Catherine Egan's Blog - Posts Tagged "the-big-bad-wolf"
Real Life
Dear Blog,
I was cleaning the bathroom yesterday when LittleJ burst in, leaping onto my back and almost knocking me into the toilet (our bathroom is very small), and shouted: "I think my dinosaurs are starting to become real!"
For you to understand the cold terror that shot through me upon hearing those words, you have to know two things.
One: we have A Wolf in our closet. We didn't used to. At least, I don't think we did. I'm sure it was empty when we moved in. It's a big storage closet and we put in things we don't use often, like suitcases and hiking backpacks and space heaters and squash rackets (we don't play squash - why do we own squash rackets?). Sometime in the fall, LittleK started pointing at the closed door and declaring, "Wolf Inside!" Whenever we made to open it he would emit such an earsplitting shriek that, wolf or no, we found ourselves backing away from the door.
Soon enough we could all hear it growling and panting and moving around in there. One night it started howling. I mean, howling. We aren't even supposed to have pets here. LittleJ thought it was hungry. I opened the door just enough to toss in a packet of chicken thighs. An animal stench wafted out and the howling was replaced with a wet chomping and slurping. We've tried dog food for the sake of our budget but The Wolf was not impressed. It is keen on whole roasted chicken. Anyway, I don't know how we are ever going to get our suitcases out of there.
Two: The ceiling right above LittleJ's bed split open several weeks ago. I was tidying up in there one morning and looked up and saw a gaping hole about the size of a fist. Later that day I showed it to That Guy and said, what do you think happened there? He climbed up on the bed and peered into it. I have no idea, he said. We'll have to e-mail the landlord (he never answers his phone). Then LittleJ came in and said, oh, that's where the Neenerdeath came out. The ... Neenerdeath? we said. He was quite matter-of-fact about it. It comes out the ceiling and sleeps in my bed because it gets cold on the roof, he said. Ah, OK, of course, a chilly Neenerdeath, it is winter, makes absolute sense. That Guy is a night owl and often works until the wee hours of the morning. So I told him, before you go to bed, have a peek in at LittleJ. He woke me at 2am and led me to LittleJ's room. There, curled up on the bed and nestled against the shoulder of my lovely firstborn son was... well, I guess I'll take his word for it and call it a Neenerdeath: dusky little wings folded on its back, a hairy, wizened goblin-face quite peaceful in sleep, and small clawed fingers curled into fists. In the morning it was gone. I asked LittleJ after breakfast what a Neenerdeath does. Fights dragons, he told me. But it's so small, I said. That's just so it can fit in my bed, he told me. It can get bigger if it wants to. Oh, wonderful.
Needless to say I've been feeling slightly anxious about all this and so when he announced that the dinosaurs were becoming real, I thought, oh hell, that's all we need, a bunch of real dinosaurs rampaging through the house. I am still working out how to word my e-mail to the landlord. I keep starting but it sounds so absurd. "We were not informed of The Wolf in the closet and would like the monthly cost of chicken for The Wolf to be deducted from our rent" - "We are concerned about the Neenerdeath that has come through the ceiling, we were not informed..." - but I'm not even sure what I want done about the Neenerdeath. It seems such a peaceful thing, obviously fond of LittleJ, and I suppose fighting dragons is a plus. For that matter we've gotten used to The Wolf, more or less. But dinosaurs - too much, definitely too much. I tore into the living room. They were lying on the floor, inanimate as always.
I started to yell, "what are you talking about?" but then remembered we've been reading The Velveteen Rabbit. I remember my own first reading of the book as a child - how true it seemed. It perfectly captures the way that children love their toys, with a love so vivid and fierce it is impossible, even as an adult, not to believe those toys love them back. Love and Fear alike can be life-giving forces if you ask me. Given the state of our household, however, I am encouraging a little more distance between LittleJ and his dinosaurs.
He was shivering a little, for he had always been used to sleeping in a proper bed, and by this time his coat had worn so thin and threadbare from hugging that it was no longer any protection to him. Nearby he could see the thicket of raspberry canes, growing tall and close like a tropical jungle, in whose shadow he had played with the Boy on bygone mornings. He thought of those long sunlit hours in the garden - how happy they were - and a great sadness came over him. He seemed to see them all pass before him, each more beautiful than the other, the fairy huts in the flower-bed, the quiet evenings in the wood when he lay in the bracken and the little ants ran over his paws; the wonderful day when he first knew that he was Real. He thought of the Skin Horse, so wise and gentle, and all that he had told him. Of what use was it to be loved and lose one's beauty and become Real if it all ended like this? And a tear, a real tear, trickled down his little shabby velvet nose and fell to the ground.
And then a strange thing happened.
