The Birds and The Bees, Ep. 1

I know it's just the first of many, many conversations, but I'm basking in a little premature confidence after our first conversation about…you know. Kind of like the Leafs after scoring early in the first period. And we all know how that turns out.

But I digress.

Here's how it went down one morning this week as E chomped away on her breakfast and I worked away in the kitchen, grateful for a wall separating E from my diverse array of facial expressions:

E: Mom, I want a baby like the one Olivia has.
M: (I knew where she was going with this, but to buy some time I elected to play dumb) Oh, did Olivia get a new doll?
E: No, mom, a baby. I want a baby like Olivia's.
M: Ooooh, did they get a puppy?
E: MOM! A baaayyyyby. A human baby.
M: Oh, you mean her little sister Gracie?
E: YES! I want one! How did they make her?
M: Who? (a little dumb buys a lot of time for crafting answers, I find)
E: Olivia's parents. How did they make their baby?
M: (Obviously she's one step ahead of the stork scenario) Well…(Think, woman. THINK! It's wayyyyy too early…oooh, there's a plant. Go with it!) You know those peas you planted in school?
E: Yeah.
M: Well, making a baby is kind of like making a plant. You need seeds and fertilizer to make a plant, but babies start as eggs. So to make a baby you need an egg and some fertilizer.
E: Where do we get them?
M: Well, the mom has the eggs and the dad has the fertilizer.
E: Can I see them?
M: No, because they're inside out bodies.
E: Oh. So, you just put the egg and the fertilizer together to make a baby?
M: Yep! (please don't ask how you put them together please don't ask how you put them together please don't ask how you put them together…)
E: Can we do it TONIGHT??!
M: Uhhh, no.
E: Why not?
M: Well, babies are kind of a lot of work, so we're going to wait a little while until we're not quite as busy.
E: I can help!
M: Thanks.
E: Tomorrow night?
M: I'll let you know.

To stumble my way through this minefield, I relied on some very good advice I read a while back. Only answer the SPECIFIC QUESTIONS ASKED. Don't go providing all kinds of extraneous detail that they may not be able to understand. She wanted to know how a baby is actually made, not what happens when a man and a woman love each other very much and lie down really close together and…well…one conversation at a time, I say. And I think this one went pretty well. Except that now we have one more person on our case about baby #2.

I guess it ain't so bad.

E: I really like this house.

M: What do you like about it?

E: I like the colours. It's like a rainbow when I look around. There's not too much black…imagine if we had a black house. I don't know about that. That would be terrible. We wouldn't be able to see the walls…we would keep bumping into things...

I like the flowers.

I like that there are lots of comfy pillows.

I like the pictures, and the candles, and that we have outside stuff inside for decoration. (Editor's note: E has an obsession with "bringing the outside in", as evidenced below…)

I like the squiggles on the walls and on the furniture. (??)

I like that it's quiet and there's lots of space.

I like that we're safe. I like that it's made out of brick.

I like that we have pancakes and the ingredients to make pancakes. I like that we have extra stuff in the basement and we can buy a whole bunch of paper towels if we want.

I like that there's so much fresh air. Some houses don't have fresh air, so it's nice.

I like that there are so many toys.

--

I complain a lot about our house. E used to always ask me when we were moving back to Brooklyn, when we were leaving this house, when we were getting a bigger house, etc. From our dinner chat this evening, it seems that she has finally found a home here. Maybe I should too.

P.S. Here is a song that she began composing a short time later…unfinished, of course:

"If you love me and I love you and rainbows are in the sky, flowers bloom, and you know…just a minute I have to have a bite of pancake…"

E: No one is allergic to water mom, right?

M: Well, except for that seahorse from Finding Nemo, no.

E: And no one cannot digest water, right? Cuz that's crazy.

M: Word.

Round 2: Cat-ana!

Because I hate the idea of being viewed as artistically challenged by my 4-year-old (insofar as fruit sculpture is concerned), and also because we are running low on fruit, tonight we reprised everyone's favourite after-dinner game show - Make Me an Animal (out of a banana)!

