The Death of Yes and the Rise of Ya

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

The average toddler hears the word no 350-400 times each and every day. It’s hardly surprising that no becomes one of his earliest and most used words. In contrast, a toddler hears the word yes almost never.

Not hearing yes is not as much a function of toddlers never getting what they want. We all know most toddlers are indulged or spoiled. Not hearing yes is more a result of the fact that the people around them don’t actually say yes.

The other a day a mom I was working with asked, “Why won’t my daughter say yes?” I have fielded this question many times over the years. At first, I did not have a good answer. Then, I started to pay attention. I listened to what others say when responding in the affirmative. I observed how children start talking just like the people they are around the most.

Toddlers not only pick-up the language in which they are immersed, they assimilate the accent, the slang and colloquialisms. They use the idioms and the gestures. In essence, they become mimics who sound just like mom and dad. 

Watch what you say. Yeah you, Mr. Potty Mouth!

With the numerous ways to indicate the affirmative, it’s hard to pick a favorite.

Ways to Say Yes

all right, very, well, of course, by all means, sure, certainly, absolutely, indeed, right, affirmative, agreed, roger, aye, yeah, yup, ya, uh-huh, okay, okey-dokey, okey-doke, yea, yep, yeppers, yay, you betcha, you know it, mm-hmm, yup.

For the less chatty of us, we can use nonverbal yesses like a smile, a head nod, the okay sign, a wink or a thumbs up to indicate our agreement. We even have emojis on our devices to indicate yes so, we’re not even typing that word.

A Little History on the Origin of Yes

1.      yes (adv.)

Old English gise, gese "so be it!," probably from gea, ge "so" (see yea) + si "be it!," from Proto-Germanic *sijai-, from PIE *si-, optative stem of root *es- "to be." Originally stronger than simple yea. Used in Shakespeare mainly as an answer to negative questions. As a noun from 1712. Yes-man is first recorded 1912, American English.

2.      Here's the timeline:

Yea, circa 1000

Yes, circa 1000

Yep, 1891 (first appeared as a quotation in Harper's Magazine)

Yeah, 1905 (first described in Dialect Notes)

Yup, 1906 (first appeared as a quotation in Century Magazine)

We live in a culture and a time when we feel the need to shorten or abbreviate everything. We need instant access. We buy pre-portioned meal kits. We have next day or even same day shipping. We cook in instant pots. We have high-speed internet. Our speed limits are increasing to 70 mph or faster. We don’t even have time to swipe a credit card. We tap it or use Apple pay instead. You name it there is a faster way to do it. I even read the average person is walking faster.

We are busier than ever. There is stuff to be done. We don’t have time to say yes when a ya will do! That is one less consonant we need to produce. In the course of a lifetime, think of the minutes we will save by simply changing our yesses to yas. Think of how much ink and paper we will save. Our thumbs will last a little longer with typing one less character in our texts. This small change could potentially save millions of dollars in thumb related medical costs alone!

I say we stop trying to shame toddlers into saying yes. I say we embrace the change and move forward knowing that we are making the world a better place.

Goodbye yes and hello ya or uh-huh or mm-hmm. Even better, hello to the thumbs-up. By adopting the thumbs-up we are stretching our fatigued thumbs, exercising them to make them stronger for our next batch of snarky responses on Twitter.

Even Laurie B can't stop saying Ya in her Yes video

Sources  1. https://www.etymonline.com/word/yes

               2. https://www.visualthesaurus.com/cm/wc/from-yea-and-yes-to-yeah-and-yup/

I Want to be Lonesome Tonight: Finding Alone Time in My Unlonely World

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

Being a loner who lives with three other people makes life interesting. I don’t want to be alone as much as I want to be left alone. I like knowing they are nearby. I find comfort in their love and even their company from time to time.

The problem lies in how to tell them to go away without seeming like an uncaring, jerk.

I was a loner as a kid. I spent hours in my room playing alone, watching TV, organizing my things, reading and just hanging out. I had just a few friends and that was fine. I have never been one to want or need dozens of friends. I don’t want or need to have someone to talk to or hang out with 24/7. Give me some Thai takeout, a bottle of wine and a good movie and I am in heaven.

Fortunately, my kids and husband are also happy on their own. I won’t claim they are loners like me, but they don’t push to be together all the time. My husband darts off to camp for a night or two or goes fishing in the local streams. My youngest daughter puts on headphones and dances the day away oblivious to what others say or do, slowly making herself deaf with the ear-piercing volume of her music. (Yes, I tell her constantly to turn it down to no avail.) My other daughter shuts herself in her room and, well I am not sure what she does but it involves lots of texting and selfies.

We eat dinner together most nights and share about our daily lives. Then we disperse to our different areas doing the things we like best, alone. I institute mandatory movie nights or game nights at least once a month. My youngest loves to create family time with games she makes up or dance parties or shows she puts on for us.

We like each other. We have fun together. We just like to be separate too.

