So, I made a joke a few entries ago about how I was going to turn my blog into an ongoing record of the bizarre and puzzling questions my son asks me. I really did intend for that to be just a joke, but it seems that all the good material I get these days really is about his endless questions. I swear, the next time something interesting other than a question comes up, you'll be the first to know.
In the meantime, enjoy this gem from the other day...
We're sitting in Zaxby's having a quick little meal before running some after-Christmas errands. Across the way is what appears to be a young couple. I wasn't really paying attention, but at quick glance said maybe late teens, early 20s.
My son looked over at them for a minute or two and then turned to me and asked, "When you're a grown man and you have a girlfriend and you don't like her in a few days, you can't just get a new one, right, because then you'll have two?"
I want you to take a minute and ponder the many levels of that question. ...I'll wait...
...grown man...
...don't like her IN A FEW DAYS...
...then you'll have two...
First, I'd like to applaud my son for an early recognition of the virtues of faithfulness and monogamy.
Second, though, I'd like to see a doctor to have the bits of half-chewed chicken fingers that tried to come out of my nose when I heard that question extracted from my sinuses.
Typically when I relate these queries of my son's, I often go on to describe how I responded, or at least how I tried to respond. I won't subject you to that on this one because my answer was surely so incoherent and meaningless as to be, well, incoherent and meaningless, and somewhat anticlimactic for this blog. Suffice it to say, the answer involved trying to explain the concept of "breaking up" to a 5 year old. That went about as well as you can imagine.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Santa questions and the single mom
Well, since it's Christmas, this edition of "What will he come up with now?" will focus on the Santa-related questions and commentary that have been going on in my life (OK, my car) for the last few days.
As you can imagine, my son, surely like all children everywhere right now, is very excited about Santa's imminent arrival, repeatedly counting down the days. It's funny to hear, though, because his grasp on abstract concepts like "tomorrow" and "yesterday" and "next week" is tenuous at best. So I get things like, "We have to go to sleep today and then wake up and then go to sleep the next day and then wake up and then the next day Santa comes. Right, Mommy?"
I think if he had a better understanding of time and how it worked, he'd be counting down the hours or even minutes.
Because that jolly old elf is so prominent right now, my son is, as usual, chock full of questions. Some of the usual -- "How does Santa get in our house since we don't have a chimney?" (magic key) and "How does Santa know whether I'm asleep or not?" (again, magic) -- and recently some more unusual ones. On the way home from the grocery store last night, I got some interesting questions that revealed perhaps my inquisitive son will not long be placated by the "magic" go-to answer.
"How old is Santa?" he asked.
"Well, um, son," I murmured desperately trying to buy time to come up with something. "Santa has been around for a really long time."
"But how old is he?" he insisted.
"I don't know really, but Santa lives forever," I said.
"But how does he live forever?" he asked.
"Magic," I replied (what else?). "That's part of the magic of Santa -- that he can live forever."
"What magic does he have for fighting?" my son asked.
"Fighting? Santa doesn't fight."
"Well then how does he not die?"
"He just doesn't, baby. Santa just lives forever. It's magic," I tried again.
"But I want to know how," my son insisted.
"I do, too, son," I said. "I do, too."
Fortunately, that was the end of it for a while, and he segued into questions about Santa's beard and why it's so long (because it's cold at the North Pole, duh) and whether he has to trim it occasionally.
Of course, that magic shtick can come back to bite me in the butt. This morning on the way to drop him off at the holiday camp he's attending while school's out, he told me he was very excited about Christmas because he couldn't wait to get the movie "Tangled."
Well, I cautioned, it takes a while for movies to be able to come home on DVD, and "Tangled" isn't there yet, so maybe he shouldn't look forward to having that just yet.
"But Santa can get it even if you can't, Mommy. He's magic. He can make it."
Well, just freaking great! I can't really refute that, but of course I can't get my hands on a "Tangled" DVD either. Let's hope excitement and distraction play their crucial role Christmas morning to keep my son's mind off Santa's obvious shortcoming this year. How in the world my parents kept up this charade, shepherding intelligent kids through the obvious leaps of logic and reason it takes, for so long is beyond me. He's 5, and he's already killing me on this!
Merry Christmas to everyone!
