EIGHT-YEAR-OLD NEIGHBOR: My scout ship just landed on Mars. If you're landing behind me, watch out for this dust storm I just picked up on my radar.
SIX-YEAR-OLD: It's okay. The dust storm won't affect me. My ship just landed on a planet far, far away from Mars, in a different universe. The planet has a name, but that name wouldn't make any sense here.
EIGHT-YEAR-OLD NEIGHBOR: Another planet? A far away planet? What, you mean Pluto?
SIX-YEAR-OLD (patiently): No, not Pluto. This planet is not in our solar system. My ship just landed on a planet in another universe. Beyond our solar system. Beyond the Orion Nebula. Beyond the Crab Nebula. Beyond the farthest arm of the Milky Way. Beyond all known galaxies. Beyond the expanding edge of time.
EIGHT-YEAR-OLD NEIGHBOR: Oh. okay. Well, whenever you're done with that, could you help me out with this dust storm on Mars?
Showing posts with label Kids Say the Darndest Things. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kids Say the Darndest Things. Show all posts
Monday, April 11, 2011
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
Paying Attention
This evening while we were eating dinner, with the television news speaking softly in the next room about a pastor who wants to publicly burn a sacred text, my six-year-old son said to me, suddenly:
"Hey, remember a while ago on The Daily Show when they were talking about that mosque in New York, and they made the Bank of America logo change to Death to America, and they turned Burger King into Burger Sheik, and Church Street into Mosque Street? That was sooo funny."
And in the space of about three seconds, these are the thoughts that flew through my head:
Wait. My kid was paying attention to that news about people burning a religious text? At dinner? Crud.
Wait. My kid actually pays attention to The Daily Show reruns I sometimes watch while the he is supposedly distracted by homework or video games? The reruns he always complains about us watching when, according to him it would be "more educational" to watch Mythbusters?
How much attention is he paying to, um, er, all those penis jokes they tell on TDS? Um. Hmm. Erm. Note to self.
Wait. My six-year-old has been paying so much attention to the news in general that he not only knows enough about the supposed "Ground Zero Mosque"* to have correctly interpreted that Daily Show segment as pertaining to it, but also knew immediately to associate the furor over the Islamic community center with Dove World Outreach's Quran-burning publicity stunt?
WAIT! I haven't even really talked to him about the Park 51 Islamic Community Center in New York yet, or about Pastor Crazypants' planned burning of the Quran. I haven't talked about how when the Founders put freedom of religion in the American Constitution, they did in fact mean all religions not just Christian ones. I haven't explained to him how wrong I think it is that some people in this country are persecuting all Muslims because of the actions of a deranged few. I haven't told him about all the moderate American Muslims I went to high school and college with, who were just as appalled by 9/11 as any other sane human being, and who yet live even now with harassment and profiling. I haven't talked to him about how fear and pain and loss can sometimes cause even good-hearted people to make bad decisions and hurt their neighbors. I haven't explained well enough, have I, about people sometimes being afraid of people who are different from they are, just because of the difference? I haven't had a real discussion with him yet about how politicians and members of the media sometimes purposefully stoke public fear and anger in order to gain attention and power, and how that seems to me to be happening now every time someone brings up any news story remotely involving Islam.
Agh! I am totally unprepared for this discussion!
I mean, he's six.
And then the six-year-old said, "People think that mosque is at Ground Zero, but it's two blocks away." He shook his head.
"Oh," I said, "You've really been paying attention to the news, huh?"
"Yeah," he said. "People should pay attention. So they know what is true."
And he went back to his dinner.
*Park 51 is, for the record, folks, NOT at ground zero, or, in fact, even technically a mosque — it's an Islamic community center. Plans include a basketball court and space for cooking classes as well as a small prayer room. Thank you very little, 24 hour cable news, for your clarity on this issue!
"Hey, remember a while ago on The Daily Show when they were talking about that mosque in New York, and they made the Bank of America logo change to Death to America, and they turned Burger King into Burger Sheik, and Church Street into Mosque Street? That was sooo funny."
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c | |||
| Municipal Land-Use Update - Ground Zero Mosque | ||||
| ||||
And in the space of about three seconds, these are the thoughts that flew through my head:
Wait. My kid was paying attention to that news about people burning a religious text? At dinner? Crud.
Wait. My kid actually pays attention to The Daily Show reruns I sometimes watch while the he is supposedly distracted by homework or video games? The reruns he always complains about us watching when, according to him it would be "more educational" to watch Mythbusters?
How much attention is he paying to, um, er, all those penis jokes they tell on TDS? Um. Hmm. Erm. Note to self.
Wait. My six-year-old has been paying so much attention to the news in general that he not only knows enough about the supposed "Ground Zero Mosque"* to have correctly interpreted that Daily Show segment as pertaining to it, but also knew immediately to associate the furor over the Islamic community center with Dove World Outreach's Quran-burning publicity stunt?
