Bug Out

Yesterday Timmy worked for hours on his hole outside, enlarging it with a frantic dedication. When he asked me if I thought it was big enough for bodies, I made him put down the shovel so that we could talk. I thought he was digging because he likes to dig. It turns out that he was trying to build a nuclear bunker in case the war in Ukraine came to Virginia. My heart sank when I realized the depth of his fears.

He is too young to process everything that is occurring. I have turned off the news and it won't play when he is within earshot. I want him to be a kid and to just have fun. It breaks my heart that he is digging bunkers and drawing photos of us hiding during an attack. He should not have these worries. No child should have these worries!

I don't think that simply disengaging from the news will be enough to calm his anxiety. Instead, I've decided to be a bit more proactive. This weekend I'm going to take Timmy to the store to buy some bottled water, canned foods and other supplies. With his assistance, we are going to transform the crawlspace under our stairs into a safe zone. 

I am hoping that he will feel more secure if he knows that he has a place to go should anything happen. I hope he stops digging his own bunker and will move on to more benign activities. 

 

Guitar

Timmy idolizes Robby. He looks at Robby in awe and strives to emulate everything he does. Although Robby claims the adoration is simply annoying, I know that he enjoys being on a pedestal. After all, who wouldn't love being the recipient of hero worship?

Because he is keeping up with his big brother, Timmy has tried things on a timeline very different than Robby. Robby didn't master riding a bike until he was nearly 10. Timmy was driving around the street on a bike at 3. Timmy is developing an encyclopedia of historical facts simply by listening to Robby talking. Watching Robby play computer games has encouraged Timmy to master the Xbox. He now can beat me in video games and is beginning to hold his own against Scott. 

In another attempt to be like "Brober," Timmy is learning to play the guitar. Scott tried to teach him earlier in the pandemic but Timmy lacked the patience to sit still. A few days ago Timmy handed his guitar to his Dad and asked him if he would teach him to play. (Although he didn't admit it, secretly I know that Scott was thrilled by the request.) 

The pair sat on the couch for over an hour with their guitars. Timmy learned the names of the strings and two simple chords. When Robby came home from band, Timmy met him at the door and ushered him to the "concert surprise." Dutifully obliging, Robby sat on the couch and watched Timmy perform his little song. I was proud of how quickly Timmy learned the chords and by the encouragement demonstrated by Robby. 

It looks like my house will be overflowing with music in the coming years.

 

Marijuana Holes

 Although Timmy has become increasingly independent with his schoolwork, I try to remain nearby whenever he is in a Zoom class. Technical glitches and the need for last minute supplies often derail the classes, and I've learned that it is easier if I just stay close to lend a hand and to get him back on track. I also enjoy hearing the class in the background because the conversations I overhear are often quirky and unexpected.

Yesterday Timmy had show-and-tell at the end of his Circle Time class. When the teacher asked her students to share a story, I asked Timmy if he needed help to come up with an idea. "Don't worry Momom. I've got this." My interest was piqued. Needless to say, I turned the television down so I could hear.

Timmy waited patiently as each of his classmates had a turn to share. He asked questions and appropriately oohed over each story. When it was finally his turn, sat up straight and started to tell his friends about his new challenge.

In a loud and proud voice, he began to share. 

"I have been digging a giant marijuana hole outside. It is going to be the deepest hole ever. It will definitely be the best marijuana hole in Virginia. My marijuana hole is now 14 and I am going to make it deeper. My brother used to dig marijuana holes too but mine is better."

After he finished talking I immediately popped in and corrected his pronunciation. He was not digging a marijuana hole. He was trying to dig a hole as deep as the Mariana Trench. His teacher just nodded and smiled. 

Hopefully the DEA will not show up at my house to investigate the marvelous marijuana holes Timmy so proudly bragged about.

Quick Fix

Regardless of my activity, my thoughts keep going back to Ukraine. I feel compelled to watch the news constantly. Irrationally, it feels like turning it off would equate turning a blind eye to the situation. Logically I know that isn't true. My watching has no impact on the situation. I suppose I am feeling helpless and, as strange as it sounds, watching is the only way I can offer support.

I've realized that the constant stream of the same information isn't good for my mental health. Today the weather will be warmer, so I plan on spending a few hours outside with Timmy. The fresh air has always helped clear my head and recenter me. I hope that today will be no different. 

My leg is feeling more comfortable. I managed to create some pads on my liner which has helped to keep it more secure. I am still waiting to see my prosthetist to determine a permanent solution. Like everything else, I am stuck in waiting mode. Patience is a little easier because I am again comfortable, but I worry that my quick fix will only be temporary.

Ukraine

We live about 5 minutes away from a major Civil War Battlefield. Every time we have out-of-town guests we end up taking the tour. Needless to say, I have been on the Battlefield tour numerous times over the past twenty years. 

Every time I am on the tour I am struck by the guide's references to the battle spectators. Women and children, anticipating a battle, packed picnic baskets and lined the field to watch. According to accounts, the battle was a social event in addition to being a fight to the death. I always found that morbidly strange.

The concept of packing up the family to excitedly watch a war always struck me as bizarre. I understand that this was done during throughout history, but the Civil War was only 160 years ago. Who would do that? Even in the age before television and instant entertainment, surely watching people fight and die would be avoided. 

Over the weekend I found myself enthralled by the incoming reports from Ukraine. Robby has been consumed with studying the battle maps and hypothesizing strategy with his friends. Every evening he joined me on the couch to watch the broadcasts. We weren't hoping to see clashes and bloodshed, but instead we were both hypnotized by the bravery of the citizens on display. I am in awe of their strength.

 It occurred to me that, although my location had changed, I had also gathered my family around to "watch" the war. I guess circumstances change, but human nature remains the same.