A nooth gwush on my tooth bwush

Evan has conquered the "l!" No longer do we hear "wego" instead of "lego" or "wike" instead of "like" or "heh-wo" instead of "hello." Nope. He is the master of the "l."

The "r?" Not quite.

Red is "wed." "Tired" is "ti-uwd." "Crazy" is "cwazy." And so on.

So the other day I had a bit of a jolt when he said to me, with no prior warning, "There's a wocket in my pocket."

Ahem. My first thought was, honestly, "That, dear Evan, is too much information."

Turns out he was innocently mentioning the Dr. Seuss book. Really, I wish he'd give me a little context before he brings up things like that.

Can I just suspend his development now?

Jensen drew this picture of me this weekend. (And, yes, I did ask his permission to use it on my blog. I did not tell him what I was going to write about it. Whatever.)




I know, I know. There are a couple of problems with his rendering of moi. First: I have no hair. Second: what's going on with my nose? But those things pale in comparison with the real problem. Let's zoom in a bit:

Me: "Um, what's on my tummy?

Jensen: (all sly, wink, wink) "You know...."

Me: "Uh..." (I'm in a total panic, wondering if I'm pregnant again and my seven-year-old knows before I do. Once I decide that this is definitely not the case, I continue my query.)

Me: "No, I guess I really don't know what that is."

Jensen: (still sly, kind of pointing to his chest) "What do girls have that boys don't?"

Me: "..."

So tell me: what's more troubling? The fact that my kid drew my boobs, or the fact that they're on my abdomen? God, the truth hurts.

Where the sun don't shine

This exchange took place a couple of weeks ago. Evan is proving to be quite the perceptive child:

Evan: Mommy, you know it's dark inside people's bottoms.
Me: Well. Yes, I suppose it is.
Evan: Why?

Oh, man. He makes it too easy.

Quit copying me!

The little boys and I stand at the front door every morning to see Jensen off to the bus stop. He has made it very clear that we are not to walk to the bus stop with him. Nor are we to display any sort of affection outside the confines of our home. So we must be content with hollering un-embarrassing things at him.

Yesterday (and note how I artfully violate the no-public-display-of-affection mandate):
Me: "Good-bye Jensen! Have a wonderful day!!!"
Evan:" Good-bye Jensen! Have a wonderful day!!!"
Me: "Your shoelace is untied!"
Evan: "Your shoelace is untied!"
Me: "We love you sweetheart!"
Evan: "We love you sweetheart!"
Evan: [peevishly] "Mommy, will you quit copying everything I say?"
Me: "Good point, Evan."

No more tomorrows

The following conversation was a test. I failed. Miserably. Honestly, I don't know why I bothered answering, because I had failed before I even started.


Anyway, there I was, innocently changing the baby's diaper. Minding my own business. Then Evan strolls into the room, and...

Evan: "Mommy, is it tomorrow?" [He has an agenda. I can already tell.]

Me: "No, it's today." [Followed by an immediate sinking feeling in my stomach.]

Evan: "But yesterday you said that tomorrow it would be today. You did. You said that. So is it tomorrow?"

Me: "Um. Yes?"

Evan: "Well, is it? 'Cause you just told me it's today. So is it today or tomorrow?!"

Me: dead silence


I learned two things from this exchange. A) I can't win. B) I will never again use the terms "today," "tomorrow," or "yesterday." From now on, all days will be referred to by their calendar names. So: today is Wednesday (I think...). Tomorrow is Thursday (if today is, indeed, Wednesday). Period. (This is impossible. I've already broken my promise. Three times. And I'm not even out of this paragraph. Please refer back to point A.)

And now I need another quart or so of coffee to help me figure out if today is, well... today.

In which we ponder ursine elimination

Our drive to preschool takes us along a winding, wooded road. It's actually nice to be able to see it every day. Never mind the fact that it's a terrifying drive in a minivan. Still beautiful. Anyway. I guess it inspired this conversation on Wednesday.

Evan: Mommy, do bears live in the woods?
Me: Well, yes.
[Thoughtful pause.]
Evan: But do they poop in the woods?

And we all know the answer to that question, don't we?

Seemingly satisfied with the outcome of his questioning, Evan then turned his thoughts to other baffling issues. Such as the Pope's funny hat, perhaps?

Is this troubling?

This conversation really happened yesterday in my kitchen.

It's a little, um, sensitive. I'll handle it with as much tact as possible.

So. Let's just jump right in, then. Jensen rarely has questions about the proverbial facts of life-- he is 96% un-curious about such matters. But questions do surface now and then. Like yesterday.

The gist of the whole thing was that he was unclear about what "sex" meant. Okay. I can handle this. I think I answered pretty age-appropriately and he seemed okay with the information.

Then he said: "Wow, I wouldn't want to do that with a box of Wheat Thins."

Me: "..."

Me again: "Hmmmm. What made you think of that?" At least that's what I think I said. I'm a little unclear, actually, because something in my brain exploded thinking about my 7-year old and snack crackers and intimacy in one sentence.

Him: "Well. I really love Wheat Thins. But I wouldn't want to do that with them."

Me: "No.... No, I suppose not."

And then he was off chattering about the relative merits of different kinds of crackers and that was basically the end of the discussion.

I will never, ever be able to look a box of Wheat Thins in the eye again.