Rocks

A few months ago, Kathryn spent a day collecting rocks. She collected maybe three dozen of them from around our neighborhood and placed them all on our porch. Most were small, only a few were bigger than my fist, but despite the fact that none of them looked in the slightest bit out of the ordinary to me, Kathryn told me she selected each one for a reason. Each one, she said, had something special, some unique quality that set it apart from the rest. So I sat down next to her on the top step of our front porch and she told me about them. She told me about each rock individually, asking me to recognize and confirm the differences that she saw, to affirm the uniqueness of her selections, and in doing so, affirm Kathryn herself. Affirm her uniqueness. It was one of those special moments a dad shares with his daughter if you define special moments by skull-bashing tedium.

Oh my god that girl uses a lot of words. And she just keeps using them and using them.

When Kathryn was younger, it was I who talked to her about everything. I filled our time together with a running monologue of anything I could think of. A lot of it was high-minded and ideological, like what she could be when she grew up or the proper response to handsome princes who might imagine her to be in need of rescuing, but much of it was just stuff I was saying to keep my brain from crusting over with the same dried shell of spit-up to which most of my clothes had already succumbed.

I told her about the water cycle and about social justice. I told her as much as I remembered from my philosophy classes, about Schopenhauer's delightful pessimism and how the Platonic ideals were crap but they were important crap. I explained crock pots and told her the secret to my brisket dry rub. I told her words and phrases I knew from other languages. I told her there is magic in the world and she didn't need to look any farther than a bottle of sunscreen for proof of it.

And Kathryn listened. She drooled and listened and filled herself with the words I spoke.

In her, the words multiplied. They grew and begot more words. And then they came out. A hundredfold. Gizmos turned to gremlins, besieging the air, ridding the world of silence.

However lately the words Kathryn's been using have been hard to hear. These past few months Kathryn's medicines have been speaking to us through her, and they haven't been saying nice things. They say things that eight-year-olds shouldn't say, putting voice to feelings that it's not fair for eight-year-olds to feel. And it hurts. So now we are starting to pull back on the medicines. We have seen the seizures, we have seen the medicines, and we are choosing the former. It is a grotesque choice.

But

four mornings ago I set a dish containing five pills next to Kathryn's Bite-Sized Mini-Wheats. Today the dish contained just two. And for the first time in a long while, I did not begin my day feeling like I was making a mistake.

Let the sparks fly.

Comments

[Alana]

The juxtaposition of all of posts on this page is exactly what I love about your blog. You can write so eloquently about your emotions and the events in your life but scroll down a little and one sees a doodle of an s&m mask!

I think this post is amazing. I hope the real Kathryn returns and that she is no longer diluted by the medicines. It must be so scary for everyone in the family. I wish you all luck in this journey.

[elizabeth]

I think you already know how I feel about all of this. I salute your decision and hope for the best. We're doing the same thing way out here in Cali -- for the umpteenth time -- but things are looking up. By the way, I love the way you write and mixing the absurd with the poignant is a way to stay sane. Really.

[Mr Lady]

Let them fly, indeed.

Gorgeous, as always, sir.

[Jen H.]

One of my favourite posts from you. I applaud your decision, good luck.

[Susannah]

thinking of you all and wishing good.

[Julie]

Well, I'm not even a doctor and I could have told you that letting Kathryn drink sunscreen was a bad idea.

Salute.

[Mommy, Esq.]

I really feel for you on the medicine. My daughter is on quite a bit and she hates it - it is difficult to get her to take it (she's 9 months). It must be so much harder when she can speak to you about it.

[The Mom]

Did you teach her how to ask "May I take your panties off with my teeth?" in a million languages, since I believe that's the only phrase you know in a multitude of languages.

[Mel]

Wonderfully written. I, too, spoke and spoke and spoke to my kids when they were wet with drool and wide-eyed at everything. You said it! It came back hundred-fold. Sometimes I have to tell my kids to be quiet, that they have been talking for hours non-stop and it's time for a little silence.

[Burgh Baby]

I had something eloquent and supportive to say, but then I read The Mom's comment and snorted out all my intelligence. You married a good one, sir. Definitely.

[3-Martini Jennifer]

I'm looking forward to having the old Kathryn back, sparks and all...

[beyond]

beautiful post.

[red pen mama]

I am worried about giving my girls a daily Claritin for their allergies. Thank you, sir, for some perspective. Thoughts and prayers are with you & your family.

Also, I thought we were so cool about naming Bun Kathryn. Looks like you beat us to it.

Finally: OMG, the words that pour out of my daughters. I can't speak until I've had coffee. I think they start talking before they even wake up.

ciao,
rpm

[Jill]

What a beautiful post. I'm going to have to thank Mr. Lady for tagging this one and thereby introducing me to you. Look forward to reading more!

[Julie]

This is your best post ever - tender and snarky all at once, I love it. That's parenthood. Wishing you, Th Mom and Kathryn all the best.

[Cheryl S.]

Good luck and God bless to you and to Kathryn. I hope less medicine = better words.

[allmycke]

I truly understand your decision to cut back on the medicine for Kathryn, even knowing what it might led to.
Beautiful post - I'll print it and put it on my bulletin board, just as a reminder that my piddly problems are easily dealt with.

[Catizhere]

Kathryn rocks.
YOU rock.
The Mom rocks.

[Kori]

Mr. Lady sent me. And since I love her, I might tolerate you. : )

[Sadia]

The parenting decisions don't get simpler over time, do they?

[Michell]

Ugg. I hope the change in meds is a really good change all the way around and that things improve. Thinking of you all.

[Angela]

You and The Mom are amazing parents and dealing so well with an extremely difficult situation. I hope Kathryn's words are filled with joy and laughter.

[uccellina]

My daughter is 15 months old and she already talks in her sleep. Sits right up, says "dah meh webbie la mo," then falls over and closes her eyes again. Can't wait until she's sleep-talking about the unique personalities of rocks.

I wish you luck, and I'm glad your daughters have you as parents.

[Katie in MA]

You and The Mom know what's best for your family. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And I'm sure as soon as Kathryn's words light up again, she'll thank you for giving her her "voice" back. Might not use those very words, but you know what I mean!

[Kelly]

Another beautifully written post. You are my morning whistle stop. You take all these truths and put them in a writting blender and create magic. Magic.

(can you really say that phrase in a bunch of languages?)

Kel