Wildcard Quilts

ALERT: Jackspeak

Since this fiasco occurred in our home, Jack has matured. We recently started allowing him to use grown-up scissors for certain cutting tasks. But then, one day, I carelessly left them out in plain view. Jack quickly reverted back to his three-year-old ways.

Of course, I had to capture the five-year-old fiasco on film.

In totally unrelated news, our little family has been talking about recycling a lot lately. To cut costs. To cut the environment some slack. To cut into our creativity and let it the heck out. Lotta cutting around here.

Me: "Geez, Jack. You've had that costume for so long, you've loved it so much. Now it's ruined. We might as well throw it in the garbage."

Jack: "What?"

"Yeah, we might as well throw it away. You can't even find the legholes or armholes to put your legs and arms in anymore. It's just full of holes!"

"No, mom, no. Please don't, please don't throw it away."

"Well, what are you going to do with it?"

"Um, I dunno. But please don't throw it away."

[Jack pauses to make sure he's covered his bases. Then he remembers one more base.]

"And please don't recycle it. NO recycling."

Funny to hear and see how five-year olds take new information and apply it to their daily lives.

ALERT: Jackspeak

"Mom, do I go to kindergarten tomorrow?"

"Nope. Tomorrow is Saturday."

"Oh. You know what? Tomorrow is kind of sad. Because it has the word 'sad' in Saturday."

ALERT: Jackspeak

We're a vegetarian family. But once in awhile we get a hunkering for a drive-thru burger and fries, just like every other red-blooded American family we know. And when we do, there's only one place for us. Quite literally. One place. It's Burger King. Because they're the only place around here that sells veggie burgers.

Jack: "Mom, I can't wait to get our burgers. When it gets in the car, I can't stand the smell."

Me: "Huh?"

"I can't stand the smell. Of those yummy burgers."

"Do you mean you like the smell?"

"Oooh, yeah! I can't wait! I can't STAND it!"

ALERT: Jackspeak

At the kitchen table, talking to Jack about some big changes coming soon to our family...

Me: "So, Daddy is going back to school. And I need to take a phone call about it at 8:30, okay?"

Jack: "Daddy is going to school?"

"Yes, to become a teacher. There's some chance he could even be your teacher someday because he wants to teach children who are around your age."

"Around, like some are 3 and 4 and 5?"

"Well, you have to be at least 5 to be in elementary school. Um, so, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, I think."

"Or 161."

"Well, I don't know anyone who has ever lived that long."

"Santa has."

"Oh, yes. I forgot about him. He's been around a long time."

"And his reindeer. I don't know what it is about that weird Santa and his weird reindeer. They have been around forever."

"Yep. Weird."

ALERT: Jackspeak

After months and months of diligent practice, Jack finally masters a new skill--snapping. He is thrilled with himself, snapping himself silly all day long. While I'm making dinner that night, Jack comes into the kitchen with a question.

Jack: "Mom, do you think snapping is fun?"

Me: "Well, yeah, sure. I like to snap to music sometimes. So yes, I think it's fun to do that."

"Yeah, me too. Because you know what? I've been snapping for hours and hours and hours. And you know what, Mom? I'm really, really enjoying it."

ALERT: Jackspeak

It is upon us. The season in a child's life when he or she finds ecstatic humor in potty jokes.

Jack: "You're a goose."

Me: "Well, you're a moose."

"You're a boose."

"You're on the loose."

"You're a foose."

"You're apple juice."

"You're orange juice."

"You're banana juice."

"You're banana poop juice!"

"Ew. That sounds pretty yucky, Jacky."

"No, no! It tastes really good because it has bananas in it."

Only being in the business of mothering for a little less than five years, I ask you intermediate and advanced mothers out there--when does the potty-joke season end? If I look to my husband for a gauge, I fear the season is eternal.

ALERT: Jackspeak

Jack continues his lessons on the art of politeness. There are so many. He is exceeding expectations. I am thrilled.

Jack: "So, you can say 'excuse me' when you fart AND you can say 'excuse me' when you need to move somebody, right?"

Me: "Yes, boo! That's exactly right!"

ALERT: Jackspeak

Time. It is such an important part of our lives. Seconds, minutes, hours. Days, weeks, months, years. Past, present, future. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. I had no idea how much we all rely on time to get through our days. Then I tried to teach the concepts of time to a four-year old. It is not easy.

Jack: "Mom, Luke invited me to his birthday party!"

Me: "Oooh, that sounds like fun. Do you know when it is?"

"Yes. It's the day before . . . no, it's the day after and before this day."

"Huh?"

"And then it's after that day. No, wait. It's the day after the middle day. Look mom, LOOK."

Jack holds up three fingers on his right hand. He points to his middle finger with his left hand.

"It's on THIS day, this day."

"Oh. I see."

"Yep. That's the day! I can't wait."

"I bet. I hope we can make it."

ALERT: Jackspeak

Dinner is finished. We're full. Jack has been asked to finish two more bites of his salad and all of his milk before leaving the table.

Jack: "But after I'm done with salad will you put my milk in a sippy cup so I can drink it in the living room?"

Me: "Sure, sweetie. That's fine."

"I love you, mom."

"I love you too, bean."

"You are the best of all the mommies. I will love you always and even after you die."

"Well, thank you, but I hope you won't have to worry about that for awhile."

"And I will write a note about it. And I will glue it on your stone."

"My stone?"

"Yes. The stone that lays over you when you die."

"Oh, yes. My gravestone, okay. What will the note say?"

"You are the best of all the mommies and I love you so, so much."

"Well I would just love that on my stone. Thank you."

"You get the paper and I'll get the glue."

"First things first. Two more bites."

ALERT: Jackspeak

Jack, Charlie, and I sit down at the kitchen table for lunch. As I aim a spoonful of mashed bananas toward Charlie's mouth, his energetic hands bat it away. Bananas fling onto the floor, the chair, and Charlie's hand.

Me: "Oh good heavens, Charlie."

Jack: "What does good heavens mean?"

"Well, it's just an expression to use when you're surprised, and maybe a little bit annoyed. Like oh my heck, or holy moly."

"Or holy crap?"

In a matter of miliseconds, I review the five W's to carefully weigh my answer:

WHO did he hear that expression from?
WHAT is the proper definition of "crap"?
WHEN is it a good time to accept that your son is going to say "holy crap!" on a regular basis? (The parenting books don't say.)
WHERE is a sponge so I can clean up this sticky mess?

And finally . . .

WHY are you making such a big deal out of this? Holy crap, Jenny.

"Yes, exactly like holy crap. It's just an expression."