When things get overly stressful and being alone in a different part of the house is not enough, I get away. Unlike my husband, I don’t have a camp in the woods waiting for me. This means I have to get creative.

Ways I Get Away

1. Go for long walks. I love my early morning strolls around the neighborhood or finding a park to hike around.
2. Send my husband away with the kids to visit family or do something, anything, someplace else
3. Rent a small house for a few days and nights where I will read, sleep, write, kayak and watch silly romantic comedies.
4. Drive someplace and listen to audiobooks or podcast
5. Go shopping for a few hours.
6. Spend time at a coffee shop writing and reading and people watching
7. Go to the movies alone. Sit where I want. Eat all the candy and the popcorn without that gross butter topping.
8. Send myself on a work conference and not tell any coworkers I’m going.
9. Sneak into a hotel pool for the day and sip a cocktail, read and listen to other people's conversations.
10. Go Kayaking on a quiet calm lake while sipping coffee and listening to the birds sing and the wind rustles the trees.

These moments alone are rejuvenating and healing. I get time to focus on nothing or on exactly what I want. Nobody is arguing or whining, at least no one I care about. No one is talking to me when I am trying to write or think or read. No none is asking me to do things for them. I am not tempted to clean or work or do anything I do not want to.

My alone time also reminds me how much I love my family. After a few hours, I miss them and their loudness and neediness. It allows me to return to them fully wanting to be there with them, at least until they start whining and arguing.

Those first thirty seconds back home after my respite are the best ever.

A Door’s Not Just a Door: Noticing the World

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

“Hey mom that door is pretty cool,” she shouted from the backseat where she insists on riding like I am her chauffeur. My daughter noticed doors. I stifled a sob of joy. Doors? you ask. Why would noticing doors make me happy-cry? Why do I care?

When I was a young girl, every year my sweet, kind and brilliant Uncle Bob, on break from teaching French at the University of Minnesota, would leave the Twin Cities and come home to Cleveland to spend a week with us. His visits were always fun despite the amount of cleaning we had to embark on prior to his arrival due to his dust allergy.

Uncle Bob wasn’t loud and gregarious like my mother’s brothers. He never tickled me until I peed my pants, gave me sloppy kisses, yanked my underwear into a painful wedgey or made raspberries on my belly, feet, back or any other available body part like my crazy uncles. I appreciated his quiet dignity and his sweet adoration of his only nieces.

Uncle Bob always involved us something educational. He never forced his knowledge on us. He was a genius at sneaking in information. On walks in the architecturally rich streets of Cleveland Heights, he would point out features on homes. He would show us artworks and use big words.

In fact, I never knew how much he had taught me in those years when he visited while I was old enough to understand and young enough to listen. It wasn’t until a decade or two later when I sat in an art history class looking at slides listening to the professor, that I realized all I had learned.

As we viewed slide after slide of architectural details, I became awash with my past. I felt like I was standing next to Uncle Bob as he pointed out dentals, balustrades, gabled roofs, Tudor style versus Colonial style homes, columns that were Doric, Ionic, or Corinthian and many more intricacies that made each home unique. I knew all of this stuff.

Going to college had been the scariest undertaking of my life at that point. Taking this class early on in my college career and feeling like I knew something the other students didn’t, gave me confidence that stuck with me all through my graduate studies years.

Once I became a parent, I vowed to expose my children to all there was to see. I wanted them to appreciate art, nature, architecture, everything. My childhood had been a rich one for all of my senses. Having a multitude of life experiences provided me with the knowledge that has made my life better. 

I wanted that for my kids.

Over the years I have taken them to parks on hikes; art, history and science museums; different cities and towns; to oceans, rivers and lakes; zoos, aquariums and botanical gardens; concerts and plays; unique restaurants in many cities and countries. I have spent countless hours and dollars to make their young lives rich with experiences.

I want to say it was worth all the blood sweat and tears. I really do.

What Usually Happens

Hikes and walks resulted in complaints about being tired or hungry. Whines of my legs hurt, a bug bit me, this is boring, when is this going to be over filled the space between me and all the flora and fauna I tried to enjoy. As I pointed out birds and ferns they point out I was horrible for making them do this. Then someone fell and bled and we struggled back to the car sweaty, thirsty and grumpy.

Visits to museums were tolerated only if we went to the gift shop first and last. Plus, a trip to the café had to occur within the first thirty minutes. I’d walk around glancing at brightly painted landscapes as they bickered. I’d try to talk about Impressionism vs Realism, Abstract contemporary art vs Renaissance art, and the fun works with elements of Trompe-l’oeil. I shooed them away when they got too close to the million-dollar sculptures or reach to touch the paintings. I tolerated their whines about being bored and hungry even though we just ate. I bought them a twenty-dollar pencil or postcard that I knew would end up lost and forgotten in the bottom of some drawer or bin, and we’d leave.

Trips to the zoo were just expensive journeys to a playground. We’d walk in search of hiding, shy animals. After seeing the ear of an elephant and a sleeping tiger we’d go to the primate house and try not to gag at the smell and the flying feces. We’d run screaming through the reptile house terrified by the snakes and prehistoric looking creatures. Then, we’d spend the rest of the day on the slides and swings eating overpriced fried food. Inevitably one would exclaim, I’m bored. Can we go home?

