Our winter has been unseasonably warm in these here parts as of late. So, we decided to take advantage of it and bring the kids to a park to play their little hearts out. Chuck & I brought a frisbee in the hopes of also getting the chance to play.
The whole family ended up playing frisbee and we had a fabulous time...so I thought. Not that every knew how to throw or catch the frisbee, but the general idea was there.
On the drive home the kids were rather quiet. We thought we wore them out. When out of the blue Bennett pipes up with, "Mom, wu seem to fink dat everyone yoves me. But it seems to me that dey don't. It seems to me that everyone makes fun of me."
Wow. Deep thoughts. I thought he was bringing up some deep-seeded hurt that we have yet to 'talk out'. I responded to my poor child's cry for help as such, "Well, honey, thank you for telling me how you feel." (Bennett is VERY in touch with his emotions and ALWAYS informs us of how what we did or said makes him feel.) "Who has been making fun of you, Honey?"
"Wu guys."
"How have we made fun of you, Sweetie."
"Wu didn't let me catch da frisbee everytime."
Ahhh, now I see. He was feeling slighted because he has yet to acquire the skill set needed to play a good game of frisbee. I had to explain to him that the frisbee could not be thrown to him each time because there were several members in our family and each wanted a turn to throw and catch it. And we don't throw the frisbee only to people we love. It is a game. Just because the frisbee might have been thrown past him and he had to run several yards to get it no way infers that we are 'making fun of him' or 'don't love him anymore.'
He replies, "Oh."
End of conversation. Seems to me....'we' fink da world revolves around 'us'. :)
Gavin came to tell me the other day that his throat was sore. I did the typical Mom thing and looked inside it. Don't know why, though. Don't know what I was looking for. Maybe a sign that said, "Strep throat, back here" accompanied by a blinking arrow. That might have been helpful. But besides being a little red, it looked normal to me.
That is when my little researcher formulated his plan. He announces to me, "Mom, how 'bout I go to Google and look up 'sore throat'." I'm still not sure if that was his kindhearted way of telling me that I don't know too much in this area or that whatever information or lack thereof I had given him, was not going to cut it. He needed facts and he needed them now.
Daddy taught him all about Google. They could both spend half the day thinking of new words to type in to see what happens. All he needed from me at this point was the accurate spelling of his ailment. Since I'm a good speller, I was able to aid him in his cause. I set the sheet of paper before him and he was off.
He actually prefers to search under Google Images, so he can see a picture of whatever it is he typed in. His past searches have included such things as: Batman, Robin, Superman, The Justice League, and Kangaroos. I have to admit, I found his search quite informative and the pictures very interesting. He might be on to something here...
He clicked on a picture of a sore throat that linked him to the Children's Medical Center. In detail, it listed what a sore throat felt like and home remedies that can be tried. He poured over the information and even read the interesting parts aloud to me. His curiosity seemed to be satisfied once he knew what was happening with his throat and what he could do to help speed up the healing process.
In my almost 7 years of motherhood, I have found several things elusive to me. One of them is the lack of medical knowledge needed when rearing children. I will always regret not majoring in Nursing while in college. I'm in the total dark when it comes to illnesses, symptoms and remedies. If only I had a stethascope and one of those little things they use to look in the ears at home, I would never again have to make another copay at the pediatrician's office.
I'm thinking that maybe next time I should be first to suggest that we go look on Google. Maybe he'll think I'm smart too.
In this household, we have pits. In many other more cultured households you might hear them referred to as 'under arms' or 'arm pits'. Not us. We cut right to the chase and call them our 'pits'. All that to say, Bennett informed me one day last week that his pit hurt.
What is one supposed to do when another's pit is hurting? If you rub it, it will only tickle. There is no medicine you can administer to the pit region. And really, what in the world would cause your pit to hurt anyway? Did you sleep on it wrong? Did your brother tickle you too much? Did something you ate for dinner not agree with your pit? As you can see, I was baffled by this.