WAIT! I haven't even really talked to him about the Park 51 Islamic Community Center in New York yet, or about Pastor Crazypants' planned burning of the Quran. I haven't talked about how when the Founders put freedom of religion in the American Constitution, they did in fact mean all religions not just Christian ones. I haven't explained to him how wrong I think it is that some people in this country are persecuting all Muslims because of the actions of a deranged few. I haven't told him about all the moderate American Muslims I went to high school and college with, who were just as appalled by 9/11 as any other sane human being, and who yet live even now with harassment and profiling. I haven't talked to him about how fear and pain and loss can sometimes cause even good-hearted people to make bad decisions and hurt their neighbors. I haven't explained well enough, have I, about people sometimes being afraid of people who are different from they are, just because of the difference? I haven't had a real discussion with him yet about how politicians and members of the media sometimes purposefully stoke public fear and anger in order to gain attention and power, and how that seems to me to be happening now every time someone brings up any news story remotely involving Islam.
Agh! I am totally unprepared for this discussion!
I mean, he's six.
And then the six-year-old said, "People think that mosque is at Ground Zero, but it's two blocks away." He shook his head.
"Oh," I said, "You've really been paying attention to the news, huh?"
"Yeah," he said. "People should pay attention. So they know what is true."
And he went back to his dinner.
*Park 51 is, for the record, folks, NOT at ground zero, or, in fact, even technically a mosque — it's an Islamic community center. Plans include a basketball court and space for cooking classes as well as a small prayer room. Thank you very little, 24 hour cable news, for your clarity on this issue!
Friday, March 12, 2010
Conversations with a Five-Year-Old: The Pain and the Pedant
MOTHER: Please go wash your hands before dinner. Your fingers are covered in marker. I don't think you want ink in your food.
CHILD: Aw, man.
MOTHER: What?
CHILD: I have to wash my hands again? I just washed my hands at lunch time.
MOTHER: Yes, you need to wash your hands more than once in a day. Go wash your hands.
CHILD: Hmph.
CHILD stalks slowly off toward the bathroom, muttering to himself.
MOTHER: Oh, there she goes again. Your mother. Always trying to take care of you and keep you safe and healthy. Always trying to keep you from doing things like eating food flavored with ink from a marker. She's such a pain.
CHILD (whispers): In the B-U-T.
MOTHER: What did you just say, young man?
CHILD: Nothing.
MOTHER: You're missing a T.
CHILD: What?
MOTHER: Butt, as in your bottom, rear, posterior, that thing you sit upon, is spelled B-U-T-T. You mean to say I am a pain in the B-U-T-T.
CHILD: Oh, right! I always get those confused.
MOTHER to FATHER: We need to work on his ability to spell insults.
More conversations.
CHILD: Aw, man.
MOTHER: What?
CHILD: I have to wash my hands again? I just washed my hands at lunch time.
MOTHER: Yes, you need to wash your hands more than once in a day. Go wash your hands.
CHILD: Hmph.
CHILD stalks slowly off toward the bathroom, muttering to himself.
MOTHER: Oh, there she goes again. Your mother. Always trying to take care of you and keep you safe and healthy. Always trying to keep you from doing things like eating food flavored with ink from a marker. She's such a pain.
CHILD (whispers): In the B-U-T.
MOTHER: What did you just say, young man?
CHILD: Nothing.
MOTHER: You're missing a T.
CHILD: What?
MOTHER: Butt, as in your bottom, rear, posterior, that thing you sit upon, is spelled B-U-T-T. You mean to say I am a pain in the B-U-T-T.
CHILD: Oh, right! I always get those confused.
MOTHER to FATHER: We need to work on his ability to spell insults.
More conversations.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Questions My Five-Year-Old Asked Me Today
My son is home sick from school today with a cold, an ear infection, and suspected bronchitis. It's his fifth day being sick, and now that the antibiotic our doctor prescribed him is starting to kick in, his energy is returning and he is bored out of his skull. He's tired of TV, he's tired of books and yet he's still not quite well enough to play. So, desperate for conversation, he has been pelting me with questions without cease since his eyes opened this morning (My need to actually get some work done after five solid days of attempting to entertain him notwithstanding). And these aren't questions like "Where is my Slinky?" or "Can you play racecar rescue with me?" or "Do you think vanilla or chocolate ice cream is better?" Oh no. My kid doesn't let me off that easy.
Since I can't actually seem to manage to get the blog post I planned to write today written in between answering my kids' questions, here, in its place is an abridged list of the questions he has asked me so far today:
And my favorite the question of the day:
(He was reading a book on astronomy. With constellations. Including Virgo the Virgin. THANKS SO MUCH, ancient astronomers, ancient religion-makers, and modern writers of children's astronomy books for providing me with the most interesting conversation of my day.)
Since I can't actually seem to manage to get the blog post I planned to write today written in between answering my kids' questions, here, in its place is an abridged list of the questions he has asked me so far today:
What are some things that bad bacteria do to hurt your body when you have an infection?
How do antibiotics help your immune system destroy bacteria?
Why is there momentum?
What do you mean "an outside force"?
What are the forces that make things stop moving?
What makes friction?
Why do light things fly through the air more easily than heavy things do?
How did Isaac Newton discover gravity again?
What is soy milk made of?
Where does chocolate come from?
Is the word cocoa related to the word cacao? Why are they different? Who named the chocolate tree?
Is spinach related to lettuce?
What number comes after a googol?
What is the last number anyone has ever come up with before infinity?
Why is there infinity?
How did people discover the idea of infinity?
What is at the end of forever and forever?
Why did people think the earth was flat thousands of years ago?
