by Kari Pike
I learned a wonderful lesson yesterday -- from a two-year-old. Enok wanted something and I failed to interpret his two-year-old language correctly. After several attempts to make himself understood, and obviously annoyed at my inability to get it right, Enok placed his chubby little hand over my mouth, glared at me, and said, “NO!” When I made another attempt to interpret his need, Enok covered my mouth again with a resounding, “NO!” He then firmly planted his sturdy legs, scowled ferociously, and with great determination pushed on my shoulder to make me lie down. I had no problem understanding the next word Enok pronounced: “NAP!”
My fifteen-year-old daughter came up with a word to describe the sudden disappearance of a person or possession right when you need them. You know what I mean. You’re running out the door, late for work, keys in hand…well… they used to be in your hand. Where are they? You know you had them. My daughter would tell you that your keys have “invisiblated.” It can happen with words and thoughts as well; usually in the middle of trying to make a point at the height of a debate, or when you’re writing the best part of the entire book and your character is just about to….do something…or you look at your spouse as you begin to introduce him to someone…and you can’t remember his name!!! Augh! Sometimes I think my entire brain invisiblates.
So, next time my brain invisiblates, I think I’m going to follow Enok’s advice and lie down for a nap.