Archive for the ‘conversation’ Tag
March 04 2010
“Mommy, what’s a soul?”
Jedi is at that tender age where his brain is an absorbent sponge, greedily soaking up every morsel of knowledge it can. What’s scary about this is that the breadth of the information he’s storing comes straight from me, as I’m his preferred go-to person. Though when he must turn to his father, the experience doesn’t fare much better. This responsibility is not taken lightly. I want to make sure I’m answering his questions honestly and correctly to the best of my limited ability. Which means I can’t just make this stuff up.
At 6 years old, most of what he asks is fairly simple. Some, however, hinder me perplexed.
Then, there are those questions that leave me staring slackjawed at the wall, hoping he’ll get distracted by something else and forget it altogether.
“Um, what?”
“What’s a soul?”
“Well… it’s… uh… it’s kind of who you are.”
His eyes began to squint in confusion. I didn’t blame him, I was about to confuse myself.
“You know, it’s… well, like your spirit.”
“Oh… Mommy? What’s a spirit?”
Shit, kid. “Why don’t we just Google it?”
February 10 2010
My kids don’t seem to be the kind to form cute names for things. Sadly, a bottle is always a bottle. A book has always been a book. A fork could easily be misconstrued as something else, but you’d just be twisting vowels around. I mean, Abby refers to the cat as her brother, but I’ve yet to decide if that’s charming or confused. As well, they also rarely mispronounce. So when it happens, however briefly, I get a little amused.
Since I needed to wash dishes, I gave the boys a choice between Barney or the Fresh Beat Band. The fact that they actually chose Barney should tell you all you need to know about the appeal of the Fresh Beat Band.
As I was scrubbing last night’s dinner off a pan, Jedi comes in to inform me of Barney’s make-believe itinerary for the day.
“He’s gonna use his imagination!”, he buoyantly chirps. “To go to Hawalle!”
“Go where?”, I asked just in case I had soap bubbles in my ears.
Excitedly, he repeats, “Hawalle!”
This is why children make life a little bit brighter without even trying. In the midst of grease and stuck-on noodles, it made me smile. I almost hated to correct him.
“You mean Hawaii?”
“Oh, yeah, Hawaii! He’s gonna go there!” I don’t know, though, Hawalle sounds nice, too. Although I just Googled it and it appears to be a city in Kuwait. Which would make for a much different episode of Barney.
December 15 2009
Today is my mom’s 64th birthday. In celebration, I thought I would share a phone conversation we recently had. Because you never know quite what you’re going to get when talking with my mom. Also, this is the reason why I don’t tell my family about my website.
In a hushed tone, my mother begins, “I think your brother’s shaved.”
Now, I know she’s not talking about his face, because he shaves that every day. So at this point, I’m wondering whether I really want to further this discussion. I take a cautious step forward. “What?”
Still almost whispering, she continues, “Your brother. I think he had his back and chest shaved.”
Since it could be worse, and I’m slightly amused at her reaction, “Did he have a lot of hair on his back?”
“He had hair everywhere. Then he took off his shirt the other day and it’s all gone! I must be getting old, because it shocked me! Doesn’t that shock you?”
“Not really. Back hair probably should be shaved.”
She concedes, “I guess so. I’ve just never known anyone to shave like that before.”
Yes, Mom, you are getting old. And I now know more about my brother’s body hair than I ever wanted to.
She then told me that I couldn’t tell ANYONE. She made me swear. As if my brother’s newly shorn back is a matter of national security. That’s fine, Mom, I won’t tell ANYONE. I’ll just tell the ENTIRE INTERNET. Happy Birthday!
December 11 2009
I heard him in the hallway, wondering where I went. If Jedi has a question, I’m the person he seeks. I was idly drying off after a shower, however, so he had to settle for J. Why he decided to respect my privacy for once is beyond me.
“Ok, um, Daddy? What does ‘radioactive’ mean?”
He should have just referred to the Incredible Hulk right here and been done with it. I mean, he glows green! How much more radioactive can you get? Instead, J fumbled for a few seconds, trying to find his own definition that a 6 year old could understand. I guess he couldn’t think of one, because he replied, “Um… uh… radioactive waves.”
“What are radioactive waves?”
“Umm… hmm…. it’s like… like a nuclear bomb.”
Even from the bathroom, I could see the next challenge coming from a mile away. As Jedi asked, I mouthed the words with him in unison. “What’s a nuclear bomb?”
Being the parent of a young child is a constant pop quiz, teetering on the brink of my mediocre education. Some days you pass, some days you fail, and some days your head is clogged and you wish you could call in sick. For now, I hold a slipping grasp on the answer key. Stories of superheroes aren’t going to suffice forever, though, but I’ll gladly take it while I can.
December 02 2009
Barely the start of the Christmas season and the feel-good movies are already airing in full swing. Just this week alone we’ve watched Santa Buddies, Jingle All The Way, Elf, more elves, and How the Grinch Stole Christmas, as well as The Santa Clause 1 and 2. I have Christmas spirit seeping from my pores.
The Santa Clause was especially perplexing for Jedi, who likes to have an explanation for life’s every quandary. As Tim Allen began to transform into the jolly bearded man in red, Jedi looked at me with wide eyes and asked “but why did he get to turn into Santa?”.
Since I didn’t want to ruin the holiday spirit by saying that the original Santa fell off his roof and died, I made up a quick tale about how he was always meant to be Santa, he just had to wait for the right time to show his true self.
“So he’s been disguised as a human?”, Jedi pondered, curiously.
“Santa’s always been human”, I replied, stifling a smile.
“And the elves?”, he wondered.
“They’re human, too”, I answered. “Just little.”
Maybe this is why he has screamed bloody murder whenever we’ve tried to sit him on a mall Santa’s lap in the past; he’s had it in his head that Father Christmas is some kind of alien. A rosy-cheeked alien who carries a big bag of toys, encouraged along by his pointy-eared, curly-toed helpers. I can understand how that might appear terrifying.
I'm Crystal. A 30-something mom to 3 young kids living in the Midwest USA. When I'm not chasing my children, I'm a freelance writer and web designer. I like to tell stories from our days and share what we enjoy...