Why do people make up constellations?
If stars are moving and orbiting other stars and stuff all the time, why don't we notice the stars moving when we look up at them at night?
Did the Greek and Roman gods really exist?
Why do people make up stories about why things happen?
Why did people used to not use science to explain things?
What does geography mean?
What does geometry mean?
How is geometry related to geography?
And my favorite the question of the day:
What is a virgin?
(He was reading a book on astronomy. With constellations. Including Virgo the Virgin. THANKS SO MUCH, ancient astronomers, ancient religion-makers, and modern writers of children's astronomy books for providing me with the most interesting conversation of my day.)
Monday, August 03, 2009
Conversations with a Five-Year-Old: Life, the Universe, and Everything
"Why are we here?" he asks from the back seat of the car.
Because this is the road we need to be on to get where we need to go, we say. We are going to the ice cream store, like you asked us to, and this is the road that leads to it.
"No, no no no, no no NO," he says. "Not why are we here, on the road. This has nothing to do with ice cream. Why are we living? Why are we here?" And then before we can even begin to think of an answer, he adds, confidently, "That's a hard question."
It is, we say. Philosophers, we say — philosophers, those are people who study hard questions — and scientists, and writers, and all sorts of people have thought and thought and thought about that question and not found an answer.
Then I think for a minute and I ask him, "Why do you think we are here?"
"Maybe we are here to help animals," he muses. "But then, what are the animals here for?"
"Maybe we are here to help each other," his father and I say, at the same time.
"Maybe," I add, "We're here just to learn as much as we can about the universe."
"I'll go with that one," the child says. "Or maybe the other. Or maybe a different one. Hmm."
As we drive down the road to the ice cream store in silence, I think: I used to wonder, too. But now I think I know. I'm here because this is the road I need to travel on to get where I need to go. I'm here because of you, child. Because of your father, too. I'm here because of you.
Because this is the road we need to be on to get where we need to go, we say. We are going to the ice cream store, like you asked us to, and this is the road that leads to it.
"No, no no no, no no NO," he says. "Not why are we here, on the road. This has nothing to do with ice cream. Why are we living? Why are we here?" And then before we can even begin to think of an answer, he adds, confidently, "That's a hard question."
It is, we say. Philosophers, we say — philosophers, those are people who study hard questions — and scientists, and writers, and all sorts of people have thought and thought and thought about that question and not found an answer.
Then I think for a minute and I ask him, "Why do you think we are here?"
"Maybe we are here to help animals," he muses. "But then, what are the animals here for?"
"Maybe we are here to help each other," his father and I say, at the same time.
"Maybe," I add, "We're here just to learn as much as we can about the universe."
"I'll go with that one," the child says. "Or maybe the other. Or maybe a different one. Hmm."
As we drive down the road to the ice cream store in silence, I think: I used to wonder, too. But now I think I know. I'm here because this is the road I need to travel on to get where I need to go. I'm here because of you, child. Because of your father, too. I'm here because of you.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Girl Trouble, Part Two
He was reading, silently. As he read, it seemed, he came across the word "bell." I heard him whisper.
"Bell. Like Bella. Bella. That's what Isabella likes to be called."
"Did you say something? Are you talking to me?" I said, pretending I hadn't heard him, in case he hadn't meant me to.
"Oh, I just said something about-- about--"
Then he leaned toward me, and whispered in my ear, "About Isabella."
"Isabella?" I said. "You mean your friend Isabella, who you met in summer school? The one who likes to sit next to you on the bus? The one who taught you how to do a jump shot with a basketball?"
"Yes," he whispered.
"But why are you whispering about her?"
"Because Grant said girls are bad."
"What? A boy in your class said girls are bad?"
He nodded.
"Why did he say that?" I asked.
"I don't know. He just did. He said girls are bad, and no fun to play with. He said they're boring, and they can't play sports. And he said boys couldn't be friends with girls."
"But you don't think that, do you?"
"No."
"You have lots of friends who are girls, right?"
"Yes."
"And I'm a girl. You don't think I'm bad, do you?"
"Oh, Mommy. Of course you're not bad."
"Well, that kid doesn't know what he's talking about. It's okay to be friends with girls," I said. "Don't let anyone stop you from being friends with a girl if she's nice to you and you like playing with her. Girls aren't bad. Girls are just as good as boys are."
But I wondered, how many times will I have to say it to him?
And I wondered, even if I convince him he is right to treat women and girls with respect, how will all the other boys who have been taught otherwise treat him if he acts the way I teach him to?
And I wondered, with so many voices fighting for his attention, will mine, one day, be drowned out?
"Bell. Like Bella. Bella. That's what Isabella likes to be called."
"Did you say something? Are you talking to me?" I said, pretending I hadn't heard him, in case he hadn't meant me to.
"Oh, I just said something about-- about--"
Then he leaned toward me, and whispered in my ear, "About Isabella."
"Isabella?" I said. "You mean your friend Isabella, who you met in summer school? The one who likes to sit next to you on the bus? The one who taught you how to do a jump shot with a basketball?"
"Yes," he whispered.
"But why are you whispering about her?"
"Because Grant said girls are bad."
"What? A boy in your class said girls are bad?"
He nodded.
"Why did he say that?" I asked.