As you can imagine, my son, surely like all children everywhere right now, is very excited about Santa's imminent arrival, repeatedly counting down the days. It's funny to hear, though, because his grasp on abstract concepts like "tomorrow" and "yesterday" and "next week" is tenuous at best. So I get things like, "We have to go to sleep today and then wake up and then go to sleep the next day and then wake up and then the next day Santa comes. Right, Mommy?"
I think if he had a better understanding of time and how it worked, he'd be counting down the hours or even minutes.
Because that jolly old elf is so prominent right now, my son is, as usual, chock full of questions. Some of the usual -- "How does Santa get in our house since we don't have a chimney?" (magic key) and "How does Santa know whether I'm asleep or not?" (again, magic) -- and recently some more unusual ones. On the way home from the grocery store last night, I got some interesting questions that revealed perhaps my inquisitive son will not long be placated by the "magic" go-to answer.
"How old is Santa?" he asked.
"Well, um, son," I murmured desperately trying to buy time to come up with something. "Santa has been around for a really long time."
"But how old is he?" he insisted.
"I don't know really, but Santa lives forever," I said.
"But how does he live forever?" he asked.
"Magic," I replied (what else?). "That's part of the magic of Santa -- that he can live forever."
"What magic does he have for fighting?" my son asked.
"Fighting? Santa doesn't fight."
"Well then how does he not die?"
"He just doesn't, baby. Santa just lives forever. It's magic," I tried again.
"But I want to know how," my son insisted.
"I do, too, son," I said. "I do, too."
Fortunately, that was the end of it for a while, and he segued into questions about Santa's beard and why it's so long (because it's cold at the North Pole, duh) and whether he has to trim it occasionally.
Of course, that magic shtick can come back to bite me in the butt. This morning on the way to drop him off at the holiday camp he's attending while school's out, he told me he was very excited about Christmas because he couldn't wait to get the movie "Tangled."
Well, I cautioned, it takes a while for movies to be able to come home on DVD, and "Tangled" isn't there yet, so maybe he shouldn't look forward to having that just yet.
"But Santa can get it even if you can't, Mommy. He's magic. He can make it."
Well, just freaking great! I can't really refute that, but of course I can't get my hands on a "Tangled" DVD either. Let's hope excitement and distraction play their crucial role Christmas morning to keep my son's mind off Santa's obvious shortcoming this year. How in the world my parents kept up this charade, shepherding intelligent kids through the obvious leaps of logic and reason it takes, for so long is beyond me. He's 5, and he's already killing me on this!
Merry Christmas to everyone!
Monday, December 20, 2010
More questions and the single mom
I believe it's a truth universally acknowledged that kids come up with the craziest questions and parents struggle and ponder and grasp at straws for ways to answer them. "Why is the sky blue? How do airplanes fly?"
My son is no exception to this rule. Regular readers of this blog may recall I've had such gems in the past as "Do bears have belly buttons?" and "What are my nipples for?"
In fact, it seems my son has entered an age where he asks so many random questions at such a regular pace that I'm just going to start reporting them from time to time on this blog -- short little entries to give you a peek into the outright bizarre conversations I have with my son (that occur, almost without exception, in the car).
Here are a few gems that came up during a weekend drive to Atlanta (all those silent miles to fill -- of course it was a treasure trove of strange musings):
-Can George Washington see us from heaven?
That one first got started with my son asking some question about Abraham Lincoln (where that came from in the first place, I haven't the foggiest notion). When I told him Lincoln was the president a long time ago, he asked who the very first president was. Then he asked if we could see him one day, at which point I had to break the sad news that George Washington had long since died. That's when I got the above query.
-Does it hurt when you die? (Obvious follow up on the death of George Washington discussion.)
And the piece de resistance: How will I find a wife?
"How will I find a wife?" Where does he come up with these things? That was totally out of the blue, too. We weren't having any kind of discussion about marriage, wives, husbands or even family -- not even George Washington's wife.
Just, bam -- "How will I find a wife?"
Warning: here comes the mushy, snuggly part of today's post.
I told him that when he got older, he'd meet someone and fall in love and maybe get married.
"No, Mommy. I want to marry you."
All together now: "Aawwww."
I didn't bother to dissuade him from that path. He'll grow out of it soon enough, and for now I'll just revel in being the biggest love in my son's heart.