For two days he told me about how bad his pit hurt. For two days I told him how sorry I was. I tried to probe deeper in order to discover the root of the problem, really I did. After poking and pushing and rubbing and looking I finally deduced that there really wasn't a problem. I figured he must be making up a new ailment as an attention getting plea (that wouldn't be so far fetched).
However, one thing kept nagging at me. For the same two days that he was plagued with the pit hurt, he was also complaining of chest pains. And as if that wasn't enough, Bennett would also tell me each night before bed that he couldn't breathe and point to the same part of his chest. If he was indeed making this up, he wouldn't remember to point to the same part of the chest. And if he wasn't making it up, you would never hear these words come forth from his mouth whilst wrestling, "Daddy, you have to be careful with me, I can't breathe."
At that precise moment an alarm rang in my head that sprang me into action. There was no way I could put my child to bed that night with the words "I can't breathe" ringing in my ears. Of course it was 8:30 at night. My husband wasn't home yet and the other two children were sound asleep in their beds. I decided to call a neighbor and have her come sit with the kiddos while I rushed my youngest boy to Urgent Care with a hurt pit. Somewhere, somehow, there must be a cure.
Bennett doesn't appear the slightest bit sick upon entering the Urgent Care facility. Actually, he has this goofy grin on his face like he's getting away with something. He keeps telling me how this is like a little 'mini-date' for me and him. I nod my head in agreement as I am filling out the 10 forms front and back given to me before any care can be administered. On the blank titled: Reason for Visit I have to write 'hurt pit'. To make it sound more legitimate and like something the insurance companies might cover, I decide to also add, 'chest pains and difficulty breathing'. Somehow, I know they are all connected. I just need the doctor's help in connecting the dots.
Thankfully, the kind doctor understood Bennett's pit illness and explained to me that he had indeed pulled a pectoral muscle which connects the chest and the shoulder and would hurt him in the vicinity of his pit if he overused it. Thus, the mystery of the hurt pit has been solved. Thankfully, it was nothing a little ibuprofen and rest wouldn't cure.
Mother Goose never expected there would be a Bennett, I'm quite sure. Her prose and poetry have a wonderful sing-songy, rhyme-like quality. These lovely snippets have been passed down for generations now. That is, until they reached Bennett. They have now come to a screeching halt.
You see, every week Bennett learns a new Nursery Rhyme or small poem to accompany the letter he is learning. His brain, I have come to learn, is wired totally different than that of your average Joe. He has a fabulous memory, but he also has a major filter in that memory. The filter seems to grasp the general idea about the poem and then rewords the poem in a more acceptable manner to it's owner (Bennett).
Take for instance The King of France (studied on 'K' week). It goes like this: The King of France went up a hill, with 20,000 men. The King of France went down the hill, and never went up again.
Bennett's version of that poem is: The King of Fance went up duh hill wid all his men den he came back down again and was never sawn again. I just can't seem to find it in me to correct him for this. For one, its just so cute. And two, how can I stifle his creativity. Afterall, he is interpreting and then rephrasing into his own words. It's kinda like teaching him how to summarize. Yeah...that's what I meant to do all along.
A simple little activity like, Ring Around the Rosey, becomes a hilarious adventure when sung to Bennett's lyrics. They are: Ving avound a vosy, pock-a-pock-a-pock-a-pocka posey, ashes, ashes, we all fall down. At which point he gently pushes Chloe down (I know that sounds like an oxymoron) and then kisses her hand. I can only handle a few rounds of this before the dizzy spells become more than I can bear.
I have been scampering around the kitchen all day now, trying to get all the delicious, tasty treats made to pass out to my neighbors. So much love and thought and effort have been poured into this project. I even recruited the kids.