"I don't know. He just did. He said girls are bad, and no fun to play with. He said they're boring, and they can't play sports. And he said boys couldn't be friends with girls."
"But you don't think that, do you?"
"No."
"You have lots of friends who are girls, right?"
"Yes."
"And I'm a girl. You don't think I'm bad, do you?"
"Oh, Mommy. Of course you're not bad."
"Well, that kid doesn't know what he's talking about. It's okay to be friends with girls," I said. "Don't let anyone stop you from being friends with a girl if she's nice to you and you like playing with her. Girls aren't bad. Girls are just as good as boys are."
But I wondered, how many times will I have to say it to him?
And I wondered, even if I convince him he is right to treat women and girls with respect, how will all the other boys who have been taught otherwise treat him if he acts the way I teach him to?
And I wondered, with so many voices fighting for his attention, will mine, one day, be drowned out?
Friday, March 13, 2009
Conversations with a Four-Year-Old: Matricide
CHILD: BOO!
MOTHER: Ah!
CHILD: Did I scare you?
MOTHER: Oh, yes. You scared me. You were very scary.
CHILD: But did I give you a heart attack?
MOTHER: Well, no. You didn't give me a heart attack.
CHILD: Okay, let me try it again. Louder next time.
MOTHER: Ah!
CHILD: Did I scare you?
MOTHER: Oh, yes. You scared me. You were very scary.
CHILD: But did I give you a heart attack?
MOTHER: Well, no. You didn't give me a heart attack.
CHILD: Okay, let me try it again. Louder next time.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Conversations with a Four-Year-Old: The Presidency
CHILD: Maybe when I grow up, I will be President.
MOTHER: Well, maybe you're right. Hey, if you become President when you grow up, can I live with you in the White House?
CHILD: You could watch me on TV.
Mother laughs.
CHILD: You should put that on your blog.
MOTHER: Well, maybe you're right. Hey, if you become President when you grow up, can I live with you in the White House?
CHILD: You could watch me on TV.
Mother laughs.
CHILD: You should put that on your blog.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Conversations with a Four-Year-Old: Bedtime
MOTHER: Okay, time to go to sleep. Can I give you a big hug before I go?
CHILD: Okay!
CHILD leaps out of bed, runs behind mother, and throws his arms around her back.
CHILD: I'll give you a monkey hug!
MOTHER: Okay, okay little monkey. That was a nice hug. Now it's time for all the cute little monkeys in the world to go to bed.
CHILD: No, it's not time for me to go to bed. I'm a nocturnal monkey.
MOTHER: Oh, well, nocturnal monkey, it just happens to be daytime! So it is time for you to go to bed!
CHILD: It's not daytime. There's just a lot of lights on in my room.
MOTHER: Well, all that light must be making you sleepy, right, nocturnal monkey?
CHILD: No. I'm a nocturnal and diurnal monkey.
MOTHER: When do you sleep, then?
CHILD: Um . . . I only sleep at . . . dusk.
CHILD: Okay!
CHILD leaps out of bed, runs behind mother, and throws his arms around her back.
CHILD: I'll give you a monkey hug!
MOTHER: Okay, okay little monkey. That was a nice hug. Now it's time for all the cute little monkeys in the world to go to bed.
CHILD: No, it's not time for me to go to bed. I'm a nocturnal monkey.
MOTHER: Oh, well, nocturnal monkey, it just happens to be daytime! So it is time for you to go to bed!
CHILD: It's not daytime. There's just a lot of lights on in my room.
MOTHER: Well, all that light must be making you sleepy, right, nocturnal monkey?
CHILD: No. I'm a nocturnal and diurnal monkey.
MOTHER: When do you sleep, then?
CHILD: Um . . . I only sleep at . . . dusk.
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Conversations with a Four-Year-Old: From Picky Eater to Cheese Snob
MOTHER: I'm about to get started making lunch. What would you like to have for lunch today?
CHILD: I want a grilled cheese sandwich please.
MOTHER: Okay. One grilled cheese sandwich coming up!
CHILD: I want Havarti cheese on it.
MOTHER: Okay . . .
CHILD: Havarti not Cheddar or American. And I want a slice of Swiss cheese on the side. Not on the sandwich.
MOTHER: Okay, I'll put Havarti cheese on the sandwich.
CHILD: And a slice of Swiss cheese on the side. Cold.
CHILD: I want a grilled cheese sandwich please.
MOTHER: Okay. One grilled cheese sandwich coming up!
CHILD: I want Havarti cheese on it.
MOTHER: Okay . . .
CHILD: Havarti not Cheddar or American. And I want a slice of Swiss cheese on the side. Not on the sandwich.
MOTHER: Okay, I'll put Havarti cheese on the sandwich.
CHILD: And a slice of Swiss cheese on the side. Cold.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Conversations with a Four-Year-Old: The Circle of Life
CHILD: Mommy, are we meat?
MOTHER: What did you say?
CHILD: I said, are we meat?
MOTHER: Did you just ask if we were meat?
CHILD: Yes.
MOTHER: Do you mean, meat, like, for eating?
CHILD: Yeah.
MOTHER: Why would you ask that?
CHILD: Well, lions and tigers eat people sometimes, right?
MOTHER: Well, lions and tigers don't usually eat people. They usually eat zebras or antelopes or something.
