Lightning Sketch - Indigo Wendigo

Overview

This was a fun lightning sketch, because I got to write about color and monsters. Fantastic.
Today's Lightning Sketch topic is...

Indigo Wendigo

Blood. Like so much fell congealment curdled to the color of despair, floats a sky of blood.

Wild. An amazed and unbound form pours itself through the air as a glass of absynthe might empty into the sky above, so the wendigo's legs and arms silently float through the very forest - finding purchase at the even the slightest touch and surface. It's up and down are one as it walks with legs on the nadir of the fallen leaves and the zenith of the canopy above.

The eyes of the wendigo see you. Quick, escape! Back pedal, shuffle, zig and zig! There is no surviving the wendigo's indigo bite. If even the slightest break of your skin comes from its razor lined mouth, the wendigo's indigo bite will be the very death of the life you have now... and will lose if you cannot run fast enough.

Good, you have your feet beneath you. Run faster! The very soul of the devil himself sees your now and your future. Stop thinking; just run!

You just felt it, a little bite.

And now you see it, an indigo moon floating above in a sky of blood.

Lightning Sketch - Completing the Collection

::Preamble::
This is a submission for an online writers group. The purpose of the assignment is to write about a phrase for ten minutes, and then submit the writing. You can find the group at Stack Exchange.
The phrase to write about: 'Completing the Collection'


It's raining today, drops falling from above like a gift of silvered mana, soaking our roots, our gardens, our feet and our thirst. It's been years now since the rain has fallen so, and my word is it ever so beautiful.

After years of drought, we near about squeezed the water out of the desert rocks just to get a few more drops of life in our bodies. Half the town died in the first 30 days. The other ninety-five percent passed passed two months later. That's when the sun grew larger - causing the blue sky to ripple, burn and bleach to that pale, dirty haze. Our soil cracked and we knew why old Henry come take our skies,  our water, life and plants. He come from the sky. He come at night on the backs of a strong wind, whipping up the trees and grass letting the soil sit exposed. Then, the following day, he came on the back of the sun, and burned us out of our homes and health. He did this for three days, and not a one of us questioned why.

But now we done what we can't take back. We called out beyond the reach of old Henry. We brought the Lighting to old Henry, the Lightning and the Rain, and though we fought back to win a few more months or years, soon old Henry gonna come back and take the whole town.

Lightning Sketch - Burning Sensation

Preamble - Lightning Sketch
This is a submission for an online writers group. The purpose of the assignment is to write about a phrase for ten minutes, and then submit the writing. You can find the group at Stack Exchange.
The phrase to write about:

• Burning Sensation

The Submission
She lit the fire, and it burned. She lit the match, and it too burned. She lit the world from a fire deep within and watched the pyre burn.

Four years before, it started. Four years are gone now as time ebbed from flame to water to flame, from present to all but forgotten. These were four years of hope and passion and a desire to see him - not for the trivial pursuits of those without ambition or purpose, nor to build an empire from triumphant endeavors or shadowed malfeasance - but to experience him again, as she once had with a fire so deep that she never forgot, and never surrendered to the hostility of complacence or normalcy.
When once four years gone were present to us as they were to her she met such a man to light a fire, to play with matches, to set the world alight with a beautiful passion. This is where the infective bug of an idea, of shared experience, found first the woman who remembers fires and who, to this day, still burns for the fire starter.

275 foot-pounds of Sweet and Sour Missive

The Preamble...

Hello! Welcome to another timely and punctual installment of this blog whose original purpose has long been outlived and now has a hamfisted description that forces all the other posts to somehow and abstractly relate back to moving. It works though, because everything is in flux. Damnit, it works. Just get over it already!

So, here we find ourselves again together on a page of type, written by none other than the very person that wrote the last one, and the one before that. Tonight's post brings together a variety of experiences that are unrelated; there is no common thread between these sections. It's like a sweet and sour stir fry of experiences with the fruity glaze of authorship bringing the whole together in a palatable offering. In the following collection of words I attempt the following: explain to my step-daughter who my father was, interview someone for employment, find a new ride.

The Sour: Explaining who my father was, to my step-daughter...

