There is no amount of logic or scientific training that can prepare someone for having a four year old. They are absolutely irrational. The latest saga of irrational behavior in my house revolves around a Croc. A Croc named Friendy.
Figure 1: Last known image of Friendy the Croc. Circa 2008
Friendy was Little Isis’s right Croc when he was about 20 months old. One ill-fated August evening, we took Little Isis to a minor league baseball game. There, Friendy the Croc fell off and was lost under the bleachers. He was never seen nor heard from again.
Friendy was not mentioned in Casa de Isis for almost three years. After all, he was a Croc – the most despised shoe on the planet – and I won’t lie that I was a little happy to see him go. Not that I had anything to do with his disappearance. I am completely innocent of any malfeasance in this case.
Friendy remained a forgotten memory for three years. Until about 8 weeks ago when Friendy returned to our lives. Little Isis was riding in his car seat when I heard a little voice ask, “Mommy, do you remember that black Croc that I lost at the baseball game?”
“Yes…”
“(sigh) I really miss that Croc.”
A week later he asked about the Croc again. I told him I was sure that the Croc was gone and he absolutely lost his mind. He cried and cried and cried over this poor, poor Croc. He told me that he wanted to give the Croc to the new baby. I tried to explain that (to my dismay) we could get new Crocs for the baby. This did not soothe him. I tried to explain that the Croc is just a thing. It did not soothe him. I am sure I tried 600 other rationalizations that also did not soothe him. Eventually he fell asleep.
A few days later he rementioned the Croc and started again with the tears and shenanigans. This time, however, I got the real truth. He told me that he was worried that having the baby would hurt me and that he would have to take care of it. If he didn’t have two Crocs, how would the baby have any shoes? I asked him why he thought I would be too hurt to take care of the baby and he answered, “Well, the baby is in your belly? Your belly has to break open for the baby to come out.”
I figured that no bit of reality could be any more horrible than what he was imagining, so I figured I might as well let him see the truth. I showed him this video from BabyCenter. Before you click it, it is about as graphic as birth videos come. But, she’s got one hell of an epidural. He seemed totally relieved to know the truth and to see that the woman in the video was fine afterwards. As I reflect, some of his friends’ mothers have had babies recently and I wonder if he had been told about a C-section? Who knows, but he has seemed totally cool about it all, making sure to tell everyone we know, “My mommy’s junk is going to get huge.”
Still, the Croc continues to make an appearance whenever Little Isis is upset about something. He flips out over the Croc for a day or two and then we get to the real issue. You can’t ask him what the issue is at the time, because all he will do is lament over the Croc. Attempts to get at the heart of the matter simply make matters worse. Tonight, we indulged another Croc flip out, except this was exceptionally epic. He got in the shower and wept like I have never seen. He told me, “That Croc was my best friend. He always made me feel better when I was sad. Do you know he had a name? His name was Friendy.”
Fucking Friendy.
So, now we wait and see if he will reveal what is bothering him. You can’t tell your child, “Would get some fucking control over yourself? You’re crying over a fucking shoe!!!” At least, not unless you want to pay for his therapy later in life. For now, we just look at the Croc as a flag. An ugly, squishy, hole-filled flag that Little Isis uses to tell us that something is wrong.
More wrong than Crocs.
The good thing is that your son is old enough to articulate (albeit in a roundabout way) what is bothering him. I think his concern is very sweet.
My son does a similar thing about Spike, our chihuahua who died 5 years ago (when said son was 4 yrs old). Sometimes he’ll just randomly start crying, and when I ask him what’s wrong, it’s always “I miss Spike.” Of course, it’s rarely *really* that he misses Spike–that’s just an easier excuse than a lot of the other more complex shit he has to deal with and gets upset about. It’s actually kind of nice to have that outlet, as otherwise he keeps things bottled up.
I still miss some of my dear departed pets that have died years ago.
Even the dog I had when I was a kid (I’m now 63).
And it isn’t another issue, something just reminds me of one of their quirks and I remember them, and sometimes it makes me sad.
Sometimes sadness is just sadness, and memories are just memories.
d.
Not all that graphic, by my definitions, at least-YMMV.
