Kids say the darndest things, don’t they? Dylan’s “Six Years Ago I Was Dead” bit comes to mind right away. One of my favorite lines from Riley is, “I love you all the way to Costco and back.”
Kids also ask a lot of questions. I think we can all agree on this. Here’s one from the car on the way home from the park. We were talking about when the boys were in my belly (this comes up a lot) when Dylan asked, “How did I get in your belly?”
And there it was. The big one. The question that, if answered truthfully, would end with a premature, confusing, and awkward conversation with way too much information at too young of an age about sex. The question that, if answered falsely, would result in a child who thinks babies are made as a result of holding hands, touching heads (remember the Coneheads?!), or a really good knock-knock joke. After a long and excruciating silence, my response was, “That’s an excellent question. Would you like some Pirate’s Booty?”
Pause. Acknowledge. Redirect. (Every so often, my deer-in-the-headlights parenting works.)
Here’s another one I think we can all agree on (and roll our eyes at and hide in a closet from and drink to). Kids are prone to tattling. Now there’s an understatement! The frequency, originality, and drama of tattling in my house is un-freakin’-believable. If it weren’t so annoying, it would be hilarious. The other day, while tattling on Riley for not sharing one of roughly seven thousand Star Wars toys, Dylan said, “My heart is breaking. Riley has broken my heart into hundreds of tiny pieces.” Good grief.
And here’s a new one (for me). I’ve recently noticed that kids like to show off in front of their friends. You know, “The tooth fairy gave me this much money,” or, “I have all the Batman movies,” etc. Unfortunately, this bragging occasionally exposes us parents as the Crackpot/Throw Spaghetti Against The Wall To See What Sticks/We Have No Idea What We’re Doing But We’ve Kept Them Alive This Long imposters that we really are.
Like the other day in the car (we’re in the car a lot) with Dylan, Riley, and one of Dylan’s friends from school. Out of nowhere, Dylan boasted to his buddy, “I get to sit in the front seat with Daddy.” Seriously? I quickly interjected, “Just once or twice…in your booster seat…in the neighborhood.” Then Dylan said, “No, Mommy, remember the time I got to ride in the front seat home from Grandma and Grandpa’s house. We drove on the highway that time. Near the airport.” Ugh. True (and not recommended by the Insurance Institute of Highway Safety) story.
And the hits just kept coming. Next, Riley said, “Yeah, and I get to drink Daddy’s beer!” OMG. Crap. Also true. Also not recommended. Illegal, actually. (For the record, Daddy got in a hell of a lot of trouble when I found out about the beer tasting.)
There I was driving this nice boy back to his house where he was probably going to tell his Mama about all of the irresponsible things I allow my kids to do. All I could think of was the scene in Sweet Home Alabama when Reese Witherspoon’s character says to her old high school friend who’s in a bar with her baby, “Look at you. You have a baby. In a bar.” (Bugger. I’ve done that, too.)
Many, many moons ago I worked in public relations, and the number one rule in a PR crisis is to stay ahead of the story. Therefore, in the interest of full disclosure and because my kids are inevitably going to rat me out again, there are three streets that we use to enter our neighborhood and at the first stop sign on each one, I let the boys unbuckle their seatbelts.
I am sooooo glad I got that off my chest.
Anything you want to unload? The comments section is all yours.
The Runaway Mama by Jen Gregory 