Weird Word Wednesday!

Tags

Bill Watterson, Calvin & Hobbes, children, Horologicon, humor, Mark Forsyth, monsters, snudge, weird word

Last Christmas, a dear friend gave me Mark Forsyth’s Horologicon: A Day’s Jaunt Through the Lost Words of the English Language. It’s delightful, filled with “the most extraordinary words in the English language, arranged according to what hour of the day you might need them.”

How handy!

I came across a word that reminded me of a stage our son went through when he was about two or three years old:

When bedtime arrived, he became concerned that somehow, monsters would slither from their lairs and ooze squishily under his bed. No amount of explaining or reassuring soothed him.

According to an article I found in Parents magazine, this is fairly normal behavior for toddlers, who “don’t always understand everything in their environment.” Parents are encouraged to be creative, which we were: I bought a can of rose-scented bathroom spray, printed out a photo of a monster I found online, and typed the words “MONSTER SPRAY” at the bottom. The whole thing got taped cleverly to the can, and we doused the underside of Steven’s bed with this gaggy concoction. Take that, monsters!

If only I had known, had owned Horologicon back then! Instead of the scary-sounding monster, I could have called this imaginary creature by its rightful name:

According to Horologicon, a snudge is “one that lurks under a bed, to watch an opportunity to rob the house.” (1699)

Our creativity seemed to work, because soon after, our son’s fears subsided and our Monster Spray found its proper home in the bathroom. The snudges were banished, and our son’s room stopped smelling like a flower shop!

by Bill Watterson

Advertisement

The Mysterious Disappearance of Mrs. Nesbitt

Tags

children, home, humor, Mother's Day, mothers, raising children, writing

Getting your kids to clean their rooms is a lot harder than it seems. Impossible, sometimes.

When our younger two were tots, I tidied their rooms myself. It was fun balling up their bitsy socks and lining them in drawers, folding striped stretchy pants with ruffles at the waist, and picking up Matchbox cars.

Fun, that is, until our daughter turned three. Suddenly, Eva’s idea of a good time meant emptying her dresser drawers, every one of them, and flinging everything on the carpet. Everything.

I routinely wiped out on Matchbox cars littering the floor, and woe be unto the person who got up in the middle of the night to navigate the mine field of toys on the way to the bathroom.

Being a good new mom, I turned to parenting articles for answers. One magazine suggested that spending five minutes cleaning up every night would give your child a sense of responsibility. Skip the night light! You could tuck them into bed where they’d fairly glow with accomplishment!

I don’t know whose kids were affected by this. Not mine.

Yelling was too much work, and an allowance didn’t dent their desire. Weeks passed and toys piled high; in a desperate attempt to get the kids to clean, I plucked the last card from my Mom Deck of Tricks:

Make something up.

Enter Mrs. Nesbitt. I envisioned a plump lady with iron-grey hair, wearing sensible oxfords and a healthy dose of polyester. She’d be a take-no-prisoners cleaner, whomping dust from couch cushions, thrusting her vacuum wand into the dark corners I neglected. The house would sparkle when she left, all our problems swept under the Rug of Avoidance I was creating.

Even though she didn’t exist, she could still take the blame for things. It all seemed so tidy.

The next time my daughter asked why she had to clean, I cast a pitying glance her way. “Since Mrs. Nesbitt didn’t show up today, we have to do the cleaning,” I said sadly.

She turned back to her room, eyebrows stuck together in a puzzled frown. So far, so good.

Another few weeks went by with me happily blaming Mrs. Nesbitt for the conundrum she unwittingly created. Gotta sweep the floor, kiddo? Blame No-Show Nesbitt. Fold the laundry? Ha! Looks like Mrs. Nesbitt forgot again.

One day, reality struck.

After making her bed once too often, Eva came out of her room, beginnings of a black cloud swirling over her head.

“If you’re paying Mrs. Nesbitt, she should be doing the cleaning,” she fumed, one little foot stomping the ground for emphasis.

Eva’s little foot stomped my heart, too. I couldn’t do it anymore – Mrs. Nesbitt’s gig was up.

“Honey,” I said, bending down, “there is no Mrs. Nesbitt.”

She stared. I waited for a wail of disbelief, to feel her thorns of accusation, but instead, she smiled.

After that, it became a joke around our house. Bed not made? Blame Mrs. Nesbitt! Dog doo lurking in the yard? Must be Nesbitt’s day off!

Mrs. Nesbitt faded away as the years passed, but recently she made a comeback. It was Mother’s Day, and my husband made supper, vowing to wash the heaps of dishes after he returned from an errand.

He pointed a finger my way. “Stay out of the kitchen,” he threatened.

After he left, I filled the sink with water and started scrubbing.

He returned, and with an exasperated look, asked me why I had washed dishes, on Mother’s Day of all days.

I smiled.

“I didn’t,” I said. “Mrs. Nesbitt stopped by…”

Weird Word Wednesday!

Tags

bad fashion, children, famous speeches, fanny pack, flagitation, grammar, history, Patrick Henry, weird word, writing

Welcome to Weird Word Wednesday! This post will be especially meaningful for parents out there, while also serving as a heads-up for expecting parents. Who knows; maybe it’ll even be useful in a workplace setting, for as we shall soon see, there’s all kinds of flagitation going on out there!

Yes, today’s word is flagitation, and it means “asking or demanding with passion.” Mothers nod heavily, recalling instances when their children wore them down with their incessant flagitation.

Heather felt her hair frizzle; if she had to listen to Jeremy’s whining flagitation for another second, there was no telling what would happen to the carton of eggs she held in her hand.

But flagitation isn’t limited to the world of raising children. There are plenty of instances of adults who use flagitation to get their way.

Reginald believed that office morale would improve if “Fanny Pack Friday” were implemented. Sadly, his incessant flagitation alienated all his coworkers except one.

Is there ever an appropriate time for flagitation? I suppose during the American Revolution, it may have come in handy in 1775 when Patrick Henry gave his “Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death” speech. History is rife with moments when leaders used flagitation to win the battle or to sway people to their way of thinking. Nowadays, we tend to attribute this characteristic to wheedling children or manipulative coworkers.

But if flagitation works for you, go for it!