The first little delicacy we were preparing was called: peanut clusters. Mmmmm, good! Who doesn’t like peanut clusters (besides the poor people who receive anaphylactic shock from ingesting anything made of peanuts)? I thought I would try to begin a new family tradition where we joyously worked together, all contributing a small part and – Voile, create a gift made entirely out of love and family teamwork that our neighbors could enjoy. What world was I in?
Bennett volunteered to be the peanut cluster ‘helper’. After he put his chair in just the right spot to reach the counter, I allowed him to empty the ingredients into the bowl. And of course, in his 4 short years, he has already come to be an expert in almost every area. So, he had no need of my help or encouragement – even when items were falling on the floor. However, most of the ingredients made their way (miraculously) into the bowl. I even let him hit the buttons on the microwave. I wanted him to feel every bit the cook.
Once the ingredients had melted, we enjoyed the aroma that wafted about us and we (Bennett) sighed and complained and merrily worked along side one another (interpret that to mean, me holding tightly to his hand as he stirred, in order to ensure all melted ingredients remained in the bowl). I even brought him to tears at one point because I must have been ‘helping’ him a little too much while holding his hand and directing him.
Then it came time to ‘plop’ the gooey mixture onto the tin foil. Oh boy – if he didn’t need any help earlier, he certainly didn’t want me anywhere near him now. I have come to learn the word ‘plop’ can be interpreted differently to each individual. His ears must have heard, “Bennett, please shake the spoon with all the gooey, chocolatey, peanuty, stuff as hard and as high as you can so that only a little makes it onto the tin foil and the rest flies about in a beautiful array all around the kitchen. I would especially like it if you and I could be covered from head to toe with little chocolate droppings. Oh yeah, and if all the plops could be almost on top of each other instead of neat little rows – that would be a nice touch.”
It killed me to see these ‘plops’ being placed anywhere but in neat little orderly rows across the tin foil. But hey, I bit my tongue for the sake of ‘family bonding time’. I had to keep telling myself that this wasn’t about perfection and orderliness and cleanliness….it was about our time spent together and doing something for someone else.
I thought I’d learned my lesson, that is, until Gavin helped me with the next item on our list of treats to make.
I saw this cute little recipe for ‘white chocolate snowballs’ that looked easy and fun to make. I no longer hold that opinion about these candies. If I had known ahead of time that you were going to have to dump a whole can of peanut butter and a whole bag of powdered sugar in the same bowl and then stir for forever, I might have opted out of the project. But Gavin and I were already knee deep in a sticky, sweet mess with powdered sugar floating around the kitchen like dry ice. Then it got even better.
Next we were supposed to take this mixture and make little balls out of them. Gavin was like,”You mean I have to put my hands in there? I have to get dirty?” What boy doesn’t want to get dirty? The extra special part about rolling the little peanuty, sugary balls was when your hands started to stick together because the peanut butter created a sort of glue which made it nearly impossible for you to roll multiple little ‘snowballs’ without washing your hands between every 2 ‘snowballs’, thereby, making the process last an increasingly long time. Which is great since we want to spend quality time together working on something out of the love of our hearts for our neighbors. Good idea gone bad.
Gavin ditched me after the 4th washing of his hands – he just couldn’t take it anymore. So much for our fun new tradition. But, it only got better. I thought the final touch would take no time at all. All I had to do was melt the white chocolate chips and dip the ‘balls’ into them using a little toothpick. Whatever! A few problems presented themselves at this stage of the game.
The first being that I chose to microwave the white chocolate chips instead of heat them in a pan on the stove. Efficiency is my ‘thing’. However, wasting all my ingredients is not. I ended up burning the white chocolate chips (evidently I didn’t stir at the right intervals). Now what was I supposed to do. How do you make ‘snowballs’ without anything white to dip the balls in?
