A Two-fer

William has reached an important rite of passage in every young man's life.  Yes, an obsession with Legos.  He loves them.  He doesn't exactly know how to put them together on his own *cough* enabling parents who do it for him *cough* but he loves them.

Every time we go to Target, we have to go look at the Lego section.  And, no.  He does not get to purchase a set even close to every time.  He is satisfied with looking and putting them on the imaginary and never-ending "birthday list" or "Christmas list."  It's amazing how that works, by the way.

Can you buy this for me?

No.  Not today.

Can you get it for me for my birthday?

We'll put it on the list.

(Excitedly) Thanks, Mom! (I will be so sad when this ploy no longer works).

So, this past weekend my in-laws had the boys spend the night Friday and  told them they'd take them to Target to get a toy on Saturday.  It had to be less than $20. Where do you think William took them?  That's right.  Straight to the Lego section.  She pointed to the row of Legos that were $19.99.  His eye wandered to a row of Legos that were $39.99.

How about one of these, Gaga?

Not those.  See the 3 there?  You need to look for Legos that have a 1 as the first number.

What about this one?

Um, that has a 9 in front.  I don't think I have enough money for those, William.

Sounds like you need to get a job, Gaga.

He eventually settled on two Star Wars Death Star Lego sets for $9.99 each.  And Gaga has no plans to get a job to support William's Lego habit any time soon.

One of the sets he wants is about $70.  It's the Lego City Forest  Police Station.  Definitely one on the "Christmas list."  He talks about it all. the. time.  Santa better deliver.  I'm just saying.

This morning on the way to school, something occurred to him.

Mom.  Why do they call it Far-est City.  It's not that far. (Keep in mind.  We live in the South.  We don't always say things like you do).

Honey. It's FOR-est.  The place with lots of trees.

Yeah, cause all you have to do is turn right.  Then you go where my finger is pointing and then you go over this bridge, and then it's right there.  (Apparently he knows the exact location of an imaginary Lego forest).

Um.  Yup.  It's really not that far.

Race Card?

There comes a time in every parent's life when s/he realizes that his/her child realizes that people are different.  It's natural.  We all do it. Compare/contrast and all that jazz. But children notice things that we are embarrassed to talk about. It's not polite conversation.  You don't point out that someone's skin color is not that same as yours.  When William first described one of his teachers as the one "with the brown skin" Ben and I were nervous.  Reminded us of a Seinfeld episode.  "Should we be talking about this?  I don't think we should be talking about this."  But, when you really THINK about it, it's weird that it's weird.  People are different.  So what?  Makes life interesting.  Makes life diverse.  And pretending that you don't notice that someone looks different than you is a little strange.

Nevertheless, it's not something that's easy to broach.  So I didn't know what to think when the following transpired.

William was sitting on the couch, leaning against the arm and playing with my iPad.  Some drawing app.

White is a race and a color.

What the what? My heart skipped a beat.  What does a five year old know about race?  Who would be talking to him about that, anyway?  I took a breath and tried not to jump to conclusions.

Tell me again what you said?

White is a race AND a color.

Okay.  I didn't misunderstand.  Where do I go from here?  I channeled my very limited background in early education.  Ask questions.  Don't assume you know what a child is thinking.  Even though it was DEFINITELY obvious.  I heard it twice.

What do you mean by that?

Well, it's a 'erase' because you can erase with it, but it's also a color.

Yes.  Yes, it is.

Hold on for Dear Life

Boys are gross.  Sorry, they just are.  Okay, maybe your boy is not gross.  But YOURS is.  So, YOU know what I mean. But, maybe not you.

I came across another surprise in the toilet one morning and I had JUST had enough.  What is so hard about flushing?  It's one little swipe down, but it makes all the difference.

WILLIAM!!!

What, mom?

You HAVE to start flushing when you POOP!  It's SO gross!

(Giggle).  Okay, mom. (I was not convinced).

That's it.  You are NOT getting ANY privacy ANYmore.  From now on, I will be IN the bathroom with you EVERY time you go to make sure that you both WIPE and flush. (Aside--William is not a consistent wiper, but he is almost always a "perfect pooper."  Spot wipe checks are almost always clean, but 95% is not 100, so he needs to get in the habit.  Just sayin').

What do you mean?

What do you MEAN, what do I mean?  I mean that I will be with you in the bathroom every time you go to make sure you wipe AND flush! (Aside #2:  William loves his privacy.  Even when he wants an escort to the bathroom, for whatever reason, when he gets there he insists that you leave. That's why I figured that this would be an effective threat).

And it went back and forth with him asking me to restate my position.  If you have a young child, you probably know what I mean.  They don't always believe you the first time when it's something that they don't want to hear.  EVEN when you're consistent about following through with threats.  It's like they're always holding out hope.

He gave me one last desperate look, and clutching his hands over his "man parts" asked

Are you really going to take away my privates?