My son is no exception to this rule. Regular readers of this blog may recall I've had such gems in the past as "Do bears have belly buttons?" and "What are my nipples for?"
In fact, it seems my son has entered an age where he asks so many random questions at such a regular pace that I'm just going to start reporting them from time to time on this blog -- short little entries to give you a peek into the outright bizarre conversations I have with my son (that occur, almost without exception, in the car).
Here are a few gems that came up during a weekend drive to Atlanta (all those silent miles to fill -- of course it was a treasure trove of strange musings):
-Can George Washington see us from heaven?
That one first got started with my son asking some question about Abraham Lincoln (where that came from in the first place, I haven't the foggiest notion). When I told him Lincoln was the president a long time ago, he asked who the very first president was. Then he asked if we could see him one day, at which point I had to break the sad news that George Washington had long since died. That's when I got the above query.
-Does it hurt when you die? (Obvious follow up on the death of George Washington discussion.)
And the piece de resistance: How will I find a wife?
"How will I find a wife?" Where does he come up with these things? That was totally out of the blue, too. We weren't having any kind of discussion about marriage, wives, husbands or even family -- not even George Washington's wife.
Just, bam -- "How will I find a wife?"
Warning: here comes the mushy, snuggly part of today's post.
I told him that when he got older, he'd meet someone and fall in love and maybe get married.
"No, Mommy. I want to marry you."
All together now: "Aawwww."
I didn't bother to dissuade him from that path. He'll grow out of it soon enough, and for now I'll just revel in being the biggest love in my son's heart.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Growing up and the single mom
I guess it's every parent's experience to constantly revel at the rate at which her child is growing. I have a good friend who recently (read: 3 months ago) had a baby. Her own blogs and Facebook posts are often filled with comments about how quickly her son is growing and changing, and my reaction is generally one of slight bemusement. I have a little smirk on my face and a twinkle in my eye. I remember feeling that awe in the first months of my son's life. But (sorry to have to tell you, B) the constant amazement wanes.
The feeling comes back, though, every once in a while. And when it does, it comes less as a sweet and fleeting moment of awe and wonder and more like a sudden brick to the frontal cortex reminding me how quickly and how much my son is growing. I had one such moment the other day.
I dropped my son off at school the other day, like I do every day. And like every day, he hopped out of the car with his bag and lunch in his hand. Like every day, he said "bye" as he closed the car door and headed for the front door of the school. Unlike every other day, though, that was the end of it.
He usually turns around just as I'm pulling away, giving me this sweet smile and a little half wave and watching for me to wave back. It's almost as good as a big hug by way of warming a mother's heart -- knowing the last thing he wanted before heading into school was a little connection with me. You may think I'm reading a little too much into a smile and wave, but you'd be wrong. My son is such a loving, affectionate little guy, and it's just like him to, in the absence of a big hug, offer the next best thing from afar.
The other day, though, another little boy was getting out of the car in front of us just as my son was climbing out of our car. (I knew the other boy was a kindergartener as well by virtue of the special bag they all carry at my son's school.) Instead of the normal sweet farewell, my son offered only a peremptory "bye" to me just as he slammed the door and went racing up to the other boy just making his way down the sidewalk in front of us.
I don't quite know how to explain how these two little boys looked as they immediately fell into step beside each other and shared a quick laugh over some little joke known only to them (and funny only to 5 year olds, surely). It must have been what I looked like with the best friend of my youth -- joined inseparably at the hip and wrapped in some isolated world all our own.
Seeing that image, I immediately had this flash of how much my son has changed in the last few months since he started school. He's so much more aware of and interested in his friends and the, for lack of a better word, "culture" of childhood. I can feel him ever so gradually drifting away from me and becoming more independent.
Granted, he's not exactly driving a car or taking a job just yet. And when I picked him up that afternoon, he was my sweet, loving little boy once again, eager to fling himself in my arms and tell me about his day. It was nice to dream for a while that it'll always be that way.
The feeling comes back, though, every once in a while. And when it does, it comes less as a sweet and fleeting moment of awe and wonder and more like a sudden brick to the frontal cortex reminding me how quickly and how much my son is growing. I had one such moment the other day.