    What a treat to explain him to her. This is, without doubt, unabashed and acerbic sarcasm. In truth, it made me sad to discuss the topic, because it meant I had to think about him, discuss him with someone else, and tell a little girl that some people can be mean even if you love them and therefore that the world can be dark from long shadows cast by angry actions from years lost in the decades. Seeing her struggle to comprehend why I didn't miss my father and how a daddy can be mean quickened the sad strings of my heart. And, as many things do, it started with good intentions meant to bring a welcome perspective to her sadness at missing her father from Sunday to Friday. 

"I miss my dad."
"You're lucky. You have two daddies and two mommies who love you." ... damn, that was condescending and clumsy. 
"Why does everyone keep saying that? I don't feel lucky. I miss my dad every time I leave him."
Ugh... It's like a shot in the heart to hear her say this. Every week, a six year old girl has to leave her dad to live with her mom for the week, and five days later she leaves her mom to live with her dad. I don't envy the trouble and sadness she experiences on a weekly basis, and more so feel sadness in her sadness. 
"You're very brave girl. I know it's hard but I know that you're doing a really good job and you're being very strong" (we do have nicknames for each other. I call her 'girl' and she calls me 'Andrew.' She calls me 'Big Poopoo' and I to her as 'Peepee.' Don't over think or over analyze it; it works... trust me. Fear not, I also call her "My Number 1 Little Girl.").
"Would you like a hug?" In a turn of surprise pleasantness, she accepts. 
With muffled and diminished sobs surfacing from her head nestled in my shoulder, she says: "I don't like leaving my dad on Sunday, or my mom on Friday"
"I know baby. I know. You're a brave girl and I'm proud of you."
And I probably should've left it there... but I didn't. I relapsed into emotional tinkerer mode by deciding to tell her how it could be worse, and was for me, by discussing my father. I was hoping she would find peace or joy at knowing that others can have it worse or conversely that she has it better - but to discuss sadness brings sadness and one can never know what someone else will learn from our words. I can now, nor never, know if this was wise, for life is long and the roads bend all along the way to the last days. But the road is set and all there is to do is handle it with grace from here on forward. 

"My daddy left me girl."
"Why?"
"I don't know baby. He was mean."
"Do you miss your dad?"
"Nope."
"You never missed your dad?" This is clearly a foreign concept to her for which I am thankful. I want her to love her father and to know him. The alternative is much less pleasant. Were I to speak plainly I'd say more directly that 'it sucks' and were I to add the eloquence of articulation I would say that it was long a defining sadness causing me to see fathers where none existed in other people and giving me easy access to alienation as a social policy derived from fear of others and of myself. 
"No baby. I never missed my dad, but I did miss having a dad. All my friends had dads. I missed that. I eventually had to learn how to be my own dad."
"What does that mean?" 
"Everything I wanted my dad to be I had to learn to do that for myself."
"Did you to school for that?"
Smiling, "no baby. They don't have schools for that." I guess this isn't entirely true but it isn't entirely false either. 
    The conversation turned to the topic of how my dad was mean and here I asked her if she knew what alcohol was. 

    One day we'll talk about how I know my dad did the best he could with what he had.

~ Follow Up ~

After days of worrying, apparently about nothing, it seems that I was the only one left saddened after my conversation with my step daughter. She confirmed for me that she wasn't sad at all by our conversation and gave the impression - even if accidentally - that she hadn't considered it much since. My first reaction, a little depleted by thinking that maybe I hadn't gotten through to her, but then I think that if the sins of our fathers can be forgotten then surely mine can as well, now that I'm a father, and she'll forgive this one transgression of bringing up a sad subject of mine when she wanted to talk about herself and her sadness.

The Fruity Glaze of Authorship: The Applicant...
  Luckily, such heady conversation was balanced out by a day of productive work and reflection of my actions and words. What better way to top it off then with a home run of an interview with an employee candidate? Hoowee! That sounds like just the restorative a man needs after discussing fathers with step-daughters. I'm gonna call this guy and it's gonna be great. I mean really great. 
But it wasn't great, not even close. This missed the mark of greatness as much as Elmer Fudd missed the mark on killing the wabbit. Let's be honest. If a freight train left Chicago at 9:45a heading WSW at 65 knots (convert to mph by first converting to light years per year, factoring in the calories of a cubic parsec of butter), carrying a load of rocket fuel for circus clowns, which then suddenly ignited and the resulting explosion launched the train, the nearby hamlet and cattle barn into orbit - that would've gotten closer to the moon than this applicant did at getting a job. Or, would it?
I'm still not sure. This applicant wasn't qualified for the job, but it's how they let me know that may turn this story around. 