This evening, E wanted a cat.

E: Can I watch or will it be a surprise?

M: (realizing that being heavily scrutinized could only hinder my creative pursuits) Surprise!

E: Awww, but I want to watch! I want to make sure you do it better this time.

M: Alright, fine. Here we go!

E: Remember, it's a cat. Or a dog. Whatever is easier for you.

M: We'll do a cat. And just to clarify, you want it all in one piece, right?

E: Yep. Not like last night, with the body in once piece, and the legs in one piece, and the tail in one piece…that just wasn't right. And it should be small. Cats are small.

M: wielding sharp knife…making the first cut - 

E: NO! No No No, mom - what is that?

M: These are the legs.

E: Oh, okay, ya. Go ahead.

M: …wielding and slicing…

E: No WAIT!!! Oh, ya. Good job. You're doing it! What's THAT??!

M: The tail.

E: Oh. Ya…ya. Go ahead.

M: Are you sure you want it to be this small?

E: Yep. It has to be reeeeeally small. But…that doesn't look like a cat.

M: Are you kidding? It's totally a cat.

E: It doesn't have eyes or a mouth.

M: Easy, tiger. I haven't even finished the head.

…slicing…wielding…cringing…sweating...

M: Okay, how does it look?

E: Whiskers!

M: Oh, okay…starts to slice whisk-

E: MOM! STOP!!! (bats knife-wielding hand away) The whiskers are already there!!!

M: Sure. Of course they are. Ta-da!

E: You did it mom! Good job.

You be the judge.

I think Ban-ebra kicks Cat-ana's butt.

But what do I know? I'm clearly no expert.

Ban-ebra? Ze-nana?

E: Mom, can you please make my banana into a zebra?

M: Ummmm…I can try.

E: Okay. Make sure that it has a long body. Because zebras have loooooong bodies.

M: Are zebras about the same size as horses?

E: No. Smaller. And don't forget the stripes.

…mom toils away in the kitchen for several minutes and returns, proudly unveiling her work of art -

M: Look! It's a Ban-ebra!

E: That does not look like a zebra.

M: Sure it does! A Ze-nana, as a matter of fact.

E: No. It doesn't. The stripes should be thicker. The legs aren't even attached.

M: Do you know how hard that would be?!

E: Did you even try?

M: …yes?

E: You did?

M: I did the best that I could.

E: Oh. Then that's okay.

M: Oh, good. Can you please smile now?

Hands down...

…the most wonderful thing anyone has ever said to me. Ever.

"Mama, I promise I will never, ever, ever not hug you. I will always give you a hug you if you ask."

And the Grammy goes to...Dr. E!

I love kid brains. When  you can manage to turn off the go!go!go! mulitasking mom brain long enough to tune into them, they can provide endless entertainment. E asked me a very interesting question the other day. A simple question, but it just made me realize that they really are thrown into this world with no user's manual, no cheat sheet, and they can't even speak the language. They have to figure things out for themselves. Mind blowing.

We were driving along, E singing along to her favourite song, when she suddenly stopped and asked:

E: Mom, can people change what they do?
M: What do you mean?
E: Like, can they be doctors and then sing on the radio?
M: Of course. Mama and dada have had lots of jobs. Most people don't just do one thing.
E: Oh. Because I want to be a doctor first, and then I want to sing this song on the radio. Can I do that?
M: Sure. Or you could even write your own songs and sing them.
E: No, I want to sing Taylor's song. I like this one.
M: In that case, we could just call up the radio station and I bet they'll let you sing it on the air right now!
E: No, I'm not ready yet. I want to be a doctor first.

How cool would that be to be a doctor and a singer? Why didn't I think of that?

Which of course got me to wondering what kind of singer my daughter will be. It appears that we don't listen to enough music, because she doesn't really know all that many songs, and an unsettlingly large proportion of them are...fairly inappropriate. Well, let's go through the songs she knows.

