THE DESIGNATED QUESTION ASKER. . . 

My husband is the designated question asker. Yes. He is. 

My husband has three kids, two of which are still at home teenagers. We have been together for 4.5 years. My step-children have seen some peculiar things over the years. Yes. They have. I don't think my doings are peculiar, mind you. I make perfect sense. But, sometimes. . .  I hear whispering from the kids to their dad, my husband. It is at these times, he will look over at me, furrow his brow and then cautiously sidle up to me and question just what in the hell I'm doing. I'm always surprised when they don't know. . .

1. Umm....babe?

"yuh?"

"Why are you boiling rocks and garlic in a pot?"

"Because garlic is protective--I'm making talismans."

(long pause on his part)

"Ah. Okay. . .gotcha."

 " Just tell the kids I'm making 'lucky rocks.'"

"Got it."  

2. "Say. . . babe? "

"Yuh?"

"Why is there a spray bottle of water hanging in the shower? Is it bleach?"

"Don't be silly. It's Atlantic Ocean water."

"Ah. Right. Umm.... why is there ocean water hanging in the shower?"

"Because salt water is protective and I spray myself with it after every shower."

"Ohhh. Okay. Gotcha."

3. "Don't sweep under the rugs!" me

( my husband pauses in mid-sweep)

"But, there's dirt under there. . . "

"I know."

"So. . . why can't I sweep it up?"

"Because it's graveyard dirt from Minnesota and rock salt. It strips negative energy. It stays under the rugs at every entrance point to our house. Leave it."

"Oh. Okay. Got it--sorry."

4. "When you go to pick your son up from the basketball game, can you pick me some cattails? I saw the school is loaded with them."

"Okay." (he doesn't even ask why at this point.)

He and his son slosh through the water at his school and retrieve half a dozen cattails.

"Dad, why does Meesh want these?"

"No idea. Get a few more. . . she said she wants lots."

(long pause on my step-son's part but he finally shrugs and collects the cattails. He's getting used to me)

The cat tales have now been in a large floor vase for two years along with some colorful reeds. Pwetty. . . 

5. "Dad, what's that smell?"

"Sage. Meesh saged yesterday."

"What's that?"

"It helps dispel negativity. It's a part of her religion."

"Oh. Really? Cool."

(My husband can field some questions without consulting me. We've been together a while. . .)  

6. "I thought we were going to have a campfire. . ." oldest step son.

"We are. We gotta get the wood out of Meesh's trunk." my husband

"Of her CAR?"

"Yeah." my husband.

"Just bring allll the wood over by the firepit. Bring it all, don't stop until you hit the glass." me

(At this point, my oldest step-son stops.)

"Glass?" oldest step-son

"yeah. Just keep hauling until you hit the glass. There's about a hundred and fifty pounds of glass under the wood."

(step son stands there for a long minute looking at me. He then just turns and follows his younger brother whom has had much more exposure to me. They haul all of the wood until they hit the glass under the wood. My oldest (29 years old) step son stops directly in front of me. He is very serious.)

"What in the HELL are all of those glass panes doing in your trunk?"

I shrug, "A tile place was going out of business and was giving it away. I got a bunch of tiles but I already put them in the basement. I'm going to paint them. I used to use glass paints quite a bit." 

(He stands there, still rigid and unsure if I'm stable. Everyone else is going about their business. This fits perfectly with boiling rocks, the salt water in the shower, and the cattails. My youngest step son (16) does not even bat an eye. He stopped questioning long ago and far away. He knows there is a reason. He knows he'll find out what it is. He is unconcerned. Finally, the 29 year old takes his cue from the 16 year old and just sits down to enjoy the fire. Life is too short to figure out this woman.)

"How long have you been carrying the wood?" my 16 year old step son

"Three months. I wanted it dry and figured it doesn't rain in my trunk. So, yeah. I've been collecting it and storing it in my trunk for 3 months."

(the 16 year old just nods, saged and seasoned to my ways. The 29 year old squints his eyes and looks at me. He does not comment.)

7. "Why does Meesh carry that big glass bowl with her to the beach? I saw it in her beach bag."

husband--"She puts some ocean water in it and then wets the edges and runs her fingers over it. She's singing the bowl to the ocean. It's like a. . .like a GIFT that she always offers to the ocean. It's a part of her religion."

   "Really? Will she sing it in front of me?"

    "Probably not. It took her awhile to even sing it in front of ME."

    "Oh..." my youngest step son says, disappointed.

8. "Why is there a big rock on the fireplace mantel? What is it?"

     "Meesh got it when we went to Minnesota. It's a rock from her son's favorite fishing place. She took two rocks. One went on her son's grave and the other one is right there on the mantel. She pulled it out of the Mississippi where her son used to fish. It's a connection to him."

     "Wow. That's pretty cool. . ."

     "Yeah."   

9. "Why doesn't Meesh like flowers? I thought girls liked flowers. . ."

     "She does. She just feels sorry for them when they're cut. She'd rather see them living."

     (no comment from step-son. He simply furrows his brow and contemplates.)

10. My youngest step son came with my husband when I went to get a tattoo. He watched, enthralled, and asked if it hurt. I said no. And it didn't.

     Youngest step son to his dad, "Why doesn't the tattoo hurt Meesh? You said yours hurt a LOT."

     (long pause by my husband)

     "It's a matter of perspective, babe. She's getting this tattoo for her son as a kind of way of honoring him. Compared to losing him, the tattoo is nothing. She doesn't even feel it. . . she's thinking of her son. THAT hurts. The tattoo, she can't even feel. You get it?"

     (youngest step son is quiet. Perplexed. Contemplative. He has no other questions.)

So, you see? My husband is the quiet explainer. He is the knower and spokesperson of my ways and wiles. He rarely, if ever, has any questions any more. There are, I'm sure, many more questions from his kids that he does not tell me. He just fields the questions on his own now. The usual answer appears to be, "It's just Meesh." This answer seems to satisfy all questions that the kids have at this point.