CHILD: But they also eat people sometimes.
MOTHER: Well, yes, sometimes.
CHILD: So, are we meat?
MOTHER: Well, if you want to put it that way, yes. We're meat.
CHILD: So what is meat made of, exactly?
MOTHER: Meat is muscles. You know, those things that are attached to your bones, under your skin, that make your body move? Muscles? Well, animals have muscles too. And that's what people eat when they eat meat. It's animal muscles.
MOTHER: (VO, internal monologue) Please don't let him swear off chicken nuggets please don't let him swear off chicken nuggets God I know I'm a vegetarian but this kid is so damned picky if he swears off chicken nuggets I have no idea what I will feed him at restaurants PLEASE DON'T BE A HIPPIE LIKE MOM TODAY, OKAY, KID?!?!
CHILD: Animals have muscles? COOL!
MOTHER: What did you say?
CHILD: I said, are we meat?
MOTHER: Did you just ask if we were meat?
CHILD: Yes.
MOTHER: Do you mean, meat, like, for eating?
CHILD: Yeah.
MOTHER: Why would you ask that?
CHILD: Well, lions and tigers eat people sometimes, right?
MOTHER: Well, lions and tigers don't usually eat people. They usually eat zebras or antelopes or something.
CHILD: But they also eat people sometimes.
MOTHER: Well, yes, sometimes.
CHILD: So, are we meat?
MOTHER: Well, if you want to put it that way, yes. We're meat.
CHILD: So what is meat made of, exactly?
MOTHER: Meat is muscles. You know, those things that are attached to your bones, under your skin, that make your body move? Muscles? Well, animals have muscles too. And that's what people eat when they eat meat. It's animal muscles.
MOTHER: (VO, internal monologue) Please don't let him swear off chicken nuggets please don't let him swear off chicken nuggets God I know I'm a vegetarian but this kid is so damned picky if he swears off chicken nuggets I have no idea what I will feed him at restaurants PLEASE DON'T BE A HIPPIE LIKE MOM TODAY, OKAY, KID?!?!
CHILD: Animals have muscles? COOL!
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Salad Days
"I'm surrounded by plants! It's like a whole family of plants, and this is their house. And I'm in the living room."
"I can't reach the beans at the top."
"I will pick the green beans, but you can eat them, Mommy."
"You don't want to try even just one? But you planted these bean plants, kid. The plant grew the green beans for you."
"No, I don't want to try one. Nope."
"You don't want to try even just one? But you planted these bean plants, kid. The plant grew the green beans for you."
"No, I don't want to try one. Nope."
"Daddy can eat the green beans with holes in them."
Monday, July 21, 2008
Conversations with a Four-Year-Old: Bees
CHILD flutters one hand near MOTHER'S face.
CHILD : Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Bizzzzzzz. BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
MOTHER: Is that a bee?
CHILD: BUZZZZZ!
MOTHER: Oh, my goodness. Is this a nice bee or a scary bee?
CHILD: It's a nice bee.
MOTHER: Oh, that's good. So I don't have to be scared? Does it give kisses instead of stinging people?
CHILD rolls eyes.
CHILD: No. It doesn't give kisses. It pollinates flowers.
MOTHER: Oh.
CHILD: It just visited one flower, and now it's going to visit another flower. And now that flower will be pollinated. And then it grows other plants.
MOTHER: Right.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Shower Scene
So, I'm in the shower this morning, late, after my husband has already left for work, because I've spent my early morning furiously formatting an interview for MOMocrats, and in quite a hurry, because I've got got a busy day ahead. An old friend is coming over this afternoon who needs my help with publicity for a new project, I've got one or two posts to get up for the St. Louis Bloggers' Guild, I've got a house that looks pretty unkempt after a weekend spend staying out all day at various meetings end errands on Saturday and staying out all day celebrating Father's Day.
And in all this, I still need to get my kid fed, entertained, etc., for the day.
So I'm pretty stressed, actually, over all the things I have to do today, and this moment in the shower is my brief time to collect my thoughts, probably the only non-working moment I'll have to myself for the next several hours. I'm trying to enjoy it.
And suddenly, through the rush of water, I hear my son screaming, "MOMMY! MOOOOOMMMMMY!" loudly from the other room, not quite like he's hurt but like there's something really important happening in the living room that needs my immediate attention. Like maybe some stranger is knocking on the door. Or maybe the kid has spilled milk all over the couch. Or maybe the house is on fire.
So I leap out of the shower, still covered with soap, my hair slathered up in conditioner, toss a towel around myself, and dash out of the bathroom, dripping water on the hardwood in the hall, and say, "Isaac! Isaac! What is it? What's wrong?" He's sitting on the couch, with a book on his lap. PBS is on the TV. I can't see any obvious disaster.
"I need your help, Mommy!" His voice is serious, urgent.
"Yes? Yes? What do you need?"
"Mommy, I was reading this book, and I couldn't remember-- what does 'miniature' mean again?"
Clearly I need to work more with him to clarify the difference between an INTELLECTUAL emergency, and an ACTUAL emergency.
And in all this, I still need to get my kid fed, entertained, etc., for the day.
So I'm pretty stressed, actually, over all the things I have to do today, and this moment in the shower is my brief time to collect my thoughts, probably the only non-working moment I'll have to myself for the next several hours. I'm trying to enjoy it.