First there are the basics:

Happy Birthday
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
ABCs...you get the idea

She's got a good hold of a few Christmas tunes:

Santa Claus is Coming to Town
Rudolph
Frosty
Baby it's cold outside

From there we get into the Top 40 selections:

We are never, ever getting back together
We are young
Kiss you inside out
Blow my whistle

I'm sure there are others, and the vast majority of them make me cringe when I hear her sweet little voice delivering her unique interpretation from the back seat. Thank goodness for Taylor Swift. If it weren't for her, my precious three year old would still be reciting step-by-step instructions for performing fellatio. I think it's time to listen to a different radio station, and perhaps - oh, I don't know - remember to pop in one of the dozen or so children's cds we have around here somewhere once in a while. Because I don't mind a Taylor wannabe, but a mini-Britney I can do without.

She's never heard of a SANTA CLAUS PARADE??! *shame*

While putting on a little girl's boots this morning…

"Mom, I don't want you to ever die. Because I just love you so much. You are the sweetest mom ever."

This is the moment I choose to remember when questions like this crop up from the back seat:

"Mom, what's a Santa Claus Parade?"

I'm a good mom…I'm a good mom…I'm the sweetest mom ever… 

The Devil Wears Tutus

Picking out clothes one morning:

E: I want to wear a pink dress.
M: How about this one?
E: That's not all pink. It has white in it. I want ALL pink.
M: This one?
E: That's a skirt. I want a dress.
M: This one is pretty.
E: Does that look pink to you? No. It's purple. And it doesn't twirl.
M: How about a tutu?
E: No - pause for reconsideration - Okay, sure! A tutu.
M: This one is perfect. It's all pink and it twirls.
E: I want the orange one.


While reading Mr. Grumpy:

E: Do you think Mr. Grumpy would like it if maybe I gave him some of my clothes?
M: You mean to make him less grumpy?
E: Yeah, like do you think a pink or orange tutu would help?
M: Absolutely.
E: Or…maybe some ballet clothes, some tights and something like that? Even ballet shoes?
M: I can't see how he could possibly be grumpy wearing tights and a tutu.
E: Yeah.


After I found matching tights and socks for the dress she picked out:

E: How convenient! Oh, I'm going to look sooo conveeeenient! As convenient as can be!!!

Where it all began.

Sugar Baby

E: Mom, did the price of gas go up?
M: Umm, well I think it's a bit higher since we filled up last.
E: Okay, welI I can give you some of my money so you can buy more gas.
M: Oh, that's okay honey, we have enough money to buy gas.
E: Oh, well, do you need money to buy more things? Because I can give you some if you need it.
M: That's very sweet, thank you baby, but we have enough money.
E: Well, if I give you my money, then you won't have to save any! So you just let me know if you need some money. Maybe after dinner I'll give you a little.

The Potty Lectures

Lecture A
Lecturer: E
Audience: Mom
Tone: Just the Facts

A long, long time ago, there were only corals on the beach. The whole beach was corals. Then they died and turned into shells. That's how it happened.

…2 minutes later...

Lecture B
Lecturer: E
Audience: Dad
Tone: Dramatic Flair

A very, verrrrry, long, looooong time ago….the beach had only corals on it. Then…one dayyyyy…sadly…(sigh)…they all died. It's true.

The Sounds of Silence

Overheard at dinner Chez Cowfam last evening…

E: Okay guys, we're going to play a game. It's called the Listening Game.

J: How about we play the Eating Game?

E: No. This is called the Listening Game, and I'll tell you how it works. So. You close your eyes - and you can put your hands over your eyes if you want, like this - and you have to be very quiet…

M: This game is awesome.

E: …quiet, mama…

M: Oh, sorry.

E: …and you listen.

J: Maybe you can eat while we're listening.

E: I can still hear talking...

M: Yeah, dada. Geez.