~ Your feet have no holes. Perhaps you have a gun and can correct that? ~

The phone rings.

Conversation begins with a noticeable lack of participation on applicant's part. His mind is clearly somewhere else. I begin with some introductory conversation of which said applicant takes little part in. I then asks some pointed questions to suss out applicant's understanding of the material that her job will cover.

Insert 15 minutes of lackluster conversation. It took us 15 minutes to get to the following part, that could have been really good to know earlier, preferably before the phone call. Up to this point I was on the fence about the candidate, but leaning towards a 'no.' The following made the decision for me.

"To be honest, I just wanted to call and touch base. I just got a job somewhere else. I was just looking for an exit strategy. I wanted to see what the job was about because it sounded good.”

"You want an exit strategy for a job you just accepted?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I think that does it. Thank you for your time."

"So can I check in in a few months?"

"Sure."

A candidate for employment has never let me know, in such a definitive and clear way, the he or she was not suitable for work. The experience was frustratingly funny.

The Sweet: 275 Foot-Pounds and 200 Horsepower of Commuting...

    Grinning. Some delights in this world have little rational explanation, even to ourselves. And some of these delights need no explanation nor any analytical reflection. The world can be difficult, why question fun? It is in this vein of gleeful and unexplainable fun that I am happy to write of a new acquisition: a 1999 Ford Crown Victoria Police Interceptor. Yeah, I have my own Bluesmobile. This immediately adds one item to my bucket list: pick up brother from jail in my new automobile. To answer the most commonly asked questions:

    1. No, the car does not have cop lights, side lights, reinforced push bar on the front bumper, rear seat divider, blood stains, handcuffs, the ghost of an angry and unavenged rookie or officer two weeks from retirement, or the one clue that would finally solve the mystery of his death and exonerate his name and bring peace to his window before she passes into the hereafter to greet him again.
    2. Yes, the car does have cop shocks, cop breaks, cop motor, cop suspension (see shocks), an engine oil cooler (how great is that?), higher speed limit set by the governor, and silicon hoses for higher operating temperatures
    3. The car does have more trunk space than some of my apartments; this is only a figurative statement. The reality though is that I could fit two witnesses and 10 kilos of Columbian nose tickle powder in the trunk. (how great is that?)
    4. It has made a difference in my commute. Now, when I signal my intent to change lanes, drivers in Los Angeles make room for me to enter that lane; this is instead of the normal Los Angeles driver reaction of quickly speeding up to fill that spot so that you don't beat them in the never ending road race that is the Los Angeles driving experience (seriously, how great is that?).
    5. I have not pulled anyone over.
    6. I have fantasized repeatedly about it.
    7. My car gets terrible gas mileage. But as the saying goes, my car converts dinosaurs directly to fun.
        a. Pretty soon I'll be putting highly compressed squirrels directly into my gas tank

I baby this car like none before. This is the first time in about 17 years where I have actually fit well in my vehicle. Every vehicle before was cramped or too small. The vehicles included: '96 Jeep Cherokee Sport, '02 Dodge Grand Caravan, '12 Honda Civic (I think I vaguely remember a Ford Fiesta in there as well). The last vehicle, '12 Honda Civic, was comedically small. If I raised the seat all the way, I could open the sunroof and drive by poking my head out. Conversely, when my seat was all the way down and I hit a grocery store parking lot speed bump at 5mph, my head would bump the ceiling upholstery of the car. This happened so often, that my hair was permanently embedded in the ceiling; you could comb my hair in that part of the ceiling. Ha ha ha... part. You're welcome. Now, in my '99 Ford Crown Vic Police Interceptor, I have room and lots of it. My favorite words were spoken to me by the dealer when he noticed how tall I was. I sat in the car and immediately felt how roomy it was. I could stretch my legs out. I felt luxury in luxuriating in the resplendent roominess of this throwback sedan. In this moment, he said: "Andrew, why don't you put your seat all the way back? You're a tall guy."

Tear drop.

"It goes back... more?!" It does.

I've been in love ever since.

Conclusion...

Thank you so much. Signing off from a night of laundry and a weekend of hotdog binging.

Blessing for a New Born

Preamble...

Good afternoon,

If this message made it through your spam filter and you wish it hadn't, there's a button for that. If your email address has changed to: dontwrite@soon.com, just lemme know. Or, if your computer erupts in flames every time you receive these messages, it's probably time you stop reading this drivel.

