It’s the thought that counts

Sometimes I am baffled by my son’s thought process.  I am mystified when he thinks beyond his years and worried when he says things that don’t make sense.  He is six and he “use to” want to be a Paleontologist, “when he was little” (last year). He wondered then and now, why we didn’t name him something cool like Rex.

I believe he has a little separation anxiety. He wonders what Heaven is like and says he can’t wait to see me there.  He has eleven more years of grade school, and he says he is never going to college because he wants to stay here with his family.  He asked me what the difference was between weekdays and weekends before he used the word (almost) correctly, “If I go to college I will come home every weekends”.

He wonders if he has to move to his own house when he is an adult. I say yes, he says, “Humph. Well I am going to live in this neighborhood”.

When he asks about death and why people have to die, I have to think quickly. I’m not ready to dive in to a long conversation about death. I explain that people can’t live forever, "Because the earth would be too heavy and then it couldn't rotate, we would either be stuck in daytime or nighttime". I’ll cross the bridge of truth later.

When he insist on knowing what part of me he came out of, I don’t think quick enough and I say, “My private parts”. He says, “So, what you can’t tell me?”

When I served him frozen fish he wondered how a fish could be square.

He wants to know why “asked” doesn’t have a “t” on the end and thinks I’m wrong about the “ed”. I wonder if I’m saying it right.

He makes plans with money from his teeth that haven’t fallen out yet.

We’ve had long talks about strangers. I ask him hypothetically, what if a pretty lady offered him a cupcake – he thinks hard before saying that sure would be nice of her, and then asks “Could it still be a trap?”

I worry.

So today was a beautiful day. I started singing what I know of Mr. Roger’s song:

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, 

a beautiful day for a neighbor, 
Would you be mine? 
Could you be mine? 

I have always wanted to have a neighbor just like you, 

I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you, 
so let's make the most of this beautiful day, 
since we're together, we might as well say, 
Would you be mine? 
Could you be mine? 
Won't you be my neighbor? 

He lets me finish singing before he says, “Mom, that sounds like a stranger song.” I said, “What? What do you mean?” He says, “Mom, you don’t even know what you are singing.” He tells me to sing it again and then he stops me at, “Would you be mine”. I saw his point.  Perhaps he meant the second round of “Would you be mine”. But he’s right, if there were such a thing… it DOES sound like a stranger song.

Here’s the thing….my son is the gift that keeps on giving. I may not always know where he’s coming from but he teaches me something new and amuses me every day.