E: I can still hear talking…

…silence…sweet, blessed Baby Jesus silence...

E: Goooooood, guys. Okay, open your eyes. Now. What sounds did you hear?

J: I could hear your chair moving -

E: Well, my chair wasn't moving.

J: Well, I could hear it. And -

E: No. You couldn't.

J: And I could hear the fish tank bubbling.

E: Yes! Good!

M: I could hear cars outside.

E: Yes! Good, mama!

M: What did you hear?

E: Oh, I wasn't listening.

Parenting WIN!

Yesterday, walking to school, a car backed up from an intersection to give us room to cross the road. Before I had the chance to do it myself, E looks at the driver, throws her arm in the air in an exuberant wave and shouts "Thank you!"

I felt like Mom of the Year, and not in a sarcastic way.

Why it's better to have a dumb kid

At dinner…

E: Can you imagine an elephant sitting on an egg?
M: Wouldn't that be crazy?
E: Anyways, it's just a book. It's not real.
M: I guess.
E: Like fairies. Fairies aren't real either. You told me that, right?
M: Um, yeah. I guess I did. *mental self-flagellation*
E: But wings are real, right?
M: Sure, it's just wings on people that aren't real. *STOP TALKING! STOP TALKING!! YOU'RE ROBBING HER OF THE MAGIC OF CHILDHOOD!!!*
E: Yeah. Why aren't fairies real mama?
M: Hey, want some ice cream???

Seriously though, the jig is up for Santa this year, isn't it? I just can't see her getting through the whole season with Santa and the elves and the flying reindeer and a bag big enough to carry every present for every kid in the world and the Grinch without popping the big question. You know the one. I can't even say it. And if I can't even say it, how the heck am I going to answer it? With a lie? Lying is bad. Even E knows that. That's why you're not supposed to have to have this conversation until their little brains are big enough to understand how sometimes it's cool for parents to lie to kids. Right? Oh man. I'm not ready.

Good talk

After a day that was mostly successful but littered a little too liberally with non-cooperation and not quite enough listening, and definitely too much whining, we had a little chat on the car ride home.

M: E, I'd like you to think a little bit about how today could have been more fun if you had just co-operated a bit more and listened a bit more.

E: --silence--

M: I think that you know how you're supposed to behave and how you're not supposed to behave, and today it seemed that most of the time you were doing those things on purpose, even though -

E: Shhh…I'm thinking.

M: Okay.

E: Hey mom, what did Dory say to Marlon about her term loss?

M: That she suffers from short term memory loss?

E: Yeah. Well, I suffer from short term memory loss too.

Quotable Quotes

While stroking her forearm: "I'm a little furry, amn't I?"

To the "doctor" on the "phone": "Are you still open? My dinosaur hurt himself and needs stitches. Aww *shrug* that's too bad. I'll just take the stitches out myself."

...et...la piece de resistance -

To the neighbour: "My mom puts mint in her drinks ALL THE TIME."

I guess the dinosaurs just couldn't resist.

Another gem of a conversation:

E: My lunch was cheesy delicious! That's what I called it. I sat with Olivia and Kaia at lunch today and I didn't do anything silly!

M: The big Kaya or the little Kaia? (Two Kai/ya's, two Maya's, two Ava's...and not a Jennifer in sight.)

E: The little one. The big one isn't resisting anymore.

M: Isn't resisting what?

E: Real life.

M: What do you mean?

E: She's not in real life anymore. She doesn't resist.

M: I have no idea what you're talking about.

E: Like dinosaurs don't resist anymore.

M: Do you mean ex-ist?

E: Yeah. Ex-ist.

M: What happened to her?

E: Oh, she died*.

*She didn't. At least I don't think she did. Maybe I'll run this one by the teacher after school today.

9 hours is a long time...especially when you're sitting in a pile of your own crap.

That's right.

It's a long drive to Brooklyn. 9 hours in fact. And somewhere along the road, E developed a raging case of diarrhea. Purrrrrrfect.