I dropped my son off at school the other day, like I do every day. And like every day, he hopped out of the car with his bag and lunch in his hand. Like every day, he said "bye" as he closed the car door and headed for the front door of the school. Unlike every other day, though, that was the end of it.
He usually turns around just as I'm pulling away, giving me this sweet smile and a little half wave and watching for me to wave back. It's almost as good as a big hug by way of warming a mother's heart -- knowing the last thing he wanted before heading into school was a little connection with me. You may think I'm reading a little too much into a smile and wave, but you'd be wrong. My son is such a loving, affectionate little guy, and it's just like him to, in the absence of a big hug, offer the next best thing from afar.
The other day, though, another little boy was getting out of the car in front of us just as my son was climbing out of our car. (I knew the other boy was a kindergartener as well by virtue of the special bag they all carry at my son's school.) Instead of the normal sweet farewell, my son offered only a peremptory "bye" to me just as he slammed the door and went racing up to the other boy just making his way down the sidewalk in front of us.
I don't quite know how to explain how these two little boys looked as they immediately fell into step beside each other and shared a quick laugh over some little joke known only to them (and funny only to 5 year olds, surely). It must have been what I looked like with the best friend of my youth -- joined inseparably at the hip and wrapped in some isolated world all our own.
Seeing that image, I immediately had this flash of how much my son has changed in the last few months since he started school. He's so much more aware of and interested in his friends and the, for lack of a better word, "culture" of childhood. I can feel him ever so gradually drifting away from me and becoming more independent.
Granted, he's not exactly driving a car or taking a job just yet. And when I picked him up that afternoon, he was my sweet, loving little boy once again, eager to fling himself in my arms and tell me about his day. It was nice to dream for a while that it'll always be that way.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Captain Generous Heart and the single mom
My little boy is such a sweetheart. I know I'm biased, but really. No, really.
He came home Friday from school carrying a little goodie-type cellophane bag filled with what appeared to be shiny tinsel-like material. He informed me that it was a Christmas ornament that was "very breakable" and we had to be careful until we got home.
As soon as we walked in the door, with the bag delicately clasped in one hand before him, he reached in and pulled out all that shiny red tinsel (which then went all over the floor, but whatever) to reveal a glass ornament that he had painted at school. He proudly found a spot for it on the tree, hung it up and admired it for a moment or two, and then turned and asked me for some string and tape.
"What do you need string and tape for?" I asked him.
For a little project he said. He was going to draw some hearts on paper and color them purple. And then he was going to cut them out and tape some string on them to make a bracelet. And then he was going to take it to school for his friend Jen.
My first thought was that he had a little crush on Jen or something. But that wasn't the case at all.
Jen, you see, got only plain red paper strips as padding in her cellophane ornament bag, rather than the shiny red tinsel -- a slight that surely was causing her pain wherever she was at that moment. So my son took it upon himself to heal that wound with his ministrations -- or at least a few purple hearts on a string.
It was so sweet that I just wanted to wrap him in my arms and shower him with love for being such a thoughtful little guy. There are times when the extraordinary self-centeredness of kids (and some adults) can really blow me away, but this was when of those times that was quite the contrary.
He came home Friday from school carrying a little goodie-type cellophane bag filled with what appeared to be shiny tinsel-like material. He informed me that it was a Christmas ornament that was "very breakable" and we had to be careful until we got home.
As soon as we walked in the door, with the bag delicately clasped in one hand before him, he reached in and pulled out all that shiny red tinsel (which then went all over the floor, but whatever) to reveal a glass ornament that he had painted at school. He proudly found a spot for it on the tree, hung it up and admired it for a moment or two, and then turned and asked me for some string and tape.
"What do you need string and tape for?" I asked him.
For a little project he said. He was going to draw some hearts on paper and color them purple. And then he was going to cut them out and tape some string on them to make a bracelet. And then he was going to take it to school for his friend Jen.
My first thought was that he had a little crush on Jen or something. But that wasn't the case at all.
Jen, you see, got only plain red paper strips as padding in her cellophane ornament bag, rather than the shiny red tinsel -- a slight that surely was causing her pain wherever she was at that moment. So my son took it upon himself to heal that wound with his ministrations -- or at least a few purple hearts on a string.
