Kitchen Floor Horror Stories

Thanks for all the amazing, in-depth questions about the music industry! I had no idea there would be so much interest in this subject and I can't wait to keep shedding light on the inner workings of my tiny sliver of the industry! The next installment will be Monday. Now....

May I please tell you a story about my child?

The Nickel

She was sucking on a nickel when I found her on the kitchen floor.

Rolling it around in her mouth, over her tongue, and then sucking on it.

I've asked her not to eat money before, but she insists.

She loves her 'monies'.

For her birthday, my mother in law's best friend, Sallie Baker, bought Annie a wallet. She printed a picture of Annie, cut it to size and it put in the I.D. slot. She then printed a picture of Ryan and I and put it in the picture section. She attached a pair of real house keys. I'm not sure whose house they open, but they are real, and that is all that matters to Annie. Finally, and most importantly, Mrs. Sallie filled the wallet with coins.

Do you need a present for a litlte girl under the age of 4?

Save your money and get the girl the gift she will adore the most:

Her very own big girl wallet with her very own 'monies.'

Trust me, she got a big girl bed, a tricycle, a toy piano, a wind up chicken, and enough art supplies to open her own gallery... but her favorite present two months later?

"Let's go ANNIE!" I yell from the front door.

"SORRY Mommy! Gotta get my WALLET! Gonna need my MONIES! I go-in shopping too!'

Who knew the ultimate present was under $5? (Mrs. Sallie Baker of course. Martha Stewart has nothing on this lady.)

Kitchen Floor Horror Stories

Back to the girl's monies.

She's eating her nickels, which I have repeatedly asked her not to do, when I find her in the kitchen, kicked back against the dishwasher staring at her own image in the oven.

Narcissism and curiousty hit early in life, don't they?

Frustrated that she is so money hungry, I attempt to do what every good fire and brimstone pastor does... put the fear of the Lord in her and all but force her to turn from her wicked ways.

"Annie!", I got on my knees next to her, "What have I told you about eating your monies?"

"I gotta nickel mommy," she snickers like this is a time for jokes.

"It's not funny Annie. I know you have a nickel and nickels are dangerous. Did you know that? DID you? "

Yeah. In that moment I was convinced that she ought to have thought through the whole 'nickels are dangerous' scenario. As every responsible two-year-old should.

"Well they are. They are dangerous. And if you swallowed a nickel it would hurt your throat and it would burn all the day down and when it got in your tummy it would get lost. And stuck. And your body would start getting sick. And then, we'd have to go to the hospital. Did you know that? Did you? That we'd have to go to the hospital?

"Yeah," she said sweetly and with a strange look of excitement in her eyes.

"Well, we would we'd have to go to the hospital. We'd have to see a doctor and do you know what that doctor would do to you? Do you? Listen to me, the doctor would..."

And just as I was- honest to God- about to explain to her that the doctor would give her a shot that would make her 'spizzy' and then he would take a knife and cut her stomach wide open and she would bleed and all her food would come out and she would have to have stitches and stay in her bed for at least a week... literally, just as the word knife is dangling off my tongue in the air, Annie said, with a face full of pensive, serious thought...

"Mommy I would need a band aide and a sucker."

She looked at me with those big, baby blue doe eyes,

"I would have an owie mommy."

I stopped dead in my tracks.

I want Annie to be safe, no doubt. I want her to have a healthy fear of things like strangers and snakes and not running out into the road. As her mom, I have to teach her boundaries and rules, I have to protect her. But that little girl taught me a huge lesson yesterday morning.

Fear Not?

Putting the 'fear of the Lord' in her, as in, "I will scare you so bad you will never want to do that again,"

isn't necessary.

A band aide would have sufficed.

Mongering Monster

In recent years, much has been made about "fear mongering." We see it in politics, religion, school systems, and environmental battles.

I often find myself wondering how you have a healthy respect for safety without using the fear of the Lord (or of anarchy, communism, hell, grannies being put to death by the government, or a universal chocolate shortage) to incite, manipulate, or persuade people.

And within our churches as we decide how to draw people to Jesus, if there is no better way to draw someone to Jesus, than by simply waving around the threatening fear of Hell?

Annie didn't need me to give her the worst, most horrific possible outcome. But there I was, prepared to tell my precious two-year-old that if she didn't "obey me" she would have a knife ripping into her stomach and her guts splayed on the table and she would be confined to bed for an entire week.

Really?

Instead, she stopped me with her simple words and simple heart.

If she had to see a doctor because she swallowed a nickle, well, he would have to give her a band-aide and she would have an owie. And that was enough for her.

She took the nickle out of her mouth and went on to the next toy.

My almost slip made me wonder, how often do I use fear tactics without even thinking? When are they appropriate? And how much fear is necessary? Or is fear necessary at all? I mean, this world is full of things that we become afraid of, is it really my job to go around instilling even more fear?

When she said she would need a band-aide, I felt silly.

Here I was about to scar the pour thing for life- and she graciously kept me from being a fear mongerer. She understood that doctors meant owies and bandaides. She didn't need me to terrify her with knife, blood, and guts.

I simply needed to make her aware, and even she, a two-year-old, was able to make her very own decision without the gory details of my knife to the gut story.

Fear.

or

Fear not?