Little Pitchers and Big Ears: Selective Hearing

Why is it that I can ask my kids 20 times if they've done their homework and get no response?

I can say one thing about a wacky relative in a whisper voice on the phone and EVERY TIME they will crank their neck around with whiplash speed and ask me why I said that?

Selective hearing.

It works the same way with my husband. He swore up and down on Thanksgiving that I never asked him to do X, Y or Z. I am 100 percent sure that I did.

It's kind of like a "If a tree falls in the woods..." situation. If you ask a question, and no one hears it, or acknowledges it, did you really ask?"

Amazed at the frequency of use, this week I started experimenting with the phenomenon. To my surprise, selective hearing is actually an addicting habit. Now, I find myself using that technique with my whole family.

Here's how in 4 easy steps:

1. Say you are working at the computer. Stare straight ahead at the screen. If the request is one that just doesn't interest you, keep staring straight ahead.
2. On the second request, keep typing and staring.
3. On the third request, move to the kitchen and begin slicing carrots (keep the knife in hand, most grown ups approach you with extreme caution when you are brandishing a knife).
4. If the inquirer is persistent or crying, you can finally say with a smile, "What did you say, dear?"

Of course, if you really have no interest in the tasks, tears or screaming, just continue along in you blissful blank state until the inquirer walks away.

This technique also builds the useful skill of people not realizing that you are really listening and spying on their conversations. This is quite good, especially with teens.

Aging Genralization: What The Second Nine Years Of Primary Education Can Do To You.

Me, as a preschool mom.

Me, as an 8th grade mom.

I dragged my weary carcass out of the car and ran into the grocery store. It was 7:55 am. If all went as planned, I would have 4 large bottles of sparkling water and be out the door by 8:00 am. I ran the aisles as if I were in a sprint triathlon.

Luckily, I had sat bolt upright in my bed at 3:30 am and remembered that I was supposed to bring sparkling water for our teacher celebration at school. Girls in tow with store bought bagels and juice, I raced my mini van to school and got everyone and everything there on time.

Deflated and a bit defeated, I carefully drove my car around the school parking lot.

There, in the glistening morning sunshine, were all of these cute, spunky young moms with their little kids. Both parent and offspring were skipping on their way into school.

I was crackly, old lizard mother. I used to see those 8th grade moms and stare with wonder. Why didn't those strange creatures volunteer for everything?

Face it. They were experienced. They were smarter. I was young and dumb, and now I know. The game of life, oh so bittersweet.