However, for anyone else that's still reading these posts, after all these years, thank you. A lot has changed recently: marriage, job, newborn son, step daughter. Considering how often I write, 'recently' has a very broad definition.
By the way, I totally recommend having a child; you can pick them up on any street corner.

Today's post is one of generational education, which is arguably one of the most fundamental vehicles toward a thriving and evolving society. This is just one very small slice in an otherwise extremely large and much bigger super slice, which itself probably fits somewhere in a knowledge mega-pie, metaphorically - of course; a literal mega-pie of knowledge would be a culinary oxymoron encompassing something that everyone wants but has a hard time motivating to attain, and something else that people gorge on but say they could easily do without (knowledge, and calories).
So, to add to this caloric megalith of edible slices of knowledge, I offer a few words for my son..

            

 A Slice of the Pie...

            I wish someone told me that in the end everything is okay. That, in the end, the world has the mastery to care for itself and the wisdom to see to that aim. I wish someone told me that my actions though important in my life are small in the ebbs and flows of the world as a whole and therefore my mistakes aren’t grounds for dismissal but instead are lessons in becoming the person I was born to be. I wish I knew that sometimes it is more important to act in courage than to do the right thing.

            I wish someone taught me that I am, and was born, the person I will always be and that the only challenge in my life will be to surrender to that, to explore that innate sense of myself. All else is merely a chance to clean the complacency and negativity off my soul.

            I wish someone informed me that it was okay to be human and to believe myself, to not always trust people and to know that people are responsible for their own feelings, not I. I wish I knew that people are cruel because they either don’t know better or don’t have the courage, or just don't care (but that's more rare than most people think). In life, people will hurt you and you will hurt others; it is okay to mourn this pain and I would like to tell you that it is okay to end that mourning and continue the work of your life. I wish someone told me that it is not acceptable to live a life of guilt, despite what you wish you had done differently. I wish I knew that living only for myself, or only for other people, is no life at all. I wish I knew that anger, injury and suffering were not badges of honor.

I wish I knew that love is a blessed gift; to myself and the person I love, even if that person cannot return my love, and that sometimes it’s okay to love someone from afar.

            The greatest gift you can give yourself is a positive outlook on Life and Self. Your Life is created by what you see. Though the object remains the same, everyone will see something different. This is why some people have successes and others do not. You have a choice in your vision. Choose what you see wisely because you will live the results of your sight. A positive outlook on Life and Self is the greatest gift that you can give someone else. This is an act of creation meaning that it is yours to define and modify anytime you desire. I wish I learned this before I was 30. I wish I had perfected this before you were born.

            In your Life I hope that you practice seeing other people for who they are, not as you would like them to be. If you are fortunate, you will practice this your entire Life.

            Joy. Not ignorance, not glibness, not immaturity, not clinginess, not sucking the joy from others nor causing detriment to others. Grow joy in your life as a gardener grows succulent greens. This is a deep and powerful source of soul nourishment. Therefore, avoid the malaise and traps of pessimism. It is literally wasted energy since in it nothing can grow, and it is a nagging burden sucking up more energy than it gives; eventually, it will break you. Joy will heal and build you. 

            Though it will be difficult at times, and hopefully easy at others, grant your parents your patience. Sometimes, we literally have no idea what we're doing, and at still other times we are reflexively practicing what other humans taught us - where these humans too were works in progress and still on their personal journeys.

            The world gives birth to everyone for a reason. Many people are granted birth but suffer the great loss of not finding or creating a reason for their birth. May patience, peace, balance, wisdom and love be the whispers in your ear as you sleep, and may you rise above the chains of fear and become the reason for your birth, to live as the person your are.

            

            Insomuch as I can I bless these lessons on you and hope this knowledge reaches you when you are ready for it.

Being born into a new world

In the Beginning...

You had a very long, lazy and uneventful gestation period. You were healthy from the beginning and every step of the way you, and the assemblage of necessary birthing tissue and organs, were healthy. Your heart rate was always in the proper range and it filled me with deep love to hear your heart through the sonogram. Your pops almost cried that first time he heard your heart. In a sonogram all I could see was a mass of grey noise, as undifferentiated tissue, that was pulsing in rhythm. It is literally magic because most people really don't know how the process of gestation produces a living, sentient being. 

Labor...

