This is why I sometimes run out of words by the end of the day and am reduced to giving orders that consist of nouns only: "Jammies. Teeth. (pause) BEATINGS!"
I was walking the boys up the street to play at a friend’s house. Tre and Max went ahead, on a scooter and bike, respectively. I brought up the rear, holding Raphael’s hand.
“Mama?” he mused, “there are two on wheels and two on walking.”
“Yep. Tre and Max are riding things with wheels.”
“An’ there are FOUR all together and no one is evil.”
“People aren’t evil.”
“But people are good and bad. And we’re all good. Except some people do bad.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
“Mama? Did my head grow?” He reached up to pat his head. We shaved all the boys’ heads the day before Father’s Day, and they all bear the fuzzy growing-in look of summer-shorn heads. I looked at him and remembered his tiny, downy, newborn head.
“Yep. Your head sure did grow.”
“When you shave your head, first your head grows, and then your hair grows. My head grew and now I’m getting hair. Except Appa. His hair doesn’t grow.”
“Well, no. Appa’s bald.”
“Right. I can’t pick up a tree.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Maybe if it was a REALLY SMALL tree.”
“And if I was a robot. Or a monster.”
“Right. Then you could probably pick up a tree.”
“We should get a different dog.”
“Because we need two dogs.”
“Oh. What kind of dog?”
“A blue one.”
“Dogs don’t come in blue.”
“It would if it was made of a robot! A little robot dog that is blue!” He stopped in his tracks and gazed up at me, entirely taken with the thought. He grinned and gestured at me with two upturned palms. “A BLUE ROBOT DOG! It might poop SCREWS!”
“Uh…I suppose it might.”
Just then we arrived at the friend’s house, and Raphi looked up from his feet to discover the destination RIGHT THERE, NEXT TO HIM. He stopped, then looked at me.
“This is Drew’s house, Mama. Don’t talk any more words to me now.”
And he ran off, skimming across their lawn, to play with Drew.