How I Hear the Children

My wife and I got up butt-early this morning to do a little meditation practice before the kids got up and crashed our early-morning party with their bumbling and morning-time grumbling and with enough time to have plenty before needing to go to work. Needless to say, it was so early that we ended up falling asleep afterward (while waiting for the children to leave for the bus so as to avoid interacting with them unduly in the morning when they're extra-cranky), but beforehand, it was pretty nice. Meditation is a beautiful practice that's worth just about everybody's time and attention.

I learned at the end of our time sitting there how I hear the children, because until that point, I had been hearing only the crickets outside and the other early-morning noises that precede the birds along with the sound of my breath, which was soft and gentle because of the practice. Clueless and Belligerent was actually the only one that talked. I have no idea what she said, but I heard "Lor, lor, lor... lor... lor, lor, lor, lor," which essentially was like the teacher from the old Peanuts cartoons except sounding more Clueless and Belligerent with a not-so-pleasant tang of griping and miserable. Immediately, I realized I simply assume that whatever that child is saying is incorrect almost as soon as it comes out of her mouth (which might or might not have to do with "the incident" on Sunday). As for the other child, who is only rarely Moody or Sullen now, everything that comes out of her mouth is fantasy land. I've realized that I have to usually ask the children to repeat themselves because I'm pretty sure, based on experience, that whatever is about to come out of their mouths isn't worth listening to, and I'm not sure if that's good or bad.
Ex: With Fantasy Land, at least nine times out of ten, whatever she says is a direct launching into some kind of story or video game without any preface and with the tone that it's something real and important. For a more specific example, yesterday she asked me a few interesting, deep, religiophilosophical kinds of questions, and when I tried to answer them seriously and thoughtfully, she corrected me with, "no, I mean in the world of the Hobbits like Tolkien wrote about." Thanks for specifying, do you mind if I have most of my last ten minutes back now please?

So, that's how I hear them. I wonder what changes this recognition will bring. Since it came up, though, I'll mention Sunday's incident because I'm not sure my life with these people can really be fully appreciated without sharing this kind of stuff.

Scene: I'm looking for the coffee press we had gone to my mom's house the night before to pick up (and ended up forgetting after a lively, fun conversation with my mom). My wife, C&B, and I went. I spent about ten minutes looking around in the kitchen and a few other potentially likely places for said press, and I couldn't find it. That's when I decided to engage C&B. It went like this:
Me: Hey, C&B, did you happen to see your mom bring in the coffee press last night, and if you did, do you know where she put it?
C&B: Yeah. Well, I saw her bring it in, but I didn't see where she put it. I just saw her go into the kitchen with it. (Bold indicates C&B's rather annoying way of talking in which all of the words are spoken essentially as quickly as possible with the exception of the indicated words, which are drawn out and with emphasis that sounds like she's trying to express annoyance).
Me: Okay, thanks.
I proceeded, based on this information, to look for another ten minutes or so for the press, rechecking everywhere I'd looked previously as well as in ridiculous places like under the sink, in drawers, and even in the freezer as I got more desperate. I was clearly missing something. Again, I addressed C&B.
Me: Um, C&B, are you absolutely sure you saw your mom put it in the kitchen? Actually, don't even answer that yet. Do you know whether we left it at my mom's or not?
C&B: YES I'm sure. I'm not an idiot. I saw her bring it home and put it in the kitchen. I don't know where in the kitchen it went.
Me: Alright, thanks. Sorry for asking again, I'm just having a hard time finding it and am actually kind of thinking we forgot it.
C&B: No! I saw her bring it in and put it in the kitchen. Gyah!
Based on this reiterated information, I looked for this thing for another ten minutes, looking in even more ridiculous places like inside the oven just because I knew it was a place I hadn't looked yet. I know my wife well enough to be sure that it would only have been in about one of three places, and it wasn't in any of those. The other child came to help me, kind of stunned at my inability to find something (a game I'm usually far better at than the children seem to be able to understand). Then my mom called because she wanted to pick the children up to hang out with them for the afternoon (THANKS MOM!!!).
Me: Hi Mom. Before you even tell me what you want, I'm going nuts trying to find that coffee press. Do you happen to know if we accidentally forgot it at your house last night?
Mom: Uh, yeah, I do. You did. I thought that was kind of funny when I saw it this morning since it was the reason you came over in the first place.
Me: Right. Thanks. What did you need?
She told me that she was on her way to get the kids and would be at our place in under two minutes. That timing probably saved the child's life/happiness. I went directly to address C&B, knowing better but not caring.
Me: Um, C&B, why did you tell me that you saw the coffee press come into the house and go into the kitchen if you didn't?
C&B: I did see it.
Other Child: Oh God, here it comes.
Me: No, you did not see it because it didn't come in. It's still at my mom's house. Why did you say you saw it when you didn't see it?
C&B: I figured you'd be pissed at me if I said I didn't see it, so I said I did so you wouldn't be pissed, and now you're pissed anyway. I hate how not fair you guys are.
Me: C&B, I asked you because I wanted information. I wouldn't have been upset if you hadn't seen it. That would have been information that didn't tell me anything about my situation, but what you told me was basically to keep looking for something that isn't here. That's now how that kind of thing works.
C&B: SEE! Now you're all mad. You were going to be mad at me no matter what I said. What was I supposed to do?
Me: You were supposed to tell the truth about what you saw because that's what I asked you for.
Other Child: Um, yeah, obviously. Now you're arguing with him, and you're wrong, so stop.
C&B: SHUT UP!
Me: No, you shut up, actually. You're arguing with me, and you know that's not allowed. You're arguing with your sister, and that's unacceptable. You, unfortunately for you, are in the wrong on this one, and I expect you'll do better in the future.
This is where my mom showed up and saved the kid's happiness because I was more than happy to just let her leave and not continue arguing with me any longer.

For what it's worth, after I gave up most of my evening to make a nice dinner for my family tonight (including noodles from scratch again -- like this but with lamb in place of beef), we ate it together. C&B, despite being 13, watched a Pokemon video that was obviously made for the 6-10-year-old range while I cooked, blasting the annoying-ass sounds at a level that certainly was geared mainly at annoying someone (me, though it succeeded in pissing off my wife far more). Anyway, my wife thanked me for the meal near its conclusion and asked the children if they had thanked me (which I didn't care about one way or the other... it's what I do). The older child, Fantasy Land (who had talked about how she was going to find Hogwarts when she grows up and then break in), thanked me readily in Japanese. C&B, on the other hand, said, "I don't know why I should thank him; I thanked him for something yesterday... mutter, mutter, mutter, something about coffee that was unintelligible because of the mumbling, mutter, mutter, mutter." Her mother sent her to her room for rudeness. She said, "Gosh! Okay! I don't know how I was even rude, mutter, mutter, mutter, mutter,..." which trailed off continuously as she went into her room and closed the door behind her. Maybe, just maybe, hearing her the way that I do (simply assuming whatever she's saying is incorrect and probably not worth listening to) isn't so terrible after all.