And Then She Peed on My Side of the Bed

Don't ask me what I did last Wednesday but I have an exceptional memory for recalling events from my youth. I impressed the hell out of my mother when I once described, as an adult, the exact floor plan of the duplex we lived in for the first couple of years of my life. Not only that but I remember precise details such as furniture arrangement and those cute little doors where the top portion opened independently of the bottom half and that my dresser drawers were built into my bedroom wall. That was the 1970's and it wasn't like it is now with digital cameras and unlimited photographs to piece together such recollections. There are precious few photos from that era. I just remember. I also remember when I was four years old my parents brought me along to the drive in to see a charming little movie called Bug were these cute little woodland creatures called mutant cockroaches were released from the Earth and started these adorable little things called fires. Like that one particularly cheeky roach that crawled in that lady's hair? Remember that one? And caught her on fire? Precious. Oh, I can joke about it now but for years I lived in fear that every bug that I ever encountered or imagined was going TO KILL ME.

I don't know how popular June Bugs are in your neighborhood but for those who aren't familiar, I'll explain: June Beetles, or Phyllophaga crinita [for you fancy Latin types and sexy Rhodes Scholars] are smallish, flying beetles that still exhibit prehistoric attributes such as their hard candy shell and dimwittedness. Their purpose in life seems to revolve solely around the attractiveness of a porch light, landing upside down; and after a series of convulsions, dying. What a fabulous and necessary creature! Ahem. So it wasn't long after seeing that movie that a screenless window was left open in the bedroom that my baby brother and I shared. I opened the door to find hundreds of these critters swarming the light fixture and I've been pretty much scarred ever since when it comes to all things bug.

When I was eleven I saw The Exorcist at a friend's house. I slept with my mother for two weeks and made her promise to wait until I fell asleep in my own bed for two weeks following that. Yes. I was eleven and sleeping with my mommy. It was The Exorcist. I don't really feel the need to justify anything, I think you'll agree?

Almost two weeks ago, the kids and I sat down one afternoon on one of those 114 degree days, and watched Beetle Juice. For the next week Girl-Child slept in our bed. And for the week following that has been an exercise in patience on our parts and SO MANY TEARS and FEARS on hers to sleep in her own bed because, she says "I don't like being with myself and the ghosts in my head". Translation: She doesn't like being alone and she's seeing ghosts. And I wonder if she'll remember just as vividly the first movie that scared the CRAP out of her. Because it certainly wasn't any of the other movies she's seen like Beowulf or any of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, or Harry Potter movies, or any of the Lord of the Rings trilogy - which, HELLO! Grendel? Captain Barbosa and his ghostly crew? Lord Voldemort? Smigel? Its scares meee's. - Damn you Tim Burton and your nightmares!

So Saturday night, naturally, I decided it would be alright if I took Boy-Child#1 along with me to see The Happening. Figuring if I was his age when I saw The Exorcist (EXORCIST!) then this? Not. Even. Close. Could I get "You couldn't have been more wrong" for $500, Alex? Sigh. Good grief. You all know that there's something wrong with me, right? Parenting: Trial and error. Lots of ERRORing going on HERE.