And suddenly, through the rush of water, I hear my son screaming, "MOMMY! MOOOOOMMMMMY!" loudly from the other room, not quite like he's hurt but like there's something really important happening in the living room that needs my immediate attention. Like maybe some stranger is knocking on the door. Or maybe the kid has spilled milk all over the couch. Or maybe the house is on fire.
So I leap out of the shower, still covered with soap, my hair slathered up in conditioner, toss a towel around myself, and dash out of the bathroom, dripping water on the hardwood in the hall, and say, "Isaac! Isaac! What is it? What's wrong?" He's sitting on the couch, with a book on his lap. PBS is on the TV. I can't see any obvious disaster.
"I need your help, Mommy!" His voice is serious, urgent.
"Yes? Yes? What do you need?"
"Mommy, I was reading this book, and I couldn't remember-- what does 'miniature' mean again?"
Clearly I need to work more with him to clarify the difference between an INTELLECTUAL emergency, and an ACTUAL emergency.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Conversations with a Four-Year-Old: Just Wait 'Til He Finds Out Where Chicken Nuggets Come From
At the library, MOTHER and CHILD read a book about insects together.
CHILD: Is that dragonfly eating a butterfly?
MOTHER: Actually, I think that dragonfly is eating a moth.
CHILD: But moths are like butterflies. I like moths and butterflies! That dragonfly should not eat butterflies. Why do dragonflies eat butterflies?
MOTHER: Well, lots of insects eat other insects. All sorts of animals eat other animals. That's just the way the world is. Besides, dragonflies eat lots of bugs we don't like, too. Like mosquitoes! Mosquitoes bite people, right? And dragonflies eat mosquitoes. So we should be happy when we see a dragonfly. More dragonflies means fewer mosquitoes.
CHILD: It still shouldn't eat butterflies.
Later, at home, CHILD watches as MOTHER scrubs toilet.
CHILD: Are you washing that toilet with water?
MOTHER: No. I'm cleaning it with a mixture of water and bleach.
CHILD: Why are you using bleach?
MOTHER: I am using bleach to clean the toilet because bleach kills germs.
CHILD: You mean, after you use bleach to clean the toilet, the germs will be dead?
MOTHER: Yes.
CHILD (accusingly): What germs are you killing?!?
MOTHER: E. coli, for one.
CHILD: But I like E. coli!
MOTHER: No, you don't. Really. At least, not outside of your intestines you don't.
CHILD: Hmph. You should not kill so many things.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Sentence of the Day
"Last week, there was a new kid at the library, and Rachel and I didn't know who nor what had brought her there."
Said my four-year-old.
Who apparently uses "nor" now. And the appropriate construction, "X and I."
(Yet still says things like "hadded" and "runned.")
Said my four-year-old.
Who apparently uses "nor" now. And the appropriate construction, "X and I."
(Yet still says things like "hadded" and "runned.")
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Conversations with a Four-Year-Old
CHILD: Mommy, do you wish I could always be three?
MOTHER: Why do you say that? What makes you think I wish you could always be three?
CHILD: Well, you seem sad about me turning four.
MOTHER: I'm so happy that you turned four! I'm so proud of you. You're such a big boy now!
CHILD: But, you still call me Baby sometimes instead of Big Boy.
MOTHER: I'm sorry. I keep forgetting, don't I? I just got so used to calling you Baby when you were little. I'll try harder to always call you a big boy from now on.
CHILD: Do you miss me being a baby?
MOTHER: Well, Mommies always remember their children being babies. And as I see you get older, I do miss some things about when you were a baby, sometimes. I miss being able to carry you around in the crook of my arm. I miss the way you always wanted to snuggle with me. I miss the feeling I had teaching you your very first words, when you just started talking, and showing you everything in the world for the first time. But that doesn't mean I don't love you the way you are now. In fact, you're a lot more fun to be around now. We can play games together, and talk together about all sorts of things. And I'm so proud of you for learning so many things, and for growing into such a kind and smart big boy.
CHILD: So you're sure you don't want me to always be a baby?
MOTHER: Yes.
CHILD: But, why do you look sad sometimes when you talk about my birthday?
MOTHER: Well, to tell you the truth, I'm happy and I'm sad at the same time when you have birthdays. Mommies are always a little bit sad when their kids get older. I get a little sad on your birthday, because I know that every birthday you have brings me one year closer to a time when you won't want to live with me anymore.
CHILD gasps, blinks back sudden tears.
CHILD: But, Mommy, I won't ever want to not live with you and Daddy! Not ever!
MOTHER: Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to upset you! Don't worry. You'll still be living with Mommy and Daddy for years and years. I'm talking about someday far away, when you're all grown up.
CHILD: Hmph. Well, maybe when I'm one hundred years old, then I won't want to live with you anymore. When I'm a hundred, you'll have to live without me.
MOTHER: Okay. When you're one hundred years old, I'll let you go.
MOTHER: Why do you say that? What makes you think I wish you could always be three?
CHILD: Well, you seem sad about me turning four.
MOTHER: I'm so happy that you turned four! I'm so proud of you. You're such a big boy now!
CHILD: But, you still call me Baby sometimes instead of Big Boy.