I decided to be ingenuitive and use the chocolate chips I still had sitting in the cupboard. They weren’t white – but what the heck, we’ll call them ‘chocolate snowballs’ instead. Now came the tricky part that involved a toothpick and the balls. Do not try this at home – even if the recipe says to. Trust me, it doesn’t work! The toothpick, once inserted into the little peanuty ball, only helps in ruining the ball. Then, once I tried dipping the ball into the chocolate, still holding fast to my tiny toothpick, the disaster came upon me. I lost my ball. My toothpick slid right out and now I had to do a search a rescue for my ball lost in the melted chocolate.
I ditched the instructions and used a good ol’ fashioned spoon. Time is of the essence here now. I was the only one left in the kitchen and I wanted to go find my family and take part in whatever joy and pleasure they were sharing in together without me. Forget the neighbors, I should just go buy something from someone who really knows how to bake. But then, practicality stepped in and reminded me that we (I) was doing this out of the love of our (my) hearts and we(I) wouldn’t want to have wasted all that time already spent.
The balls have all finally been dipped. I am now sitting here waiting for them to harden in the fridge. I even already wrote little cards to put inside the gift bags telling everyone what kinds of goodies they were receiving – white chocolate snowballs is on that list. I guess I’ll have to tell them that we dropped all the snowballs in the mud. That would fit in perfectly with our family’s tendency towards clumsiness and accidents. Aren’t you glad you’re not my neighbor?
We have just been studying the digestive system. Gavin sits spell bound with rapt attention. He doesn't want to miss a single part of what happens during digestion. It's his 'thing'. He can't get enough about science. As soon as he learns something, he can repeat it word for word. I think he has a tape recorder for a brain. Anyways....
After school he was coming out of some time spent in the bathroom and announced to me that, "Mom, our stomach is like the toilet. All the bad stuff goes in there. Then the water in the toilet is like the stomach juices and mixes all the bad stuff up. Then when you flush it it's like it's going into the small intestine."
Wow. I sat there speechless. To think I spent all this time trying to figure out the best way to teach and illustrate digestion when all along all I had to do was take a field trip to the bathroom and flush the toilet.
I responded as any mother would, "Amazing, Gavin. I like how you were able to correlate what you're learning with an interesting visual. I love how your mind works, Honey!"
I was very nervous leading up to this appointment. I didn't want the Speech Therapist to read into anything Bennett was doing or the way he said something or the way he might have looked at her when he answered a question - or ignored it. I was VERY nervous. Bennett is my loose cannon - anything can happen. And it did.
The appointment begins with the nice lady showing Bennett a basket full of plastic food that he was to 'feed' to the stuffed monkey. He was to name all the food items as he 'fed' them to the monkey. He loved this game. He said all the words properly and with a grin on his face the entire time. The only doubtful part came when he fed the monkey a 'fanich' (sandwhich) which was actually a plastic piece of pizza. I read that to mean: either the faniches I make him look like pizza or the lady could be thinking we never let our children have pizza and I will in turn look like a bad parent. (Remember my 'worst case scenario' outlook on life here).
I was REALLY afraid of her reading into anything he said or did. She then asks Bennett what his favorite food is. My son answers, "shicken (chicken) - burnt shicken". Although I was only in the room to sit and watch and not speak, I simply could not let a comment like that come out of the mouth of my dear child and not clarify for the nice lady. I piped up, "Let the record show that Mommy is not the one who feeds him burnt chicken. It is the chicken Daddy cooks on the grill. And it is not charred. It just has a few burnt spots on it." Whew, close call. I wouldn't want her thinking we only feed our child burnt food.
Next, the nice lady pulls out a little plastic family. There is a Dad with a cap that can't seem to stay on that Bennett seems to fixate on the entire time. A Mom, a son, a daughter, a baby, a dog and a cat. The lady takes them out of the bag and stands them all on the table. Bennett immediately goes for the Dad and begins putting its hat on properly (which continuously slides off). In between fixing the hat, he proceeds to take the dad doll and knock down all the other family members - repeatedly. My face is starting to blush. I'm getting nervous. I wanted to explain how they wrestle ALL the time. This means NOTHING. I'm praying she's not reading into this one. Bennett also has this facetious grin on his face the whole time. I've already interrupted once, I can't do it again. I let it ride and see where she takes this.