Time by the water was fun when the girls were young. They would swim, splash, boogie board, search for rocks, shells and sea glass. Now, it is all about what snacks I brought, selfies and complaining about being too hot or I’m bored.

Concerts, movies and plays, when they were young, were torture. We made so many trips to the bathroom, I never knew what was happening. Since no snacks were allowed in some venues, there was nothing to shove in their gullets to stop them from bickering and complaining, I’m bored is this over yet. I’m hungry.

Long drives across the country involved me shouting at them over the music they fed directly into their brains via earbuds to look at all the sites just outside their windows. I pointed out landscapes, skyscapes, buildings, animals, airplanes, cars, anything to get them to appreciate the world around them. They would pull out one earbud, take a glance to appease me and then return to their glazed-over state of oblivion. Of course, they bickered and annoyed one another. Occasionally, I would fill with hope when one would call my name from the backseat. Ready to look at what they found interesting they would whine, I’m bored. Is there anything to eat?

Dining out was and is a favorite activity for all. We all love food. But, even this results in arguments. No, you can’ have pasta with cheesy bread and a side of fries. Yes, you have to have something green. No, you can’t have five sodas and dessert. Yes, you have to try something new. No, I’m not ready to leave. I don’t care if you’re bored. Upon returning home, they would inevitably ask, what is there to eat for snack?

Obviously, my kids found my goal to educate and entertain them mind-numbing, the opposite effect I was striving for. Plus, all of our outings rendered them famished. Aside from boring and starving them, I hoped my efforts would have had a bigger impact in their long-term.

Just when I was beginning to believe I failed, while on that drive, my daughter pointed out how every door on the houses in our town differ. She observed that some are pretty and interesting while some are just plain. Elaborating on her observation, I pointed out how a front-door can communicate so much about the people who live behind that door. A door can be welcoming, whimsical, or foreboding. I expounded on architectural details. It was a short talk, but she listened. She was interested or at least feigned interest.

She didn’t even ask for a snack. Uncle Bob would be proud.

Morning Musings

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

Morning is my favorite time of day. By morning, I mean early morning. 

Ideally, I wake at 5:00 am. This is the time of day when everything is still. Everything is quiet. The family is resting peacefully, dreaming about whatever their crazy minds dream about. Even the dogs are still asleep. As they grunt and kick and whine through their dreams of chasing bunnies or getting treats, I start my day

I slip from bed and tiptoe downstairs. 

Some mornings I pull on my walking clothes and go for a walk. In the past, I spent an hour breathing deep and doing yoga poses in the dark living room the only light was the yellow glow the streamed in from the still lit street lights.

I might sit at my computer and write. My thoughts free to flow with no one vying for my attention and asking me questions they already know the answer to. I don't have to struggle to remember what I want to write while the kids argue or the dogs bark. 

I love the silence.

On warm days I open the windows and curtains and listen to the birds sing their morning songs. I watch the bunnies wake and nibble on the dew covered clover. 

On my walks, I breathe deep taking in the fresh morning air. No cars interrupt my reverie. I encounter no other people at that early hour. I catch deer unaware as they nibble crabapples from the tree near the train tracks.

On my way back from my walk, I start to hear my neighbors stir. Scents of coffee waft from their open windows. Babies giggle as they presumably snuggle with mom and dad in bed. A few cars pull out of driveways, their sleepy-eyed occupants preparing for the long commute to work or the early shift at the hospital.

Some mornings I can catch the moon before it fades away in the brightening day. I watch the sun emerge from the horizon giving off a milky glow in the clouds. Some mornings that glow transforms into brilliant hues of orange, pink and purple streaking the sky with so much beauty it takes my breath.

Back home from my walk, I reluctantly brew my first cup of coffee knowing its fragrance will cause the others to stir, ending my silent and peaceful morning. The need for the rich sweet elixir that is my coffee overrules my need for peace and quiet.

Some mornings I spend tidying-up. I sweep, mop and dust making my home fresh and clean. The act of cleaning and the resulting sparkling house is invigorating. When my house shines I feel motivated to do more. It makes me happy and strangely calm.

Other mornings I cook. I make pancakes from scratch. Whip up hummus. I simmer soup, stock or spaghetti sauce. I bake banana bread. I peruse cookbooks for ideas. I think up creative ways to use what is in the fridge.

I might snuggle up with a novel and read for an hour in the early morning. I might surf the internet looking for vacation homes or searching for that lake house I want to own someday.

Sometimes I just sit and think. I sit on my patio or I look out the window at the blossoming day and let my mind wander

I make lists and plan. I prepare for work. I pack lunches. I watch TV. I listen to whatever music I like.

Mornings are mine. When I have a quiet morning alone, I have a better day. It prepares me for whatever life will throw at me when the rest of the world wakes. 

I love my early mornings