My friend David, part II

Sam: "Last time, my friend David took a drink of toilet water."

Me: "That's terrible."

Sam: "It is. Then he choked."

My friend David

Sam has this terribly unfortunate friend, David, to whom the most tragic things happen.

David gets eaten by animals.

David falls off the chair.

David hurts himself on the sidewalk.

"One time my friend David got bited by a crocodile," Sam said last night.

The thing is, Sam doesn't have any friends named David. Grandpa's name is David, but he made it clear these tales are not about grandpa. I can only guess who he is imagining and what will happen next to that poor boy.

"How is your friend David today," I asked.

"My friend David did not get eaten by any crocodiles or any tigers or any lions," he replied.

"So is he having a good day?" I asked.

"Yes," said Sam. "Someday he's going to get in trouble by crocodiles. They're going to be wrestling him."

It's time to start praying now, David. 

First comes hugs

I knelt by Sam the other morning and gave him a couple tight hugs.

Getting up, I said "Now let's go brush your teeth. Come with me."

I walked a few steps toward the bathroom, but he didn't budge. 

"Come on," I said.

"But, but, mo-om," he said in a little broken voice. His face was twisted with the beginning of a wail.  "After hugs comes kisses."

That was a really sweet moment!

Songs of his people

I never know what I'm going to hear around here. A young, imaginative mind paired with a muddled comprehension of the world yields odd results. As in:

"All mish misha ride togethaaa. All mish misha ride togethaaa!" - as of yet unintified tune and origin

"We did not remember where we had gone. Oh where, oh where can the baby be?" - to the tune of "Where oh where has my little dog gone?"

"God is watching! God is watching!" - fairly accurate rendition of "From a Distance"

"Bang all day ahh Sunday niiiight!" - from the NFL theme "Waiting all day for Sunday night"

"App along ah if you feel... App along ah if you feel!" - from Pharrell's "Happy"

For some reason, I worried I was going to have to teach my child to have an imagination and play pretend - how ridiculous. It looks like that's hard-wired in to childhood. Creativity (and sound) oozes out of Sam as soon as his feet hit the floor in the morning. Oddly, it's harder to smile about than I expected. The noise is so constant and so immediate! It seems he is never quiet. I am usually quiet, so it can be quite grating for me. Sometimes I Just. Don't. Want. To. Hear. Noise.

Thankfully, I am pretty good at yoga breathing. And he's very cute when he sleeps. These things restore my soul.

Sorry, Daniel Tiger

I overheard Sam yelling at Daniel Tiger the other day:

"No, I am not your friend! I am not!"

Perhaps it's not such a beautiful day in the neighborhood after all.

Hold on... Nothing.

"I like myself," Sam said.

"You like yourself?" I asked.

"Mm-hmm," he said.

"I LOVE yourself," I said.

"I'm talking to myself," he said. "Hold on. I'm talking to myself. Hold on. Um. Nothing."

Say Something

Some of the most beautiful songs are so, so sad. And sometimes I play them just because they are so sad. I'm not sad, but there are times when a sad song feels just right.

"Say Something" by Great Big World is one of those heart-wrenching songs, and I get lost in it. It makes me cry, which my son has seen happen. Whenever he hears any part of the song, he says "This is a very sad song."

Today "All of Me" by John Legend was playing and Sam said "This is a sad song." I said it was not - it is a love song. 

"Say everything I'm giving up on you," Sam said. "That is a very sad song. It is playing when you cry."

The kid has an astounding memory. He's also very interested in feelings.

And don't worry. Sometimes I play Frank Mills' "The Happy Song" on repeat. Life has room for both.

This one time...

One time, while I was working in the kitchen, sister said "Ye tap dap." I looked over at her and replied "Ye tap dap."

She paused. She thought. She frowned. Then she began to cry her tiny heart out! Poor baby. I was only agreeing with her, but apparently I should not have.