She then decides to show Bennett the son doll and asks him, "What do you think his name should be? Jack or Mary?" Bennett, not even looking up from his whacking activity with the Dad doll responds, "Mary." She questions his response, "Are you sure?" He is taken back by her doubt and looks at her and emphatically says, "Yes." Great. Not only do I have a son who likes to whack all the other family members down with the dad doll - he has issues with gender recognition now too. If she finds out I homeschool - I'm finished!
Finally, she puts the daughter doll on top of the cat doll and Bennett proceeds to knock her off the cat. The lady responds to his action by saying, "That's right. It's not right to sit on the cat. Is it?" She asks him, "Bennett, would you mind putting the cat under the desk?" He looks at her as he continues repositioning the hat on the Dad doll and says, "No thank you, I wouldn't." I'm thinking to myself, Bennett, she wasn't asking you if you wanted to - Do it, NOW. Put that stupid doll down and listen to the lady! Thankfully, she rephrased her question into a command and Bennett promptly obeyed before I could interrupt.
I left there on a wing and a prayer and Bennett telling me, "Mommy, I wuv to spend time wiv wu."
A few conversations I've had with Bennett today:
This morning he informed me that, "I would like sex (Chex) for vekfast." Alrighty then.
In case you're wondering about his speech skills, I just took him to be evaluated by a lisenced speech therapist yesterday and they say his speech is perfectly normal. It is normal for 'ch' to sound like an 's'. That would be helpful to know when your children are beginning the whole speech thing. Maybe someone can make some sort of 'parent maual' and pass it out when you have a baby. That would save us a lot of headaches in the translation department.
Later in the day I'm told, "Mom, I finched (pinched) my bottom. Can you fease (please) kiss my butt?" I'm curious as to how he pinched it, so I ask, "Honey, how did it happen?"
"I just finched it, dat all." Hmmm. I guess that will remain a mystery forever. By the way, I ended up kissing my fingers and placing them on the 'sore area'.
Earlier in the day, while we were doing school, he looked at me with stars in his eyes and said, "Mommy, wu are vutiful!" It's nice to know that even when I'm wearing my sweats, a 12 year old sweat shirt, no make-up on and my hair pulled back in a clip that I'm still 'vutiful' to someone. It was accompanied by a sweet hug and kiss. I've got the best job in the world!
We recently had the opportunity to go to "Holiday in the Park" at our local theme park with some of Chuck's co-workers. We have not yet exposed our children to the joys and thrills of the theme park before, so we had a little educating to do in order to get them up to speed. For weeks, we built up the suspense and excitement. We described such rides as Bumper Cars, Ferris Wheels and tried to explain that a Roller Coaster was like a really big slide but you had to ride on something with wheels to go down it. Their minds have been on over-drive for the past week just picturing the untold happiness they were about to encounter. They called their Grandparents several times the day of the 'Big Event' to tell them, for the 10th time, that they were just about to leave to this magical place.
The anticipation was more than they could bear. They were speechless for the whole hour and a half drive there. Actually, Bennett was so excited, he fell asleep. Not only were the kids excited, so were we. It had been over 10 years since the last time Chuck and I stepped foot in the place. So, we were about to be reliving many memories of adolescent fun. And, as an added bonus, I would finally get a chance to meet and mingle with his co-workers and their family members. We were all hyped.
We made it through the grueling lines at the gate. But that was bearable because our adrenaline was running high with the thought of all the fun that lay waiting for us behind that gate. It was about 4:30pm, by time we made it into the park and blindly found our way to 'the spot' where we were supposed to his friends. We waited and waited and waited.
We were very surprised by how many people kept coming into the park. I have come to believe that the entire population of the city attempted to turn out at this park all on the same day. As we waited, we heard a rumor floating around that the power had gone out. A lady next to us confirmed that in fact, her husband and child were stuck in the middle of the tallest roller coaster ride.