When I was in the childbirth prep class, we were shown a film about Birth in the Squatting Position, wherein (mostly indigenous South American) women were holding a barre while squatting. The babies emerge, all bloody and messy…and onto the next woman in labor. No part of the experience was sanitized.
Oddly enough, the men were very queasy watching this, and the women’s comments all had to do with comfort or some other aspect.
So why don’t you get Little Isis a replacement pair of crocs???
I have cried for shoes when they become unwearable.
Two addenda to the story:
Last week, when I announced I was going back to the same stadium to watch a game with a colleague, Little Isis made me promise to look under the bleachers for the croc. I said I would. I lied. Yeah, I’m not doin’ that.
Also, last night, Little Isis asked me if I wanted to know the Friendy’s real name. “Of course,” I told him, “What is Friendy’s real name?”
“Not Lostie”
I should have known.
You are a bad parent and I am totally telling.
I let my four year old watch the birth videos on Babycenter too when I was pregnant. It demystified the process and it really helped her understand the whole process, plus she knew it would not hurt as mama was getting a vaccine in her back.
One day we were driving around and I was kind of cursing at the rain (this was Seattle). She asked me: “Do you know what can break the waters? An amniohook.”
Wait, he’s gonna remember what happens now when he’s 4?
I am so screwed.
Sounds like an important lesson about loss. And look on the bright side, it wasn’t your fault. It took years of therapy to get over how my dad ran over my squeaky rubber frog with the lawnmower.
what about the other croc? or was it only the right one that he liked?
I felt very sad for Friendly… it was like he .. lost.. a friend!
My son always refuses to say what is bothering him… he’s 11… until you say.. “OK! I don’t want to know! I don’t care!” .. then he tells you.
Kevin says:
[strong] My son always refuses to say what is bothering him… he’s 11… until you say.. “OK! I don’t want to know! I don’t care!” .. then he tells you. [/strong]
Mine does the same, and has for years. He’s 17 now. He seems to need to process, or at least to be calmer, before he is ready to reveal it.
Earlier this year, after a counselling session (we’re both bipolar), he said, “I have something to tell you, but I’m afraid you won’t like it”.
Said I’d try to be calm and accepting, what is it?
“I masturbate. That’s why I want my door closed all the time.”
“Congratulations, you’re normal.” I then told him I knew who his first crush was. I was right. He then told me how he figured it out…
given your own leanings toward special shoes, fashionable and cool shoes, does it not surprise you that your own offspring would focus on the loss of his shoe? hmmm? Even if it is a croc – he’ll grow into something better to cry about.
Oh! I forgot to share the family “lost right shoe” story.
Strictly speaking, it was not a “lost right shoe”. It was 6 lost right shoes (never a left shoe). Probably under the cement in the foundation of homes in Homewood IL to this very day. From my father, when he was about 6 years old. How my grandparents survived him, and the 4 others, I will never know. Particularly since he *wasn’t* the active one but the bookish one.
On kids refusing to tell you what’s wrong- This is why I’ve gotta get the book “What’s wrong, little pookie?”. I think it must be fairly common, if there is a book for it. That or Boynton is just eerily prescient.
So is Friendy (AKA Not Lostie) the only anthropomorphized croc? What about the other one? Does it have a name?
Be glad Little Isis doesn’t have siblings to make it worse. My older sister was full of help.
“They’re bringing home another one, that means they’re gonna take you back.”
I didn’t sleep much for the last two weeks of my mother’s pregnancy. Of course…when the youngest of us arrived, I wasn’t much help to my little brother, so I guess that’s just the way kids are.
(If you get pregnant again, do not let Little Isis make Even Littler Isis start digging thier own grave in the backyard by the “that’s not really the dog, you know” stone…)
It seems pretty healthy to me that LI has found a way to let you guys know when he is feeling upset but isn’t able to articulate the real reason. Certainly better than “bottling it up” and the completely losing his shot about some really minor or random incident days, weeks, or months later. (o hai, mom! sorry!)
(‘shot’ = ‘shit’; my phone tries to tidy up my dirty language. fuck you, paternalistic apple product!)
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