I remember having some particularly "out there" thoughts and ideas as a child. For example, my dad was the only person that I ever saw drink coffee when I was growing up. And he had a deep voice. Somewhere along the line, I decided that my father had a deep voice because he drank coffee. (Can you say non-sequitor?) In my little world, men drank coffee and therefore developed deep voices and women did not drink coffee and therefore got to keep their dainty, higher-pitched voices.
Another example: my Grandma Westrich had dentures and she would take them out to clean them. I thought this was just a truly amazing feat of dental physics. She could remove her own teeth! (I did not realize that they were, in fact, not her real teeth.) The first time I saw her do this, I just kept going on and on about it. Grandma told me that I, too, could take out my own teeth. I must have spent the rest of the day trying (in vain) to remove my teeth; she had me utterly convinced that I could.
Looking back on my perceptions of the world (which pretty much consisted of Kelso, MO, Cape Grandma's house and the gym at old Notre Dame), I have no idea how I have managed to come as far as I have in life. When I think about the things that made up my world view...well, let's just say that it's kind of scarey that I'm now raising children myself.
Lately, I've found myself reflecting on moments from my childhood, especially some of the thought processes that I went through to understand the world around me. As I watch my own kids go through this, I just wish that I could camp out in their brains for a while so that I can better figure out how their little minds work (as I'm sure my own mother probably wanted to do on occasion). I had this wish yet again tonight as I tucked my first-born into bed.
Connor: Where are your parents?
Me: They're at their house.
Connor: Why aren't they with you?
Me: Well, when kids become grown ups, they usually move out of their parents' houses and into houses of their own. You'll probably grow up and get married and live in your own house one day, too. You might even become a Daddy.
Connor: That will make me sad to be away from you.
Me: It might make me a little sad, too. But you know what?
Connor: What?
Me: If you become a Daddy, then I get to become a Grandma, and that will be fun. You won't be sad.
Connor: I don't want you to be my Grandma, I want you to be the mommy.
Me: I'll always be your mommy, but if you become a daddy, then I'll be your kids' Grandma.
(At about this point in the conversation, I realized that I was getting in way too deep for a "it's time to go to sleep talk", but I had no idea how to turn it around. I assume that this happens to most parents of toddlers at some point.)
Connor: I don't want to be the Daddy, I want to be the Mommy!
Me: Well buddy, you are a boy, and boys become Daddies. Girls become Mommies.
Connor: But I want to be the Mommy!
Me: Baby, that's just not the way it works. You can only be a Daddy.
Connor: But I want to be the Mommy!
Me: Well, we'll talk about it when you're older.
Ummm, I have no idea what I will say differently the next time this comes up. I just hope it doesn't come up again until he's old enough to understand the birds and the bees.
Or until Daddy's home to field the questions.
Unfortunately, I've never been very good at improv. But it's becoming more and more clear to me that parenting means spending about 99% of your time with your kids doing improvisational acting.
Gotta go--there was just a very loud clap of thunder, which means my improvisational skills are about to be requested by a certain young man.
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