Ahhh, lovely. Over half the park has now lost power. The sun is beginning to set and tummies are rumbling. We have now been at the park for at least 45 minutes and have done nothing but stand in one spot. I am terrified, of course, of loosing my children...so they too have only been allowed to stand in one spot and have not veered more than one step away from me.
Chuck then decides that we need to let the kids try to get one at least one ride in before we try to find food. So, we push and shove our way....oops...I meant we meander our way through the mob of people in order to find the 'Kiddie Section'. Luckily, we were not ever 50 yards away. But that is where our luck ran out. It seemed that this section of the park was also without power. Now what?
Well, everyone is starving...and I don't just mean us...I mean everyone in the entire park (which remember, is the entire population of our 1mil+ city). We hear another rumor that there is power in one small section, so we voluntarily throw ourselves into the moving wave of people and pray we don't get separated. Everyone else evidently heard the same rumor and are all headed to the one 'restaurant' (I use the term very loosely. In this case, it is a place that owns a microwave and can pop in any t.v. dinner you might choose to pay your life savings for) in the park with power and food.
Luckily, we have made contact with one of Chuck's work friends and were able to secure two tables together. The men go in search of food (otherwise known as 'the hunt') and the women and children are left to 'prepare the nest' (otherwise known as keep the children happy and sitting without food while also fending off other hungry humans looking for a place to sit). Both the men and the ladies were successful in their pursuits and for a brief moment in time we actually enjoyed a cordial conversation with other polite people in this rambunctious, crazy atmosphere. But our joy soon ended. We were done eating. Now what do we do?
I forgot to mention, while guarding our coveted table, I received what I like to call 'The Leg Injury of 2005'. I procured the largest bruise and knot on the top of my upper thigh as I tried to get up from my seat. I had to pretend it didn't hurt as bad as it did. I wanted to just kick the chair and cry. But then I would have had an audience since we were all practically sitting on top of each other. I'm trying very hard not be too melodramatic, but man, did it hurt. The only positive thing about this was that it momentarily took my mind off the atom bomb currently going off inside my head and helped displace the pain to my leg. To quote a lesson I've learned from the Berenstein Bears: Every problem has a positive side to it. You just have to look for it.
There are way too many other parts of this story that I don't have time to bore you with, like how I had to literally crawl over the table and chairs in order to get out of the 'eating area', or the line for the ladies bathroom that was as long as a parade, or the nice thin layer of slimy green substance on the floor once you walked into the bathroom, or how we were so paranoid of loosing the kids that we coached them on what to say if we got separated and how we put Chuck's business cards in their pockets and would randomly ask them to 'produce the card' just to make sure they knew where it was at all times. Talk about fun.
When we just couldn't take it anymore, we decided to throw in the towel and leave. There were only a very few rides open and even if you were brave enough to wait in line and risk the power outage, you would easily have to wait at least another hour before even stepping foot on the ride. Chloe would have none of that.
What parent brings their children to a theme park, spends two hours there and doesn't let their children ride even one measly little ride?! Us. We were the ones who built up their anticipation and now we were the ones dashing their hopes. We felt horrible. We HAD to make it up to them, so we asked them what they wanted to do. Their first choice was to go swimming. That wasn't going to happen - we felt bad, but not that bad.
Their second choice was to go home, pull out the sofa bed and watch a Superhero movie and sleep on the sofa bed all night. How could we say no to such a simple, fun request? We tried to up the ante by offering to stop at Half-Price Books and let them pick out a new Spiderman movie. You would have thought we just gave them a million dollars.
