Scene: Adam horsing around at the breakfast table, perching on one chair, of course in a mix matched pair of pajamas – bottoms are outerspace, tops are Sonic the Hedgehog. We got it going on over here.
Mommy? Pigs don’t turn into food.
Yes, they do.
No… they don’t mommy.
Yes, what do you think bacon is (besides delish?) or sausage?
Well, Mommy. What kind of animal doesn’t turn into food?
A robin.
Then, I’M A ROBIN!
Socrates he is not, but I find it hard to argue with his four year old logic.
At 6:45 am Ismael woke me to tell me the toaster was dead. Why he couldn’t hold onto this precious bit of information a bit longer is beyond me. Text message. Email. Leave me a note. Write it in shoe polish on my car, I do not care. Just let me sleep.
.000045 seconds later, Adam was in bed with me full of Tigger like bounciness and lots of things to say. Somehow I held on for another 30 minutes and eeked out 10 minutes more of sleep in that time.
Sundays. A day of rest, indeed.
We carried on as normal until 11 AM. And by carried on as normal, I mean “fried a pound of bacon while the Muslims were asleep or absent from the premises.” It’s a Sunday morning ritual almost. I shooed Adam out the door to find this:
Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it?
Oh well, isn’t THAT special? No church for this lady today. Back inside to call roadside assistance, explain that no, I am not at a business but my home and then sit and wait for a guy in a red Chevy Cavalier to show up with a shocking number of tools in his trunk and change that tire.
Three and one half hours later, I had entertained Adam as much as possible as I could at Wal Mart and had spent $200 on two new tires for the front of the van. The flat tire on the back of the tire in the picture? DIDN’T HAVE A LEAK, A HOLE, OR ANYTHING WRONG WITH IT WHATSOEVER. I guess it is just attention seeking and really wanted its portrait taken.
I came home to wearily put dinner in the oven. I chopped, arranged, and prepared the roast and veggies for baking, but where was Adam. When this child has disappeared it means he’s doing something he isn’t supposed to…eating crackers in my bed, ordering pricey videos on the Kindle or operating an international money laundering business.
I found him in my chair, clutching a small blue key ring. I bought juice, rice, and coffee creamer at WalMart. Not a key ring and of course, not the toaster that would have sent me there in the very first place.
Oh yeah…. five finger discount baby.
And he knew. Before he saw the look on my face, he knew. I took away his purloined treasure and put him in his room for a double time out and then told him,
Your punishment is no tv all night. You will play in your room until dinner OR you can sit on the bed. If you don’t like it, then you can go to bed for the night.
I don’t like any of those three options! (along with the death stare from a very angry little boy.)
Oh yeah? Well that’s nice. And tomorrow? We are taking that back to the store where you STOLE IT FROM. ::insert long speech about thievery, disappointment and God is watching you::
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Baby Book Entry: Aged 4 1/2 years, committed his first act of petty thievery.
Mommy! I want a pet.
I’m driving and not paying a whole lot of attention to the backseat chatter. I know it’s brought on by the anticipation of next week’s preschool pet store trip and the knowledge that he’s allergic to cats and dogs….
Um hmmm… honey. A pet?
Yes! I want a hamster. I would love him… and feed him…
(and call him George? I wonder to myself)
and give him a ……….. Mommy! Can hamsters swim??
NO! Do not give your fictional hamster a bath!!