MOTHER: I'm sorry. I keep forgetting, don't I? I just got so used to calling you Baby when you were little. I'll try harder to always call you a big boy from now on.
CHILD: Do you miss me being a baby?
MOTHER: Well, Mommies always remember their children being babies. And as I see you get older, I do miss some things about when you were a baby, sometimes. I miss being able to carry you around in the crook of my arm. I miss the way you always wanted to snuggle with me. I miss the feeling I had teaching you your very first words, when you just started talking, and showing you everything in the world for the first time. But that doesn't mean I don't love you the way you are now. In fact, you're a lot more fun to be around now. We can play games together, and talk together about all sorts of things. And I'm so proud of you for learning so many things, and for growing into such a kind and smart big boy.
CHILD: So you're sure you don't want me to always be a baby?
MOTHER: Yes.
CHILD: But, why do you look sad sometimes when you talk about my birthday?
MOTHER: Well, to tell you the truth, I'm happy and I'm sad at the same time when you have birthdays. Mommies are always a little bit sad when their kids get older. I get a little sad on your birthday, because I know that every birthday you have brings me one year closer to a time when you won't want to live with me anymore.
CHILD gasps, blinks back sudden tears.
CHILD: But, Mommy, I won't ever want to not live with you and Daddy! Not ever!
MOTHER: Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to upset you! Don't worry. You'll still be living with Mommy and Daddy for years and years. I'm talking about someday far away, when you're all grown up.
CHILD: Hmph. Well, maybe when I'm one hundred years old, then I won't want to live with you anymore. When I'm a hundred, you'll have to live without me.
MOTHER: Okay. When you're one hundred years old, I'll let you go.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Conversations with a Three-Year-Old: Motherly Love and Life in the Womb
MOTHER: Hold still please so I can put this lotion on you. It's good for your skin.
CHILD: Lotion is not good for your skin.
MOTHER: Yes it is. This lotion is.
CHILD: No it's not!
MOTHER: Of course it is, silly. Why would I, your mother, who loves you and wants you to be healthy and happy, purposefully put something on your skin that was bad for your skin?
CHILD: Well, when I was a baby you didn't always do good things.
MOTHER: What do you mean? What did I do that was bad when you were a baby?
CHILD: When I was a baby, I bet you used to put VINEGAR on my skin!
MOTHER: I did not. Why on earth would I do such a thing?
CHILD: Because when I was a baby, you didn't know yet how much you loved me.
MOTHER: I did too know I loved you when you were a baby.
CHILD: No, you didn't. You didn't know how much you loved me because all I could say was "Dada."
MOTHER: Do you mean you think I didn't love you because you said Dada as your first word instead of Mama?
CHILD: Yes.
MOTHER: You silly boy. I didn't mind that you said Dada first. I loved you before you could even talk. I loved you before you were even born!
CHILD: You did?
MOTHER: Of course I did. Before you were born, when you were still inside my belly, I used to talk to you and sing songs to you and I would tell you how much I loved you. And I would put my hands on my belly so I could feel you kicking me. You would kick and kick, and my belly would jump up every time you kicked me.
CHILD: Oh, I'm sorry about kicking you so much when I was in your belly.
MOTHER: Well, that's all right that you kicked me. I didn't mind.
CHILD: I couldn't see you while I was in there. I thought you were a drum.
MOTHER: You thought I was a drum?
CHILD: Oh, yes. It made a great sound when I kicked you. THUMP. THUMP.
Edited after reading comments regarding my son's future as a professional drummer to add:
The best part about this, really, which can only be appreciated by someone who knows Isaac well, is that, if left to his own devices, he would listen to music all day long. And when he's listening to music, he drums on things CONSTANTLY. When he was about six months old, I got him a new big boy high chair and the very first thing he did when I sat him down in it for the first time was drum on the tray. He drums on the coffee table. He drums on the floor. He drummed on our old glass dinner table so much I started to fear he'd hit the right frequency and shatter it, so I gave it away and bought a wooden dining table instead.
And his Kindermusic class teacher has specifically said to us, "You have a fantastic future drummer on your hands," because he can already do simultaneous independent rhythms with each hand.
When I was pregnant with him, in the last few months of my pregnancy, whenever I would sit near some device playing music with a strong beat, he would kick in time.
CHILD: Lotion is not good for your skin.
MOTHER: Yes it is. This lotion is.
CHILD: No it's not!
MOTHER: Of course it is, silly. Why would I, your mother, who loves you and wants you to be healthy and happy, purposefully put something on your skin that was bad for your skin?
CHILD: Well, when I was a baby you didn't always do good things.
MOTHER: What do you mean? What did I do that was bad when you were a baby?
CHILD: When I was a baby, I bet you used to put VINEGAR on my skin!
MOTHER: I did not. Why on earth would I do such a thing?
CHILD: Because when I was a baby, you didn't know yet how much you loved me.
MOTHER: I did too know I loved you when you were a baby.
CHILD: No, you didn't. You didn't know how much you loved me because all I could say was "Dada."
MOTHER: Do you mean you think I didn't love you because you said Dada as your first word instead of Mama?
CHILD: Yes.
MOTHER: You silly boy. I didn't mind that you said Dada first. I loved you before you could even talk. I loved you before you were even born!
CHILD: You did?
