What else is there really?

As we were leaving music class last Saturday, Nathan spotted a dandelion full of fluff, just waiting to be wished upon. He yanked it out of the ground, thought for a moment, took a deep breath, and blew that weed to smithereens. He answered my expectant look, "I wished for love."

Negotiator

Some months ago Nathan regurgitated some version of the perils of watching too much television, "Too much TV makes your brain go away", he informed us. Mind you the child loves television and asks for it at every lull in the day's events. Not only at every lull, but every afternoon when he is tuckered out from a long day, he must watch "100" of his favorite shows. Yesterday, in the midst of a tantrum he even asked to watch tv to help calm himself down. What an operator.

Despite the fact that certain members of the family don't approve of the programming offered by PBS and the Noggin channels--too much brainwashing--we do allow it on a regular basis, maybe too regular a basis even. A little brainwashing on the virtues of recycling and kindness is well worth saving my own sanity.

Today after it was time to turn off the tv, he decided to beg, whine and cry for more, (I soooo get how parents cave under the pressure and annoyance of the never ending whine) he brought out a new argument, "But Mommy, I have too much brains, so I have to watch more tv." Nice try kid.

It's Not the Stork

I have been given no reprieve from the discussions of baby making. Suffice it to say that my child is not interested in the city or hospital he was born in when he asks "Where did I come from?" I have been a little shocked at some of the opinions shared when I've asked others how they have handled questions of bird and bee. One person with several kids insisted, adamantly even, that it is best to tell children a story about a large, baby delivering bird. Seriously. Another friend reminded me to make the distinction about the parties being grown up and married. She would be one having a more clear understanding of my baby loving and scientific son.

The best advice of course is to simply answer a child's questions as they come up. Don't offer more than what they are asking and they will only continue to ask what they are ready to hear. Okay, makes sense. Or so I thought. I actually do know my son relatively well and have had very long question and answer sessions about such things as how electricity flows through power lines, the origin of the foods on his plate, and the detailed operation of a motor vehicle. Why I thought I would be able to have this conversation in 22 seconds or less, is really beyond me.

I have checked out many books from the library and also searched on line for just the right presentation for my inquisitive son. I had yet to pre-screen the books and had to come up with some answers fast so I resorted to Google. I was directed to the Mayo Clinic's website where they offered a bit about babies being created from a "very special hug" between a mommy and a daddy. I thought this might be the perfect response. Pretty real with no gory details, no experiments that needed to be carried out et cetera. Nathan asked the question again not ten minutes after I read this suggestion so I decided to give it a try. I regurgitated it verbatim, my words carried with the tone of a gentle breeze I was so confident. That feeling lasted all of about a nanosecond, at which time Nathan looked at me like I was the idiot I am and said "But...How?" The moment of truth was upon me. I joined him at at his little table in the kitchen, elbows on knees, looked at him intently and said, "A baby is made from a very special part from a man and a very special part from a woman. Those special parts come together and they grow and grow in the womb until they make a baby." As I said this, I motioned absently with each of my index fingers and then brought them together signifying the joining of the special cells to create a zygote. By the time I finished my sentence and brought my fingers together, his eyes lit up, the corners of his lips crept into a smile and he exclaimed "I wanna do that!" Yes indeed.

Ever since, the conversation is easier, a good book is on the shelf, special parts have been named properly. I am hoping we are good for awhile. These posts are all about preserving memories for our little family, so I can not close without mentioning another related conversation that is particularly relevant to us.

"Mommy?"

"Yeah?"

"So, Mommy, what if I find someone I really love, and then get married, then 'cide to have a baby, and then, what if I can't?"

He is a gift I tell you.

"Well, then there are other options," I said. "One option might be that you get help from a doctor to have a baby, just like Daddy and I had help to have you."

"Oh, okay."

And then, there was the photo shoot. Though we have gotten down to real terms on a lot of things, my initial explanation combined with the joining of pointed index fingers has made a lasting impression it might seem. Last weekend Nathan was tooling around the house taking pictures of everyone and everything. Soon enough he was commanding us around like we were contestants on America's Top Model or the like and motioned me in the direction of Shaun with the wave of a hand, "Mommy, go sit next to Daddy!" Another snap happy person might ask his subjects to "Smile!" or perhaps the traditional "Say Cheese!" But no, he jumped up and down and happily directed us to "Pretend like you're making a baby! Smile, put your fingers together and pretend like you are making a baby!"

