(I’ve just picked my four-year-old son up from preschool and he’s doing what he usually does when I get him: telling me whatever random thoughts cross his mind.)
Son: “I eat, I play, I go potty, and I rest. That’s four! Four things.”
Me: “I have to admit; that’s a fair summary of your day.”
(I’m a biology graduate. I’m at the seaside with my five-year-old daughter, trying to teach her how warm-blooded animals regulate their body temperature.)
Me: “So, have you noticed when you went into the water it felt freezing, but now it feels warm?”
Daughter: “Um… Yes?”
Me: “Do you know why that is?”
Daughter: “Because I peed in it?”
(My four-year-old daughter loves to sing and to improvise lyrics. On this occasion we have been celebrating Mother’s Day and we are driving home from visiting her grandparents. I’m sitting next to her in the car.)
Daughter: “Can I sing a song for you, Mamma?”
Me: “Oh, yes, of course!” *expecting something lovely and cute, about Mother’s Day*
Daughter: *singing while keeping eye contact* “Oh, Mamma, you are so beautifuuuul, but I don’t love youuuuu. I love [Best Friend #1], [Best Friend #2], [Her Cousin], and [Daycare Worker]… aaaaand Papa! Wasn’t that a nice song, Mamma?”
Me: “Yes, it was. Yes. It. Was. I’m a bit sad that you don’t love me, but I liked your song, and you sing it so nicely!”
Daughter: “I’m fond of you, Mamma, but I love Papa the most.”
(I know she loves me, though. She’s just not very pleased with my parenting strategies nowadays.)
This story is part of our Mother’s Day 2021 roundup!
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(I am explaining to my five-year-old daughter that computers were different when I was her age. She interrupts me:)
Daughter: “Dad, I know all about that. They were called sex machines.”
(I look at her, trying to figure out what she has been told, when she suddenly seems confused.)
Daughter: “Or was it fax machines?”
For his whole childhood, my dad’s mother smoked cigarettes in the car, in the house, and anywhere else you could smoke. He always complained about it to her, and she would tell him that when he had his own house, he could make the rules.
When he was old enough, my dad worked and saved his money to buy a car while in high school. He was really proud of that car, and did his best to keep it in good order. One day, it had been raining and he was told to drive his mom someplace. They hit the road, and as he got on a highway, his mom lit up in his car. My dad rolled his window down, quick as a flash, snatched the cigarette from her mouth, and threw it out the window. He said she yelled at him for doing that, and he calmly pointed out that it was his car, his rules. He always ended the story with two points:
1) It was one of the best days of his minor life, being able to put his mom in her place.
2) He only threw it out the window because he knew it was too wet to burn. Don’t start grass fires, kids.