We were lucky enough to catch the first couple of epsiodes in time and careen off the road before all hell broke loose. But then all hell broke loose. About 45 minutes out of NYC, when there really is no place to pull over or exit that won't land you on a turnpike or some bridge/tunnel that you definitely don't want and that will only prolong the trip by hours or days, E dropped the bomb. The bomb to which all previous explosions were mere preludes. And given her propensity for narrating every waking moment of her life, we were given front row seats to one of the awesomest conversations ever...depending on your definition of "awesomest", of course. I transcribed her comments onto my iPhone as it was unfolding, naturally.

E: Poop comes out the front, right?

M: No, pee comes out the front. Poop comes out the back.

E: Well, my poop comes out the front.

M: Trust me babe, pee comes out of your urethra at the front, and poop comes out of your anus, at the back. (What? Your kid doesn't know the world urethra?) It works like that for everybody.

E: Come on, mom. This is not how it works. My poop and pee both come out the front.

M: Well that's a first.

E: Does poop have water in it?

M: A little. But most of the water comes out in your pee, and most of the solid stuff comes out in your poop.

E: I have a lot of water in my poop. It's like at the end of Finding Nemo. That much water.

M: That's a lot of water alright.

E: I don't like my diarrhea. Do you have diarreha?

M: Nope.

E: Well, I have diarrhea.

__

E: Are we close yet?

M: Yep, we're close.

E: Yay! We're close! That took a long time. I don't ever want to go that far again. I can go this far in a plane, but not in a car.

M: I've got bad news for you babe...

E: When we get to New York I'm going to tell everyone about my diarrhea.

You can take the girl out of Brooklyn...

E remembers Brooklyn. She talks about it sometimes, about things we used to do there and people we used to hang out with. We left last April, just as spring was springing and trees were blooming. That last image of our old home seems to have stayed with her.

On one of the first really spring-y days this year, she stepped outside and, brow furrowed, stated:

"It smells like something out here."

Then the lightbulb goes off and she breaks into a wide grin and announces:

"It smells like when we were in Brooklyn!"

A couple of days later, on her first tricycle ride of the season, on the tricycle she got for her first birthday...in Brooklyn...she exclaimed:

"Isn't this just the goodest day? It's just like when we lived in Brooklyn."

No pressure or anything, of course. Until yesterday:

E: We should move. I want to go to a different house.

M: To a different house in the same neighbourhood?

E: No. To a house in Brooklyn. I want to go back to Brooklyn now.

Oh. I see. Hm. 

Warning: some language not suitable for children. Which is kind of the point.

It really is A.mazing that E doesn't have a potty mouth at this point. I mean really, we have not been successful in our attempts to render our speech child-appropriate in the three years that we've been trying. Though effort has been made. And I think she gets that. She seems to understand that she's not supposed to use that language that mom and dad litter their speech with, and that we really do try to limit it as much as possible, and I think she actually...respects that. It's too weird. 

Witness my account, to the best of my (admittedly impaired) recollection, of the only examples in existence of my daughter, the sailor, rearing her foul-mouthed head:

1. Age: approx 1 1/2 yrs

After hearing mama refer to Ralph as "such a dick" approximately 85 times a day since she was brought home from the hospital, and before she could decipher disdain from affection in tone with any reliability, she began to greet her favourite people with the following: "Such a dick, mama!" "Such a dick, dada!" "Such a dick, Gramma!" Oh yes, she did.

2. Age: approx 2 1/2 yrs

While playing quietly by herself with a very small gadget (button? magnet?) that kept slipping through her fingers and rattling on the floor I heard a faint, but ever so emphatic "fuck." 

3. Age: approx 1 1/2 years to present

Once in a while one of us will be humbled by the innocent query: "Why is it a fucking mess, mama?" or "Why did dada say shit?"

Can you feel the parental pride simply oozing from this post? Sigh.

Am I f@*$ing adorable, or what?