Another time, I was laying on the couch under a blanket. Sam walked up. "There's room here," he said softly, patting a spot in front of my tummy. "There's room for a kid to lay." 

Heart pangs.

Then there was the monologue the other day while I was driving.

"Sister nurses from your boobies," he said. "She sure does nurse from your boobies. I have boobies. But my boobies are little. Yours are so biiiiiiiig. Your boobies are SOO BIG! Does daddy have boobies?"

I'm thankful he couldn't see my face, because it was contorted with strangled laughter.

How about it!

Sam: "How about you draw your name - uh - Carol! With a W and a R and a S and - uh - with a 4 and a 5!"

Trauma in the coffee aisle

Oh dear. Today was disastrous.

It started poorly, with Steve having to get up early to pick up a cat from the vet. "Sam's up," he told me, while I blinked at him from bed. "But he's watching cartoons. He's ok."

I was so tired, my face hurt. I stayed in bed 20 minutes longer until sister poked and guilted me awake. She loves waking up next to me and is content to smack and bang me even if I don't open my eyes. She's ready with a smile whenever I do.

I brought sister downstairs and ground beans to make coffee - surely the only way I going to survive. Then I turned the grinder upside down to send the fresh grinds into the measuring cup. The cup and the coffee grinds dropped to the floor instead, spreading fragrant darkness on the tile with a rippling effect. The cup also cracked beyond repair.

There was just a bit left in the cup where it lay on the floor, and I not too proudly scooped up some of the coffee from any pile more than four coffee grounds high to brew enough for two cups of coffee. Then I determined we'd go to Trader Joe's today to buy more coffee (and grind it there, due to obvious necessity).

We made it to TJ's a few hours later. I put sister in her car seat in the bottom of the shopping cart, filling the entire basket. With no room for Sam in the cart, he climbed on and off the front - standing on the lower shelf beneath the basket - as we strolled through the store. I stacked groceries on sister. Yogurt. Soup. Crackers. Greeting cards. When we got to the coffee aisle, I instructed Sam to stand behind me by the cart. He fidgeted and wiggled and I turned my back to grind the coffee. After pouring my beans in and pressing start, I heard a terrible crash. I spun around.

My eyes could not comprehend what I saw. There was my son, trapped under the red shopping cart. The cart was laying on its side, my baby still in it. Contents had fallen out. A shriek began escaping from my son's mouth. I screamed. Before I could figure out that it was time to let go of the coffee canister, a crew of Trader Joe's employees surrounded us.

They righted my shopping cart, lifting it off Sam. I picked up the wailing boy and one of them checked on sister, who had not batted an eye. Another picked up my cracked yogurt container and said "I'm going to need a new yogurt." He disappeared. A third woman said "Can I get you anything? Can I bring him some suckers?" She returned with two suckers - "One for each hand," she said. By this point, I'd moved past shock into tears. A fourth TJ's employee brought a bottle of cold water for the still-sobbing Sam and returned again with a soft cloth to dry my tears. The lady who'd checked on sister gave me a hug. Water boy offered to finish the shopping for me - as if I could even remember what I was there for in the first place.

Then I remembered. Coffee. I looked at the grinder, which was still grinding away. A pile of freshly ground coffee peaked in a mountain over my coffee can, spilling each way. I noticed the off button. Right under the start button. Whatever. 

Wishing we were invisible, we limped around the store a bit longer, until our tears were dried and we'd bought enough self-indulgent treats to feel a bit better. We won't go back for as long as possible. The Trader Joe's crew was so gentle with us - perhaps that is what made it so hard to stop crying. We are humbled, thankful, and touched. And we are spooked. And we will never allow our young ones to ride on the front of the cart again.

Maybe our best grocery shopping is done online.

Let me in on the secret

Months ago, when Sam's talking skills were less refined, he would say something was "on a beekah". Or "ana beekah". I never had any idea what it was but I was sure I'd figure it out someday.

I have not.

