She has birthed five boys.
4. In her professional life, she has been both a psychiatric nurse and a middle school teacher.

And she saw walking to school through the same eyes as the woman who posted that sign. She understands how boys process messages like Can't Touch This!

The shortest distance between two points may be a straight line, but, in her view, few boys would opt for the straight line. Where's the fun in that?Between here and there, there are dogs to harass, rocks to throw, sticks to brandish, in short, all manner of mischief to be found. And that's not even addressing the crime rate in this zip code.

I drive the kids to school.

Can't Touch This! plays out in any number of ways around the house. I have three decorative pillows in our front living room. The boys cannot -- Can! Not! -- pass them by without touching, moving, or tossing them. The same holds true for the decorative throw that's supposed to remain tastefully draped across a certain chair. The person who named it a throw was undoubtedbly a former boy who knew exactly what a boy thinks when he sees one of these items. I had picked this thing up and refolded it so many times one day, I thought of standing there with a timer to assess exactly how many minutes it could actually remain stationary. 

Knick knacks of any variety meet the same fate and, sadly, Ainsley is as bad as her brothers in this regard. We have a decorative bird that once had an attached stick and clip which once held a photo. Nobody could leave it be. Stick gone. Clip gone. Photo in a drawer.

Maybe kids see decorative and read useless, pointless, and purposeless and simply seek to eliminate the thing?

You want to hear the last word in Can't Touch This? I was crowded into a tiny vestibule trying to catch a glimpse of one of my kids on the final day of swimming lessons. The young nanny of one child sat cross-legged in front of me. She had on low rise jeans and sported a tatoo of a lion on her, um, well, near her jeans. And there she sat front and center with a passel of parents trying hard to deter their eyes. A nameless toddler of mine ambled up and poked her tatoo.

I very nearly expired on the spot.

Can't Touch This!

Can't Touch This! has an interesting corollary. Where any mess is involved -- a spilled drink, papers that have cascaded off the counter, little bits of crayon wrapper, ANY bodily fluid -- an equal but opposite instinct kicks in. It screams: Don't Do A Darn Thing.  As I type this, I realize that the phenomenon actually goes a step beyond even this. Where mess is concerned, my boys confront a temporary blindness. They just don't see it.  Really, they just don't see it.

I have observed my boys all but hurdle a puddle of milk on the dining room floor. These are not bad hearted boys. Truly, they do anything I ask them to do with a minimal amount of kvetching (usually). But as far as initiative goes, nah. It's just not happening.

I walked into the kitchen the other day and saw one of the boys move back and forth from the stove to the sink to the fridge . . . all the while stepping on a dish towel. I doubt he threw the dish towel on the floor, but why, Why, WHY couldn't he pick it up?

Not on his radar. The same Laurie mentioned above has convinced me that this is not a symptom of some deep seated character flaw; she tells me it isn't even a sign of laziness. They just don't see it.
Not on their radar.

(I should drop a five dollar bill on the floor and see how many times the boys step on that. Totally on their radar.)

I took one and only one calculus course in my college career. This was my first semester in college. The "professor" was not a professor at all, but a teaching assistant/grad student who looked like the quintessential math geek. All he lacked was the pocket protector and the first aid tape on his glasses.

He was one of the best teachers I've ever had.

Why? Because he taught us to think like mathematicians. He would outline a problem and tell us, "Okay, before you start this problem, I want you to think." He would walk to the board and write "Think:". And he'd tell us exactly what to think.

This was nothing short of brilliant. I am NOT a mathematician. Because of him, I learned to fake it. I got an A in calculus, and all credit goes to him.

So maybe I need to tell my boys, when you look at this kitchen stop and think. And then I should tell them what to think.

Cause they're so totally not thinking it on their own.

But maybe they can fake it?