Nothing better to do…

Four-year-old T says to me: If I was a woman then I’d have the kind of breasts that you have. But I’m gonna be a MAN, so I’ve got man nipples.

The boys are singing the perennial childhood favorite “The ants go marching.” Since they don’t know it well, they’re making up rhymes for each number; it’s interesting to see which turn out similar to the version I annoyed my parents with so many years ago. And then there’s this one, courtesy of the 8-year-old:
“The ants go marching twelve by twelve, the little one stops to go to hell, and they all go marching….”

T: Tara.
(yes, he calls me by my first name; he’s done so for almost a year now. I’m not sure why, but it amuses me.)
Me: Yes?
T: I don’t know if when I grow up I’ll be able to love just one woman.
Me: Oh? You think you might love a man instead?
T looks at me like I’m absolutely crazy and have no idea what I’m talking about: Men aren’t any good! They only have seeds.
Me: Ah, and you’d need a woman who has eggs, so you can have babies?
T: Yeah.

So we’re talking with T this morning, and he’s challenging us to come up with words that start with certain letters.  We start with “S”, and come up with silly and synchronicity and sarcasm and such.  (My husband’s participating in this, if you can’t tell.)  Then he says “Zebra”, and I say “That’s not an “s”, that’s a “z”.”  My husband and I then start feebly coming up with Z words — zoo, zoological, zoology, uh, uh, uh.  Then T says “Poop.”  “That’s not a Z,” I say, “Poop is a ‘P’.”

T looks at me like I’m an idiot.  “Poop isn’t pee!  Poop is food!  Pee is water!”

When your child asks for a bowl in which to throw up, NO MATTER HOW HEALTHY S/HE MAY LOOK OR SOUND, GET THE DAMN BOWL.

He asked for food, about half an hour after vehemently rejecting his lovingly-prepared lunch. I told him he’d need to wait until I took a break, and he asked why, and I told him I wanted him to suffer. (It’s my generic “you already know the answer” answer. They know better. Trust me. We just have warped senses of humor around here.)

T says: You DON’T. And if you do, I’ll take over New Mexico.

There’s a threat for you!

T informs me: I’m going to think up a way to go snow-diving. Put skis on your shoes, and then you can lay down on your shoes and go diving down the mountain. Wouldn’t that be silly? It’s only going to be dangerous; we’d need to wear a helmet.
Me, a bit later, after he tells me he and N are going to go skydiving when he’s 18 and “N will be strapped to me!”: I won’t let you do that.
T: NO! When I’m 18 I’ll do that!

Somehow 18 is the magic age at which I will no longer have any control. Who knew? (Actually, from what I hear about the teenage years, I’ll be lucky to have any control long before then, but hey…)

My husband’s comment: “forget sports like basketball and baseball. T is going to snowboard, ski, skateboard and mountain bike.” I fear that he’s right….

Okay, maybe not. But T’s so accustomed to telling people to “Drive safely” when they’re heading out, that he decided there had to be an analogue for when he’s leaving and they’re staying. So he now wishes people a hearty “Live safely!” as he’s heading out the door.

He just went out to play in the backyard, with “live safely” ringing behind as he shut the sliding door. When he’s not driving me absolutely nuts, as when he woke up at 4 am and didn’t go back to sleep this morning, he’s completely adorable and very, very funny.

T: Mama, the only sweet thing I like is eggnog, ice cream, dried bananas, dried apples, dried peaches, and granola. Mama, those are the only sweet things I like.
Me: What about candy?
T: I also like candy. And popsicles.
Me: What about cakes?
T: Yeah. And I also — Mama, you know what Grandma and Grandpa packed for my present? A harp!

(nb: the present was from last Christmas; why it came to mind at this particular moment I have absolutely no idea.)

4-y-o T:  You’re not as brave as Papa.

Me:  I’m not?

T: No.  You don’t take pictures.

Me:  I take pictures!

T:  But you don’t take as many.

(who knew photography required bravery?)

7-y-o N joins in:  ARE you brave, Mama?

Me: yes.

N:  What brave things have you done in your life?

Me:  I had children.  That’s about as brave as it gets.

N:  That’s not brave.  Brave is like rescuing people from a burning building.  What have you done that’s BRAVE?

Me:  I caught a rattlesnake.

N: Saving people from burning buildings and trapping rattlesnakes are the most important things in the world.