It was so sweet that I just wanted to wrap him in my arms and shower him with love for being such a thoughtful little guy. There are times when the extraordinary self-centeredness of kids (and some adults) can really blow me away, but this was when of those times that was quite the contrary.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Winter and the single mom
I hate winter. I just plain hate it.
Don't try to convince me why you disagree; I shall not be swayed. Don't tell me that you like winter better than summer because you can always add more clothes when you're cold but can take off only so much when you're hot -- that's total BS.
I have a bulleted list of why I hate winter (in my head -- come on, I'm not THAT obsessed), and it's at least a dozen entries long. The constant shocks of static electricity, scraping ice off car windows, waking up and coming home in the dark, feeling like the Michelin Man and still being cold, lugging a coat around inside just so you don't freeze again outside -- I could go on and on.
What I've recently added to my "Reasons I hate winter" list, though, is time. The amount of time it takes to go anywhere with a child practically triples in the wintertime.
This morning, as with every morning since this latest cold snap set in, I started the process of heading to the door several minutes before I normally do and yet ended up dropping my son off at school several minutes later than I normally do. Where is the time lost in the middle? Here are a few clues...
"Mommy, do I need my heavy coat today?" (coat goes on)
"Mommy, where are my gloves?" (gloves go on)
"Wait, I can't zip up my coat with my gloves on." (gloves come off)
"Mommy, the zipper to my coat is stuck." (coat zipped)
"Oops, that's the wrong hand for this glove." (gloves back on)
"Mommy, where's my hat."
"No, not that hat, my other hat." (dig in the closet)
"Mommy, I can't get my hat on with my gloves on. Can you help me?" (hat finally on)
Already it's been a 5-minute process, and we haven't even begun the painfully slow march to the car that my son performs on cold mornings. ("It's too cold to walk fast.")
And then we run into further problems like the difficulty of getting in a car seat with a bulky coat on and buckling seat belts while wearing gloves.
So not only do I have to wake up in the dark on winter mornings, I have to wake up even earlier than during warmer months to account for the exceedingly time-consuming process of getting bundled up and getting out the door.
You know what I need? One of those machines on "The Jetsons" that dresses you while you're standing there. I'm not all that demanding. We can handle our regular clothes. I really just want one for outerwear. Is that so much to ask?
Don't try to convince me why you disagree; I shall not be swayed. Don't tell me that you like winter better than summer because you can always add more clothes when you're cold but can take off only so much when you're hot -- that's total BS.
I have a bulleted list of why I hate winter (in my head -- come on, I'm not THAT obsessed), and it's at least a dozen entries long. The constant shocks of static electricity, scraping ice off car windows, waking up and coming home in the dark, feeling like the Michelin Man and still being cold, lugging a coat around inside just so you don't freeze again outside -- I could go on and on.
What I've recently added to my "Reasons I hate winter" list, though, is time. The amount of time it takes to go anywhere with a child practically triples in the wintertime.
This morning, as with every morning since this latest cold snap set in, I started the process of heading to the door several minutes before I normally do and yet ended up dropping my son off at school several minutes later than I normally do. Where is the time lost in the middle? Here are a few clues...
"Mommy, do I need my heavy coat today?" (coat goes on)
"Mommy, where are my gloves?" (gloves go on)
"Wait, I can't zip up my coat with my gloves on." (gloves come off)
"Mommy, the zipper to my coat is stuck." (coat zipped)
"Oops, that's the wrong hand for this glove." (gloves back on)
"Mommy, where's my hat."
"No, not that hat, my other hat." (dig in the closet)
"Mommy, I can't get my hat on with my gloves on. Can you help me?" (hat finally on)
Already it's been a 5-minute process, and we haven't even begun the painfully slow march to the car that my son performs on cold mornings. ("It's too cold to walk fast.")
And then we run into further problems like the difficulty of getting in a car seat with a bulky coat on and buckling seat belts while wearing gloves.
So not only do I have to wake up in the dark on winter mornings, I have to wake up even earlier than during warmer months to account for the exceedingly time-consuming process of getting bundled up and getting out the door.
You know what I need? One of those machines on "The Jetsons" that dresses you while you're standing there. I'm not all that demanding. We can handle our regular clothes. I really just want one for outerwear. Is that so much to ask?
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