Abracadabra

Nathan has started the daunting task of figuring out what he'd like to do with the rest of his life, and none too soon I might add, he is four years old for god's sake.

No shock, that most important, and first on his list when he reaches adulthood, (you know, at ten years old), is marriage and babies. Only then, can he settle into some type of work that pleases him. Initially, he considered being a policeman; next I heard doctor; and most recently, he changed his mind from whence I never knew it flit. Indeed, he has now informed me not once, but twice, that he no longer wants to go to magic school. Why, why would any boy of four years change his mind about the wonder and excitement of a career in magic? His unsolicited explanation was, because he may learn to make me disappear and never be able to get me back.

He's a heartbreaker this one. I'm pretty sure that sentiment won't last beyond next week, but I intend to enjoy it while I can.

In case you were wondering...

"We can't kill our pets and make them into boots ya know."


(This was a residual comment a few days after visiting the reptile house at the zoo.)Slightly awkward that this post follows the one remembering Jasper who we lost in December 07. I better talk to Nathan about the sequence of his comments, doesn't he know I'm recording some of this stuff?!?!)

Remembering Jasper

Nathan: "Is Jasper in Heaven?"

Mommy: "Yes, honey."

Nathan: "What do you do in Heaven?"

Mommy: "Well, I think you do all of your favorite things."

Nathan: "I think you do nothing in Heaven cause you're died."

Details, details...

"Mommy? But how did I get OUT of your tummy?"

This just gets better and better. I wonder if there is some toddler reality show in production about how to mess with uptight parents, so I try to take it in stride and nonchalantly reply, "Through the birth canal".

Internally, I am screaming "I don't want to deal with this right now, I'm not ready!"

Yeah, whatev, apparently, he is ready, so pull it together Momma.

Do Unto Others

Mommy: "What is it called when we treat someone the way we want to be treated?"

Nathan: "The Golden Rule."

Mommy: "Would you like it if I were kicking you?"

Nathan: "No, but it doesn't hurt me when I kick you."

Learning Lessons--in your face

We all have lessons to learn in life and one that Shaun sometimes has a tough time with is admitting when he might, possibly, could be...wrong. This is likely my own incorrect perception; afterall, years ago he humbly informed me that he would be happy to admit he was wrong, just as soon as he was. Seriously. Thank goodness he and I alike have lightened up on that whole thing, though my mouth is still agape in disbelief that he ever said it; mostly, I find it pretty humorous these days.

The routine in our home in the evening is that I make dinner while Nathan either helps me, plays, or, if he is lucky, watches television--he loves television. Until now, I have been fortunate enough not to know thoroughly those persons that truly don't hear you when you call to them while they watch, uh, pretty much, anything on tv. Interesting that it bewilders me more than frustrates me, making it so much easier to simply turn the thing off when he doesn't respond.

After dinner Shaun does the dishes and turns on the dishwasher. Often, Nathan wants to help with this activity as well. On this particular evening, Nathan decided to get out the dish detergent and found alongside it, a sample product that had been in that cupboard for some time. He and I had had the conversation more than once about what the product was, our need for it (or lack thereof) and where it was to be deposited in the dishwasher, et cetera. As Nathan went about the process of getting this product out and then attempting to put it in the dishwasher appropriately, Shaun was telling him all the while that we didn't need anymore soap, that that is not where we put it in the machine, etc, etc...

Shaun and I try to be respectful and not contradict one another to Nathan and generally we do pretty well; on this night I found it difficult to get a word in edgewise. When I did find an opening, I gently suggested to Shaun that he might want to look more closely at the product and what Nathan was trying to do with it before he continued to tell him what he was doing was incorrect. Upon doing so, Shaun acknowledged his error out loud, apologized and we all went about finishing up the evening kitchen clean up. In his need to sum things up, Nathan offered the familiar pretense: "I know what the problem is Daddy," and the conclusion, "You're just not really smart."

There was genuine laughter and Shaun said what we were both thinking, "You're doing wonders for my ability to admit I'm wrong, kid!"

The lessons served up by innocent four year olds are so much sweeter and easier to swallow, aren't they? I hope the little one is learning half the lessons I am.