How do you explain to your child that you are not in favor of genital mutilation when that is what he pictured in his head?  I don't know if I can erase that image.

Going on a Chicken Hunt...Wanna Come Along?

So, the other morning, we were sitting at the breakfast table.  Eating breakfast food.  Cereal and oatmeal (which I know is technically a cereal) when William asks

Do chickens die when you kill them?

(A little background.  William is a little bit obsessed with mortality.  He may be a teeny tiny bit anxious.  And a candidate for Zoloft).

Me:  Well, yes.  Just about every time.

I have a great idea.  Maybe one day, when it's not a school day,  like tomorrow, we should get a bow and arrow and go hunting for chickens.  And then when we find one, we can shoot it with an arrow and kill it and then we can eat it for dinner.

Hmm...I wouldn't even know where we would go hunting for wild chickens.

I know.  Maybe we could go to a farm.

I think we could find chickens at a farm, but I don't know if we would need to kill them with a bow and arrow.

How would you kill it? (Now, I don't know why I was hesitant to tell him how you could wring a chicken's neck or chop a chicken's head off.  Even typing it now, it seems so violent.  More violent than a bow and arrow, though?  Or...)

Maybe you could shoot it with a gun.

I think that might be a little overkill.

What you said?

Never mind.  I don't think you're old enough to use a bow and arrow.  We'll just buy our chickens at Kroger.

It's Been Awhile

Oh my.  It's been a long time.  I kind of lost steam, I guess!  We've been busy with work and life and our arch-nemesis...soccer (I will post on that later.  It will be a long one).

Here is a short one.  Just to get my feet wet.

As you may have gathered from previous posts. William is the ultimate consumer.  He is the anti-Lloyd Dobler.  He wants to buy anything sold or processed.

Last night was the last soccer game of the season (again, more on that later) and the thing that he was most excited about was the post-game "banquet" at McDonald's.  Because they have spy toys.  Which are for boys or girls.

Each of the three boys got a different spy toy and spent most of the banquet comparing spy tools and pretending to be spies.  Very much incognito in their bright yellow matching soccer uniforms.  Go Lightning!  (The two girls opted for the Barbie prize even though each could've gotten the gender-neutral spy toys).

William's toy was a spy locker (???).  You line up the two knobs so that the groove in each one is facing the correct direction and it opens.  Inside are...TWO SPY CARDS!  One with "Agent Alpha" and the other with "Agent Omega." William was impressed.  He even made up a game where two opponents each grab a card, showing only the back to the other.  Then, on his signal they lay them down on the table.  And that's it.

So, anyway.  He was so enamored of his new special prize that he wanted to bring it to school today. I told him that it was okay, but then in a moment of clarity asked if it was allowed. (I pretty much know it's not, but sometimes they're lax on their own rules).  And this is what followed:

It's okay.  I'll just hide it from Ms. Trisha.

No, William.  That's not how we roll.  We follow the rules. (I then remember that there have been exceptions and I have to explain why we have those exceptions because he WILL call me on it).  So I continue...

The only time you are allowed to bring toys to school is when Gaga is picking you up to spend the night because then I have to pack your things for the night. But, we leave them in your cubby.

Pause. Do you think that Gaga can pick me up and let me spend the night tonight?

Dude, you are not bringing your spy toy to school. But, the concession is always "you can bring it in the car, but when you get to school you have to leave it IN the car."  This is surprisingly effective.

When I pick him up in the afternoon, he asked his lead teacher, Ms. Kim, if she wanted to see his new spy toy.  Yes, he is still that excited about a McDonald's prize.  Which would mean that I would have to drag he and Henry to the car to get it and then come back in and show it to Ms. Kim.  So, I suggested that I cold bring it in with me tomorrow and show it to her.  He was not that easily swayed.

Ms. Kim, do you live very far away from here? (Because a good alternative would be to drive to her house and show it to her??)

I live a little bit far away, William. It takes me about twenty minutes to drive here.

Well, I know you don't live in China, because you don't speak Chinese. 

Because you can TOTALLY get to China in about twenty minutes.  Give or take.

Poots Personified

Boys are just gross.  Inherently.  I know that there are moms who will claim that their girls are just as gross or grown women who will claim that they are themselves, but I'm sure that if you had a group of 100 boys or men and a group of 100 girls or women, you would find 90 males who think that farts are always funny and 10 females who do.

Last night, William was lying down with me while I watched something completely wholesome and appropriate.  This is what I refer to as I-really-want-to-watch-my-show-yet-it's-bedtime-so-how-'bout-you-fall-asleep-in-my-bed-while-I-watch-Private-Practice?

So, as Dr. Addison Montgomery was trying to figure out how she was going to get her baby, William said

I pooted-ed

And now my poot is fighting with the good air.

And it will kill all of the good air. 

Were truer words ever spoken?