spill the beans

I'm over at MamaPop today talking about my guilty obsession with the team members from Paranormal State. Please (please) come over and visit; I have this fear of getting no comments and that is a shame I cannot live with.  Strangely enough I can live with the shame of publically stating that I would have totally gotten it on with a total square given the right circumstances, but that is there not here.

Anyhow, on with the motherbumpin' show....

The other day Gigi and I were on the subway travelling to meet SB. It wasn't rush hour when we left but it was in that pre-rush hour twilight where most seats are taken on the train. In other words, the crowds had not reached sardine status yet. Gigi and I had a seat together, she was on her knees looking out the window and I sat looking forward, trying to find zen during her extended period of distraction.

Her "but why" questions had ceased for the time-being and she was more interested in people watching. It is moments like this that makes for good public transportation with a preschooler. That is, until they invent teleportation devices built into strollers. They had better be working on that one, and if a parent is in charge, you know they totally are.

Anyhow, during this lull in what I frankly consider normal, if not exemplary preschooler behaviour, Gigi started the chant. You know, the repetitive chanting of a word or two that renders the word completely meaningless and instead turns it into a weapon of mass sanity destruction.

beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad 

It wasn't loud, she wasn't yelling, she was just chanting those words in a normal voice.

I knew where those words came from: beans for lunch, daddy was waiting for her. Two unrelated thoughts just being hammered into my skull with a technique worthy of Stockholm syndrome methodology.

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Actually it would be more accurate to say that to the best of my knowledge and understanding of human physiology, this chant was being hammered into my skull and all the loverly passengers who had operational ears devoid of sanity-saving buds on car 5591 on the TTC rocket.

But I still found zen. It can be difficult to achieve sometimes but over three years practice has gotten me to this point. So there I was, in that space I found in my mind's eye.Everyone else on the train seemed to be able to block it out, or at least they didn't seem too disturbed by my daughter's mantra of paternal musical fruit.

Alas, this zen is fickle and it doesn't take much to unbalance. In fact, one errant breeze from any direction may just force me to alternate resorts - like sticking a fork in my thigh to painfully symbolize how done I actually am.

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As the chanting continued, I was in a calm place that the keyboard cannot describe other than to compare it to a tight-rope many parents know too well. For me, one misstep can plunge me into an abyss full of snapping barbs that fly from my mouth without restraint. I must remind myself that everyone has a story, everyone has a reason for being cranky, even if that reason is they just are.

And so I remain balanced and focused.

beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad

Then the woman sitting kitty corner to us, turned, leaned towards us, and hissed "SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUSH" right into our faces, perhaps in case we weren't aware who she was aiming this gesture towards.

*snap* The tight-rope just shook and I'm plummeting towards the thorns.  But somehow I reach out and grab the rope above.

With that flail and recovery, I took out the aforementioned fork, stuck it in my thigh, swallowed back the barbs, and just smiled a real honest-to-goodness smile at this shushing woman. I hope the smile was just wide and not maniacal.  We locked eyes for a good ten seconds before she cast her peepers downward and retreated into what I assume was her internal zen room.  And with that, I retreated again to mine.

Finding calm may be incredibly difficult some days but always worth maintaining.  For that much I really do know.

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