By Gwen Rockwood, newspaper columnist and mama of 3
One of the perks of being a parent is that you’re often part of some interesting conversations. Here are a few excerpts from recent chats at our house. The first took place with 5-year-old Jack while we were loading backpacks to take to school the next morning.
Me: “Jack, what are you going to take to kindergarten Show-And-Tell tomorrow?”
Jack: “I’m going to take my dinosaur. I’m going to tell them that his name is Dino and he’s my favorite.”
Me: “That sounds like a good plan.”
Jack: “Mom, why can’t I see a real dinosaur?”
Me: “Because dinosaurs are extinct.”
Jack: “What does ex-stink mean?”
Me: “Extinct means that they all died and there aren’t any dinosaurs alive anymore.”
Jack: “Why did they die? Were they really, really old?”
Me: “Nobody knows for sure why they died, but they did.”
Jack: “So do you remember when that happened?”
Me (feeling officially ancient): “No, Jack. I don’t remember when the dinosaurs died because that happened a long time before I was born. I’m not that old, you know.”
Jack: “Oh…. Does Dad remember what happened to make the dinosaurs dead?”
Me: “No. Dad isn’t that old, either.”
Jack: (long pause) So did Grandma see what happened to them?”
Me (realizing this could take a while): “Nope. She was taking a nap that day.”
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While serving a lunch of chicken nuggets and a fruit cup, I had the following talk with 2-year-old Kate:
Me: “Kate, what do you want to drink with lunch? Juice or milk?”
Kate: “Chocolate milk.”
Me: “What do you say…?”
Kate: “I want chocolate milk.”
Me: “And how do you say that nicely?”
Kate: “Nice-uh-lee.”
Me: “No, I mean that you have to use your manners when you ask for a drink, so how are you supposed to ask?”
Kate: “Drink nice-uh-lee?”
Me: “No, you say ‘May I have some chocolate milk, please’”
Kate: “I’m thirsty. I need a drink.”
Me: “I know you do, and you can have a drink but you have to ask nicely by saying please.”
Kate: “Nice-uh-lee, please.”
Me: (sitting a cup of milk in front of her) “Close enough.”
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While riding in the car past a row of restaurants, 7-year-old Adam and I had this little chat:
Adam: “Mom, what are we going to eat for dinner tonight?”
Me: “I don’t know yet, Adam. What do you feel like having for dinner?”
Adam: “I need a little Mexican in my life, Mom.”
Me (laughing): Oh, you do, huh? What kind of Mexican food do you want?
Adam: “Well, I want a cheese quesadilla or maybe two cheese quesadillas.”
Me: “Okay, I can make you a cheese quesadilla when we get home.”
Adam: “But Mom, why are the quesadillas at the Mexican restaurant better than the quesadillas at home?”
Me: “What are you saying? You don’t like my cheese quesadillas?”
Adam (realizing he may have just messed up): “Well, I do like the quesadillas at home but the ones at the Mexican restaurant are my first favorite and the ones at home are just my second favorite.”
Me: “When we get home, you can ask Dad if he wants to take us all to the Mexican restaurant for dinner, but I doubt that he’ll go for it.”
Adam: “But, if he does, then I win.”
Me: “No, trust me. If we go out to dinner, Mom definitely wins.”
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