First, you should know that your mother is an Amazon warrior of birthing. She produced a large and healthy baby and did so while making some of the best decisions for your health, largely being as natural and drug free as possible (this keeps the strong pain medicine from entering your body). Your mom loves you dearly and put your well being ahead of her own comfort and pain. I am in awe of your mom and respect her greatly for her dedication and her choices. 

Your dad played a small role and that was to apply counter pressure to your mom's hips while she was having contractions; she only needed me for the last five hours, starting at 2:45am. At one point the nurse walked in and saw me sitting in the labor bed, shirt off, with your mom laying against me. The lights were dim and she first said: "Aww, you guys are so cute." Then she saw the reason for it as i pressed against her hips during a contraction, opening them with pressure. She then responded with "I have never seen this before."

The First Day...

You slept more than you ate. When awake, you were peaceful. I cried that night out of joy at having a healthy son. I am unequal to the task of putting to word the depth of my love for you. So, i will have to express it through the time we spend together and one day I hope you will know.

The doctors came by and tested you in various ways. Your were regularly nonplussed by each of these intrusive visits.

Pictures of the Little Man...

Here are some great pictures of my newborn son. Daddy is so proud of him and can't wait to show him off. Please note: All identities have been masked, or professionally altered, to protect the innocent.

You are so cute. This was taken right after you were born. Look at your cute, chubby cheeks.

Here's a family photo of you guys at your first doctor's appointment

You are more handsome than your father. It's obvious from these photos.

Day 3...

Today you gave me your biggest smile. It was clear that you were asleep as your face ran a not narrow gamut of expressions illuminating what must be a boiling brew of sensations and feelings. When you express joy, i am joyed. In your crying i am saddened. It is not that i am sad but instead attuned to your expressed feeling in that moment. I feel your ache while concurrently feeling the joy and pride that your life opens the door to.

Day 3, Night...

For months now I've been looking forward to reading to you every night at bedtime. I've been expecting that I'd read some dense books in the beginning because it's very likely you can't understand me (obviously i can't say this with certainty, but only a strong belief based on prior education). So yesterday we started with a classic work, Hop on Pop. That went by too fast, so i broke out Foundation, by Asimov. Currently Gaal has just met Seldon for the first time and Seldon shared his conclusion of Trantor's fate via psychohistorical calculations.
You ended up staring at your arms, sticking out your tongue, and occasionally blinking through most of this section. In truth, you were agog with the mystery of self discovery through the veil of newborn awareness. You may not remember this book, but i will remember this time together as one of bonding and joy.
Also, you made some great presents for daddy, so we had to change your diaper; the plumbing is working and daddy is happy you're healthy.

Day Four...  

Today you made more presents for daddy. In fact, while changing your diaper, you gave daddy a front row seat to how you make daddy's presents. You just bubbled out a fresh one for papa, right there, no shame. Just Poop... High five!

Teaching Moment...

First, be kind to people. The human race is such a maelstrom of misdirected cacophonies with personal dramas belying the insincerity that so many people try to hide. But beneath this veneer of discord is an even deeper truth and that is simply that everyone is trying to do the best they can with what they have and what they believe to be correct, even if that belief changes like a leaf in a storm. So, have patience because it is hard to be alive and living and yearning and wanting and trying - and to do all of this without a manual on "Life." Just as i have no "Daddy" manual, you will have no "Life" manual (though i hope and plan  to be of great assistance in this area, to you). This brings me to my second point. 

Consider that while no one has a manual on "Life," everyone seems to live it. In essence, in a lack of structure or guidance we create our own lives despite their being no rule book on how to do this. Some people have made their own rule books to tell others that these are the rules! But, even this was created. So, humankind, when standing in the middle of a void can create new things that once did not exist. One of the greatest expressions of creation are the quests for purpose, meaning and enlightenment. Consider mathematics, art, architecture, textiles, spoons, bread, accounting, plumbing, televisions, pizza, rocket ships, language and the internet. At one point in human history, these things did not exist.

So on this second point, It occurs to me to consider what makes us so distinct from the rest of the animals on the planet (and make no mistake, we are animals of the wild, despite our willful self-segregation from nature). We are not faster, larger, stronger, smaller, nor meaner (smarter is generally accepted but also debatable). I believe that what separates us from other animals, aside from our self-segregation, is our ability and willingness to create. We are, daily, creation machines.