MOTHER: Of course I did. Before you were born, when you were still inside my belly, I used to talk to you and sing songs to you and I would tell you how much I loved you. And I would put my hands on my belly so I could feel you kicking me. You would kick and kick, and my belly would jump up every time you kicked me.
CHILD: Oh, I'm sorry about kicking you so much when I was in your belly.
MOTHER: Well, that's all right that you kicked me. I didn't mind.
CHILD: I couldn't see you while I was in there. I thought you were a drum.
MOTHER: You thought I was a drum?
CHILD: Oh, yes. It made a great sound when I kicked you. THUMP. THUMP.
Edited after reading comments regarding my son's future as a professional drummer to add:
The best part about this, really, which can only be appreciated by someone who knows Isaac well, is that, if left to his own devices, he would listen to music all day long. And when he's listening to music, he drums on things CONSTANTLY. When he was about six months old, I got him a new big boy high chair and the very first thing he did when I sat him down in it for the first time was drum on the tray. He drums on the coffee table. He drums on the floor. He drummed on our old glass dinner table so much I started to fear he'd hit the right frequency and shatter it, so I gave it away and bought a wooden dining table instead.
And his Kindermusic class teacher has specifically said to us, "You have a fantastic future drummer on your hands," because he can already do simultaneous independent rhythms with each hand.
When I was pregnant with him, in the last few months of my pregnancy, whenever I would sit near some device playing music with a strong beat, he would kick in time.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Conversations with a Three-Year-Old: Phobias
MOTHER and CHILD walk down a garden path on their way to an Easter egg hunt. Another family passes by, pushing a crying baby in a stroller.
CHILD: Mommy, why is that baby crying?
MOTHER: I don't know, dear. Maybe the baby is hungry. Maybe the baby is tired. Maybe the baby doesn't like this chilly wind.
CHILD: No, I don't think that baby is hungry or tired or cold.
MOTHER: Why do you think the baby is crying, then?
CHILD: I think that baby is afraid of Easter.
CHILD: Mommy, why is that baby crying?
MOTHER: I don't know, dear. Maybe the baby is hungry. Maybe the baby is tired. Maybe the baby doesn't like this chilly wind.
CHILD: No, I don't think that baby is hungry or tired or cold.
MOTHER: Why do you think the baby is crying, then?
CHILD: I think that baby is afraid of Easter.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Conversations with a Three-Year-Old: Physics
CHILD: Look! Look at my finger!
MOTHER: Don't stick your fingers in random holes in the computer. You know better than that.
CHILD: But, why shouldn't I do that?
MOTHER: Because you might get a shock or something.
CHILD: But why?
MOTHER: I've told you before. Because computers have electricity inside them.
CHILD: But why do computers have electricity in them?
MOTHER: Because computers run on electricity.
CHILD: But why do computers run on electricity?
MOTHER: Because computers need electricity to work.
CHILD: Why?
MOTHER: Because they need the energy from electricity to do things, just like how we need energy from food to do things.
CHILD: But, why?
MOTHER: Because!
CHILD: Why because?
MOTHER: Because I said so!
CHILD: Just because? Just because you said so?
MOTHER: Well, no, not really because I said so.
CHILD: Then, why?
MOTHER: Because e=mc². Can you say that? E equals M C squared.
CHILD: Because e=mc²?
MOTHER: Right.
********
I suppose this means he's feeling a bit better now. Right?
Too bad I'm not yet.
Edited to add: Bonus questions from the last hour:
"Mommy, what are Democrats and Republicans?"
"Is Hillary Clinton a Democrat?"
"Why is John McCain a Republican?"
"What does personal responsibility mean?"
"What does community mean?"
"Mommy, what is a virus?"
"Are viruses mean?"
"What do you mean viruses don't have brains? What is a brain?"
"But, why is my brain inside my head?"
"Mommy, why does your blog have all those whys on it?"
MOTHER: Don't stick your fingers in random holes in the computer. You know better than that.
CHILD: But, why shouldn't I do that?
MOTHER: Because you might get a shock or something.
CHILD: But why?
MOTHER: I've told you before. Because computers have electricity inside them.
CHILD: But why do computers have electricity in them?
MOTHER: Because computers run on electricity.
CHILD: But why do computers run on electricity?
MOTHER: Because computers need electricity to work.
CHILD: Why?
MOTHER: Because they need the energy from electricity to do things, just like how we need energy from food to do things.
CHILD: But, why?
MOTHER: Because!
CHILD: Why because?
MOTHER: Because I said so!
CHILD: Just because? Just because you said so?
MOTHER: Well, no, not really because I said so.
CHILD: Then, why?
MOTHER: Because e=mc². Can you say that? E equals M C squared.
CHILD: Because e=mc²?
MOTHER: Right.
********
I suppose this means he's feeling a bit better now. Right?
Too bad I'm not yet.
Edited to add: Bonus questions from the last hour:
"Mommy, what are Democrats and Republicans?"
"Is Hillary Clinton a Democrat?"
"Why is John McCain a Republican?"
"What does personal responsibility mean?"
"What does community mean?"
"Mommy, what is a virus?"
"Are viruses mean?"
"What do you mean viruses don't have brains? What is a brain?"
"But, why is my brain inside my head?"
"Mommy, why does your blog have all those whys on it?"
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