I know that Sam wants to "see the flickering lights" (see the fitking lights) and "eat vanilla ice cream" (eat manila ice cream)... And there's almost nothing he says that I can't quickly figure out.

Except on a beekah.

I've launched a campaign. I ask him, "Hey, is dog on a beekah?" No, he says. "Are we having on a beekah for lunch?" No, he says. "Are you actually saying 'on a police car'?" No, he says. 

"No!" he finally exclaims in wise annoyance. "Nothing is on a beekah! Nothing is never on a beekah!"

That's what I thought. Except. It's not at all what I thought. Ugh, whatever.

Can you tell me about it?

The same thing, five times in a row.

"Can you tell me about it?"

So I repeat the story about the bell tower at the church and how it plays the clock song every hour, even though we can't see a clock on the tower. Then I tell him again. And again. I can never say it the same way twice, but maybe he likes the variety.

When he tells me things, there are usually so many words tumbling out his mouth at once that I only understand half of them, but I do get the point.

Here's a conversation we had this week:

I'd left one potato chip on my lunch plate and went upstairs to change sister's diaper. When I came down, Sam were standing uncomfortably by my chair.

"I ate you's last chip," he said. "I was hungry and I ate you's last chip."

I laughed. "That's ok," I said. "Would you like some more cream cheese on crackers?" I'd given him a small plate of crackers smeared with cream cheese to eat while I showered.

"Well," he said. "Are you going to shower again?"

Hilarious!

I couldn't make it up if I tried

You say your name is Tappin. And that you're from Tappindor.

Ode to a Jeep

You love Jeeps.

You LOVE them.

In the car, you are always on the lookout for a Jeep to go by. You announce it like this: "I just saw a red Jeep! It had a spare tire and black wheels and its spare tire was not covered!"

On a walk, you make us stop and touch any parked Jeep we find. "I love this Jeep!" you'll say. "It's the nicest Jeep I ever saw! Look how big its wheels are."

You have a small but growing collection of Jeep vehicles (Hot Wheels and such). Red seems to be your favorite color but you are thrilled with any Jeep at all. 

We've talked about saving up enough money to buy you a Jeep when you turn 16 or 18. Unless we win the lottery, it's not going to happen, love. By then you'd probably be too cool for a Jeep anyway. You'd want a Dodge Charger or a Ford Mustang and you'd think your parents just can't keep up with what's cool.

Will you ever feel that way?

I can guarantee it. ;)

One day, though, I hope you'll realize that there's no good use for "cool" and a whole lot of use for smart decisions and all those sensible things your parents have come to understand.

Until then, Jeep on, my love.

Cleverness in abundance

Sam is very smart. He understands and retains new things after just one explanation. Ah, the spritely maneuverings of a young brain.

He is generous, too. He likes to share his treats with me even if it means giving up half of something he really likes - like a cookie. It's heartwarming. I try to accept, because it makes him happy.

Today my little parrot told me:

"I am just a little sick. It's ok to be sick sometimes. When you are sick, you have a cold. When you are better, you are not sick."

(He is getting over a nasty run of croup. Poor guy still has a congested cough and a lot of snot.)

And this one, while playing together with his Matchbox cars:
"I am going to go get you another car. It's going to be my favorite color. It's going to be... Blue. Bye, Momma. Have a nice week."

We also had this conversation as I was making breakfast:

Me: Do you want me to sing you a song?
Sam: No, I do not.
Me: Why? Are you trying to hurt my feelings?
Sam: I am trying to hurt your feelings.

Perhaps less than heartwarming. But very funny.

Also very quotable

Sam: I'm going to make you disappear! Dis-a-dis!
Mom: I'm gone now! When can I come back?
Sam: In twenty-two years.
Mom: Twenty-two years is a long time! You'll probably be done with college by then! Are you going to go to college?
Sam: Yes. And I am going to Costco.


Sam: Momma, my ears are slowing me down.
Mom: I don't understand that.

Sam: I love you, Momma. You smell like macaroni.