You are, and have been since your birth, a creator. As you age and mature, you will hone your abilities to create, or I have failed you in this aspect. I will teach you not just how to create but how to avoid creating certain (even detrimental) things, events and circumstances. Because every human is a creator, every human has power and ability to bring about their vision of the world, and these visions often conflict. An untrained creator makes joy or pain, loss or wealth, life or death, without fully knowing what they did, how they did it, or appreciating their ability and actions; in this style of living there exists diminished choice or a perception of no choice, or of being trapped. I wish for you peace, strength and an awareness to clearly choose what you will create. It could be said that this is the very difference between a child and an adult.

I love you young Master Britton.

PS. We are now on page 37 of Foundation, where Gaal and Seldon are being tried in a questionable court proceeding by hostile interests. The point here is that justice is not fully present and such is the state of the declining Empire. Seldon predicts 300 years before Trantor falls. Uh oh!!! You will still be trying to put your fingers in your mouth for a while longer. Perhaps by the time we start the second book you will be learning how to put your toes in your mouth; only time will tell.

No I'm not. You are.

~ Preamble ~
Tonight's story relates to one of my favorite times in human development. It's not a time of innocence but instead a time of learning and shaping. It is the time of childhood. This step in human development, especially when contrasted against the terrifying realities of events like the car crash I just heard outside my window (yes, I did stop writing so I could call the police and they responded very fast), is one that is worth protecting and traversing personal adversity to do so. I hope to protect Lisa from such events for as long as possible, and when I cannot be there then I hope she has enough presence, training and knowledge to care for herself , first, and others, second.

Tonight's story takes place in a car.

~ The Amble ~
Hey Lisa, guess what!

What?

You're a Googoo Head!

        The first shot has been fired in the Googoo war! Attack with tenacity!

No I'm not!

Yes you are. I Just talked to Mr. Cauliflower Head, and heee said that... you... are... a Googoo head.

Oh yeah? Well I'm gonna call Mr. Cauliflower right now.

        Lisa picks up the nearest carrot and holds it to her ear. Her locks drape just above her brow, loosening from the barret, revealing a recent haircut. Her eyes are large and dark, impossibly adorable, and inlaid with equal parts mischief and giggle-dust. They lose themselves to her mind, reading the lines of the conversation she's in the middle of formulating. Googoo war has been declared and she will not yield so quickly.

Hello? Mr. Cauliflower?

        a pause as she awaits his reply, motionless in mid breath

Oh my gosh!

She exhales quickly on the 'gosh.' Her eyes widen in surprise and though they are staring out, she is clearly focused inward. I love this part. Lisa manages affected false conversations on telephone carrots better than any four year old i know. I think she'll be a social girl as she grows up; if she avoids that end, it is still agreed that she will be a heartbreaker. Because of this, I sometimes find myself preparing conversations she and I will have as she realizes her eventual influence over boys. I am sad for the heart-broken boys whom she'll never acknowledge and worried about her heartbreaks for the times she does acknowledge a boy. But, these fears are premature by more than ten years so I am content to just watch her behavioral patterns, track how they change, catalogue their patterns and play silly games.

        For now, she hangs up the carrot phone by dismissing it to gravity.

Hey Andrew!

        In the car, she sets inside voice to 11.

Yes Lisa?!

       I make sure to match her energy level so I can keep her interest. This is an art form in a car ride with a four year old because time spent laughing is a reprieve from the alternate timeline of pouting, crying and the draining rollercoaster of her emotional instability.

Mr. Cauliflower AND Mr. Firetruck said that You're Googoo head!

       Her laughter rises like giggles brought to a soft boil.

He did not.

Yes he did.

Did not.

Did so!

Nuh-uh.

        I'm in heaven at getting to be a child again, or at least act like one.

Yes he did. I just talked to him.

Oh... Well I guess that makes you a Googoo head then.

       I learned that trick from Bugs Bunny: deflect, deny and change the game.

No it doesn't!

Yes it does.

       I play it straight laced and deadpan, treating each reply as a serious statement. Imagine Presidential Obama debating Crazy Frog, where every outburst of 'Crazy Frog' is met with a stolid and collegial 'I see.'

Nuh-uh!

Yup.

...

...

Andrew? ...Plaintive now.

Yes Lisa?

I thought bed was Googoo.