Of course it didn't work out that easy. Chloe had to contribute to the chaos of the evening. Her contribution came in the form of a diaper blow-out that leaked all over her new velour jogging suit (not that she knows how to jog, it's about the fashion statement). This blow-out occurred somewhere in the parking lot, which meant we were too far away to turn around and find a changing station in a restroom. This diaper required strategic planning and implementation on the part of our entire family. Each one had a job to do. I was to hold her. Chuck was to remove any and all areas affected by 'the leak' and figure out how to dispose of it. Gavin was 'Wipe Man' and was in charge of handing me the wipes (this was a 6-wiper, just in case you were curious). Bennett was to hold her hand and make her feel as comfortable as possible in a minivan with the door wide open and all family members looking on as her most basic bodily functions are being taken care of. This was one of our finest hours of team work.
We were excited about our plan, but before before we could stop at Half-Price, priority number one was to find food for me. So, we ended up stopping at my favorite restaurant first. My tummy was finally happy (but it still didn't help the migraine). After another hour and a half of waiting and eating, we finally made it to Half-Price books around 9pm. My kids are normally fast asleep by then - but this was no ordinary night, was it?!
We made it home around 10pm, got all cozy in our jammies and watched an hour of Spiderman cartoons from the 80's. Does it get any better than that?! I think we successfully have prevented our children from ever asking to go to any amusement parks for the next several years. On our way out of the park Gavin said, "We drove 1 1/2 just to eat? Let's get out of here. I don't like this place." Brainwashing complete - mission accomplished. Then later, on the way home he said, "Tonight was great, we got to go to our favorite restaurant (Chuys), our favorite bookstore (Half-Price) and do our favorite thing (watch movies on the sofa bed and stay up late). This is a great day." It seems he forgot all about the theme park.
Lessons learned: 1. You can be cheap and still have fun. 2. Spending a lot of money at amusement parks does not guarantee a good time. 3. Fun is relative. 4. Whatever you do as a family can be fun just for the fact that you get to do it together and make memories.
Bennett and I were just bonding together as we were slaving over the hot oven making our 'cut-n-bake' sugar cookies. He on a chair, me hovering next to him in order to insure we were only cutting and baking cookies - not fingers. He's a stickler for 'doing it himself''. Most times he doesn't even need any instruction while learning a new task. Amazing, isn't it?!
As we struggle back and forth with the proper placement of the knife upon the cookie dough stick, he sweetly says, "Mom, I wuv wu."
"Why, thank you Bennett, I love you too." I respond.
Evidently, he felt the need to expound on his love, "But I weelly wuv wu - even dough wu don't wook pretty today."
We are still feverishly cutting cookies here. So, I try to remain composed and not fall into a heap on the floor since my self esteem has just been thrown a huge blow. I muster up my sweetest voice and ask, "So, you don't think Mommy looks pretty today, huh?"
Bennett, ever the sensitive little one, responds "No. But I yike wu jeans. Dey are nice. And wu are nice. And I still wuv wu."
"So, what you're saying is, you're not a big fan of the shirt I have on. Is that right?" I say in a calm, even voice.
"Ya. Can I go play now?" He is done. Bonding time is over. More important matters demand his immediate attention. I'm glad he was able to get that off his chest.
Excuse me...I've got to go change my shirt now.
As we were sitting down to breakfast this morning, Gavin's mind was running at full speed as usual. He was eating pancakes with syrup. Then, like a revelation from above, something hit him. Of course, I am the only adult in the room, so his mind boggling question was aimed directly at me.
"Mom, why doesn't syrup stick to our tongue?" He asks. Wow. Good question. "Honey, I have absolutely no clue." The only thing I could think of to say in order to sound half as smart as him was, "Hmmm, that is odd, isn't it? You know, gum is sticky too and it doesn't stick to our tongues either." There, I just showed him that I too, can think 'smart'.
He totally disregarded my most feeble attempt to stall the conversation and proceeded to inform me of the only thing that can indeed stick to our tongues. "Mom, the only thing that sticks to our tongues are octopus testicles, cuz they have suction thingys on them." Thankfully, I have now been set straight in the more important inquiries of this future generation of scientific thinkers.