Yours, wondering-about-a-wolfy-litter-box,
Catherine
I was cleaning the bathroom yesterday when LittleJ burst in, leaping onto my back and almost knocking me into the toilet (our bathroom is very small), and shouted: "I think my dinosaurs are starting to become real!"
For you to understand the cold terror that shot through me upon hearing those words, you have to know two things.
One: we have A Wolf in our closet. We didn't used to. At least, I don't think we did. I'm sure it was empty when we moved in. It's a big storage closet and we put in things we don't use often, like suitcases and hiking backpacks and space heaters and squash rackets (we don't play squash - why do we own squash rackets?). Sometime in the fall, LittleK started pointing at the closed door and declaring, "Wolf Inside!" Whenever we made to open it he would emit such an earsplitting shriek that, wolf or no, we found ourselves backing away from the door.
Soon enough we could all hear it growling and panting and moving around in there. One night it started howling. I mean, howling. We aren't even supposed to have pets here. LittleJ thought it was hungry. I opened the door just enough to toss in a packet of chicken thighs. An animal stench wafted out and the howling was replaced with a wet chomping and slurping. We've tried dog food for the sake of our budget but The Wolf was not impressed. It is keen on whole roasted chicken. Anyway, I don't know how we are ever going to get our suitcases out of there.
Two: The ceiling right above LittleJ's bed split open several weeks ago. I was tidying up in there one morning and looked up and saw a gaping hole about the size of a fist. Later that day I showed it to That Guy and said, what do you think happened there? He climbed up on the bed and peered into it. I have no idea, he said. We'll have to e-mail the landlord (he never answers his phone). Then LittleJ came in and said, oh, that's where the Neenerdeath came out. The ... Neenerdeath? we said. He was quite matter-of-fact about it. It comes out the ceiling and sleeps in my bed because it gets cold on the roof, he said. Ah, OK, of course, a chilly Neenerdeath, it is winter, makes absolute sense. That Guy is a night owl and often works until the wee hours of the morning. So I told him, before you go to bed, have a peek in at LittleJ. He woke me at 2am and led me to LittleJ's room. There, curled up on the bed and nestled against the shoulder of my lovely firstborn son was... well, I guess I'll take his word for it and call it a Neenerdeath: dusky little wings folded on its back, a hairy, wizened goblin-face quite peaceful in sleep, and small clawed fingers curled into fists. In the morning it was gone. I asked LittleJ after breakfast what a Neenerdeath does. Fights dragons, he told me. But it's so small, I said. That's just so it can fit in my bed, he told me. It can get bigger if it wants to. Oh, wonderful.
Needless to say I've been feeling slightly anxious about all this and so when he announced that the dinosaurs were becoming real, I thought, oh hell, that's all we need, a bunch of real dinosaurs rampaging through the house. I am still working out how to word my e-mail to the landlord. I keep starting but it sounds so absurd. "We were not informed of The Wolf in the closet and would like the monthly cost of chicken for The Wolf to be deducted from our rent" - "We are concerned about the Neenerdeath that has come through the ceiling, we were not informed..." - but I'm not even sure what I want done about the Neenerdeath. It seems such a peaceful thing, obviously fond of LittleJ, and I suppose fighting dragons is a plus. For that matter we've gotten used to The Wolf, more or less. But dinosaurs - too much, definitely too much. I tore into the living room. They were lying on the floor, inanimate as always.
I started to yell, "what are you talking about?" but then remembered we've been reading The Velveteen Rabbit. I remember my own first reading of the book as a child - how true it seemed. It perfectly captures the way that children love their toys, with a love so vivid and fierce it is impossible, even as an adult, not to believe those toys love them back. Love and Fear alike can be life-giving forces if you ask me. Given the state of our household, however, I am encouraging a little more distance between LittleJ and his dinosaurs.
He was shivering a little, for he had always been used to sleeping in a proper bed, and by this time his coat had worn so thin and threadbare from hugging that it was no longer any protection to him. Nearby he could see the thicket of raspberry canes, growing tall and close like a tropical jungle, in whose shadow he had played with the Boy on bygone mornings. He thought of those long sunlit hours in the garden - how happy they were - and a great sadness came over him. He seemed to see them all pass before him, each more beautiful than the other, the fairy huts in the flower-bed, the quiet evenings in the wood when he lay in the bracken and the little ants ran over his paws; the wonderful day when he first knew that he was Real. He thought of the Skin Horse, so wise and gentle, and all that he had told him. Of what use was it to be loved and lose one's beauty and become Real if it all ended like this? And a tear, a real tear, trickled down his little shabby velvet nose and fell to the ground.
And then a strange thing happened.
Yours, wondering-about-a-wolfy-litter-box,
Catherine
