Thanks Mom!

By Tom

Karamea, New Zealand

  One of the reasons Julia and I were interested in a farmstay with Rose and Gary, our current hosts, is that they are where we hope to be in the not-too-distant future; keeping a small farm while also raising a young family.  (But not the too close future, Mom.)  This week, we’ve had the experience of living with 1 ½ year old Dechan and 3 year old Curnin.  I’ve spent a lot of time around kids 4 and up, but kids 3 and younger are a total mystery to me. 

  During our first time playing with the kids, I immediately reverted to what I knew best –dogs.  I started a fun game of tossing the ball and calling “Go get it!” to Dechan, the 1 year old.  Julia pointed out that it is not appropriate to play ‘fetch’ with children.  I then started what I thought was a fun new game, but when Julia caught me with Dechan on his back and me dangling a strap above him as reached up to grab it with his feet and hands, she scolded “They’re not cats either, Tom!”

Dechan, happy with blackberry juice on his face

  How does one relate to such proto-people?  At any given time, at least one of them is crying, pooping, or has found a sharp or dangerous object.  Like an evil baby superhero, Dechan has the uncanny ability to walk into any room and find something within 5 seconds with which he could potentially stab or dismember himself.  How does a 1 ½ foot tall person reach onto a 3 foot tall counter to grab a knife?  He stands there swaying and stares at it wide-eyed and giggling until someone takes it away.  Make no mistake, these tiny people are here to replace us and they’ll do it any way possible!

  My first true test in parenting was when Rose and Gary asked us to take the kids out on a walk for a couple of hours.  We had a fine time picking blackberries but as they got increasingly tired, the whining came out.  Everything was still going relatively well until near the end of the walk when Curnin, normally a bundle of energy, froze and stared at his waist.  A dark spot in the front of his pants grew in size and proceeded down into his rubber boots.  Not wanting to walk in pee-soaked pants, Curnin started taking off all of his clothes from the waist down.  I tried to get him to pick up his pee-pants, wet socks, and rubber boots but he refused.  Julia rolled her eyes at me and picked up his clothes and I grabbed his rubber boots, forgetting that rubber also doesn’t let liquid out, and got urine all over my feet.  As I walked a half-naked Curnin down the long driveway, his pace seemed inversely proportional to how desperate I was to get him back to his parents.  Finally, thirty feet from the house, he decided he’d had enough and stopped dead in his tracks and started crying.  “That’s close enough,” I thought, and walked inside, calling out “Curnin’s outside and he’s crying.” 

Curnin carrying a gun/sword/walking stick/tree whacker/fishing pole 

"Hmm, my hands taste like berries today"

  The next evening Rose and Gary were trying to get the kids dressed and ready to go out.  Curnin escaped outside and started running around the house on the lawn.  “This is definitely a job I can do,” I said to myself as I walked outside to round him up.  When I found him, he had stripped all his clothes off, just finished taking a poop, and was running around naked with a small bit of poop still dangling from his butt.  “This is definitely a job for his mother,” I said to myself and went back inside. 

  I was having a relaxing moment in the shower when my peace was interrupted by a pounding at the door.  “Mommy!” came the shout.  “Your mom’s not in here, don’t come in!” I hollered above the noise of the shower.  “MOMMY!” came the pounding again.  I looked at the door and noticed there was no lock on it.  For a moment, everything stood still as, like the velociraptors in Jurassic Park, the door handle slowly started to turn.  I went for it, sprinting across the room but I was a moment too late.  Curnin stepped in the bathroom naked and was startled to see I was not his mom ready to give him a bath, but was instead a big, naked, hairy guy.  In one motion I turned him around, pushed him out the door, and shut it behind him, hearing him burst into tears outside. 

  The thing is, these are perfectly normal 1 and 3 year old boys!  Most kids their age act like life is one big Woodstock festival, running around with no clothes on and putting strange objects in their mouth.  Curnin is not the first 3 year old boy to eat soup by spooning the soup into his hands and then putting his hands into his mouth.  Dechan is not the first 1 year old boy to eat primarily by spreading food on his face and then absorbing nutrients through his skin.  So the next time I see my mother, I’ll be sure to thank her, not for giving me life, but for letting me keep it. 

The author, circa 1983