        Is she worried about seriously being a googoo head? It's possible. But really she'd be more worried about the possibility of an insult or that I somehow don't respect her. Because I love and respect her and want only joy and peace for her, I concede.

It is.

So why'd you say I was Googoo?

Because it makes me laugh.

        Honesty is important when answering direct questions.

...

...

        And now that she's had enough time to rest and relax and parse this information, it's back on.

And because you are.

No I'm not!

Yes you are, Mr. Napkin Face said so!

        Good ol' Mr. Napkin Face, my ace in the hole every time.

Mom! Andrew said I'm Googoo head. Tell him He's Googoo head!

Maybe you are Googoo head.

        ...she says. My girlfriend plays along well when the situation requires.

No I'm not mom.

Okay.

...

Mom?

        She steers to the right, merging into the west-bound traffic.

Yes?

Tickle me mommy! Tickle meeee!!!

        She kicks her feet wildly in her chair as a momentary spasm erupts throughout her muscles. Her need for attention, love and escape from boredom drive her to this volatile outburst.

'Please mommy tickle me'?

        My girlfriend is a master at the correction of behavior.

Okay. PLEASE mom, will you tickle me?

Is it safe to do that right now?

        She is also the master of diffusing child bombs. Lisa's emotional rollercoaster avoids a high speed crash into the nadir of the downward slide. Her legs stop jostling and she regains some peace and clarity...

No.

        ...and maybe a touch of sullenness.

...

...

        ...the clouds clear.

Hey Andrew!

        Still at 11 and everything else just got dissolved, shoved into the past or forgotten.

Yes Lisa?

Did you know Mr. Cauliflower said that the Earth's name is...

        she begins laughing, and i do too because i know what's coming

...did you know...

        more laughing, her head rolls and bounces with each laugh.

...did you know the Earth's name is... Poopoo-Peepee?!

        She doubles over now, laughing and gasping for breaths between giggles

...Poopoo-Peepee!

        She says again. This is one of her primo jokes and therefore needs to be repeated as much as is insanely and  near inhumanly possible. 

        Her un-controllable giggling finishes the Googoo war, for now.

The Earth's name is Poopoo-Peepee!

        She continues laughing as my girlfriend drives us into the garage. This drive home saw ne'er a meltdown or tantrum... this time. There is one last obstacle, and that's Mr. Seatbelt. Lisa, in all her budding wisdom and youthful approaches, still adheres to a practice of lettering others do for her even if she can provide for herself. The trials of Mr. Seatbelt are no different. "Lisa, put your seatbelt on." "But I don't know how!" which begets a meltdown of liquid salt pouring from red eyes and harsh brows. "Mommy! I want you to do my seatbelt. I don't know how!" She obviously does know how but its no use pointing out her misdirection. So, when possible, I like to leverage another trend of hers against the trend of needing others do things for her. It is amazing how strong the preservation of self identity can motivate even a child... aka, winning.

Okay Lisa!

        My girlfriend turns the car off.

I'm gonna beat you taking off my seatbelt!

        It's so easy, and I'm so very grateful for that. I set the bait and she bites.

No you're not! I always beat you!

Not this time! Its my turn to win! You better watch out!

        She furiously works the seatbelt somehow hoping that adding frenzy will expedite the outcome. It does not. But somehow, that darn seatbelt seems just too much for me and, once again, Lisa wins the seatbelt race. It is a small price to pay for winning the peace-of-mind game. Every once in a while though, either out of boredom or a desire to keep her glued to the game for as long as possible (because any game can quickly become boring if there's never the threat of losing), I happen to remove my seatbelt faster and proudly exclaim my victory. Lisa hates this, not because it diminishes her but because she lost. This makes her try doubly hard in future seatbelt races and I let her win for as long as she motivates herself. If I ever feel she's losing interest then I make it a close race, and if ever I feel she's too many times in a row then I finish first. So far, for her the fear of losing and the excitement of having fun and winning, is more important than being lazy. I can work with that.

I told you Andrew! I told you I was gonna win!

I was so close! I demand a recount! ... Next time Lisa. Next time I'm gonna win.

No you're not!

       Would I throw a seatbelt race against a four year old, and promote a love of poopoo-peepee jokes to maintain domestic tranquility? Absolutely.
        "Positive role-model status" - Achieved.

        My work here is done.

        ...

        PS. She also wins the race up the stairs to the front door... and the other one to take her shoes off first and put them in the shoe area before walking through the house.