“Mama…mama…mama…” I’m driving. I’m ignoring. I’m tired coming home from the gym one day about a week ago. “Mama!”
Yes Amelia? (I am fighting the urge to say WHAT?!?”) ( Thank you stage management training.)
“Mama, what’s a salami?”
A salami? I am contemplating explaining encased meats to a four-year old. Aunt Becky knows what I’m talking about. I do love encased meats. Salami, kielbasa, Hormel cheese wranglers, bright red natural casing wieners (heh, heh). I’m not a fan of brats and I’m not sure why. I think it’s because I never had a brat until I moved nearer to Wisconsin and they were hyped for so long that they just didn’t live up when the time came.
So I start talking about how salami is like a giant sausage but it’s cold and sliced for sandwiches…
“No! A SA-LA-MI” Slower and louder like the voice you reserve for foreigners. “Will all that water come to our house?”
Salami? Oh…tsunami! You mean tsunami right? All the water in Japan?
“Right,” she says. “Salami. Will we have a tsunami water at our house?”
No. We don’t live near an ocean.
Ella pipes up. “But what if we do get a tsunami?”
We won’t. There’s no way.
“I know. But what if it does happen? What will happen?”
We have the same exchange of me saying it won’t happen and Ella demanding an answer about what if. She’s getting worked up. I really hate it when she does this. My patience with this day is gone. Gone. Really gone.
Okay girls, it’s not going to happen. If there is a tsunami and it washes up in Nebraska…this whole world has bigger problems. Even I don’t like my tone at this point. You know when that tsunami happened in Japan? There were a lot of people who couldn’t get out of the way and all the water came. What happened to lots of those people?
Ella says, “They died. They drowned.”
That’s right. SO if it came to our house we could die too.
Amelia has just been listening to Ella and I going around and around about this and how it’s not going to happen here. We are about to pull into the driveway and it is very near bedtime and all I want to do is kick my chair back, eat my dinner and not answer any more questions.
And Amelia says…”Yep. And then we could go to Heaven and then I could get to see my daddy and I would run to him and give him a great big hug and say DADDY!”
You’re killing me, kid. Just…killing me.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m more than pleased that she gets it. That she isn’t even five years old and she has more faith that I have ever had in my entire life. In fact, it makes me realize how little faith I have. How her whole world is centered on what comes after this life as all of ours should be. I think.
See…there it is. The doubt. I don’t think anybody blames me at this point for my thoughts going that direction but at least the message has come through loud and clear to my children.