I know I'm biased, but I think my son is pretty smart. He's got the whole firstborn child vibe going--a natural leader, quick learner, etc. (Speaking of leading, today at a playdate with his besties, I overheard him declaring that their name was The Superheroes who Save Animals, and he divided up tasks between the boys, so each had a section of animals they were responsible for saving. *Ahem.* Apple doesn't fall far from the Bossy Tree, does it?) (All my friends giggle politely and inside are saying "NO IT DOES NOT.") ;)
He is also very, very, VERY. VERBAL.
I mean, if his eyes are open, so is his mouth.
It's like a constant stream of consciousness coming out in comments, questions, exlamations and also sound effects.
MUCH of the time, I enjoy this, am entertained by it and even use it to my advantage. He's become a bit of a translator for Sydney, who seems to be the opposite of Carson: she is lagging behind in her verbal skills and doesn't have many words at all. But she jibberjabbers a lot, and Big Bro has taken it upon himself to tell me what she's said. For instance, if she points at the door and says "HMpakimotshk," Carson tells me she wants cookies for both him and her. And some ice cream. If she shakes her head in the car and says "Bkawbkaw" (one of her commonly used words), he informs me that she doesn't like this music and would rather listen to her kind of music. Which is, of course, HIS kind of music.
But mostly, lately, I've noticed that I have completely lost the freedom to talk to myself. I honestly did not think of myself as a big self-talker, but that was before I had someone there at every waking moment to not only hear my self-aimed-muttering, but TALK BACK. Let me give you just a few samplings from the last week alone.
Mommy [quietly to random red car that cut me off]: Ooookay, come on over, I guess.
Carson: Why did you just say "Come on over I guess"?
M: Oh, nothing, I was just talking to myself.
C: I think you were talking to SOMEone.
M: Well, I was just talking to that car.
C: Which car?
M: One up there.
C: WHICH CAR?!
M: The RED ONE, Carson.
C: Why did you tell him to come on over i guess?
M: sigh. Because he was going to come over anyway.
C: Why was he coming over?
M: Carson, I can't even see that car anymore, so can we talk about something else?
C: But why was he coming over?
Mommy [quietly TO SELF]: Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Carson: Why did you just say "grrr"?
M: Oh, nothing.
C: But why did you say it?
M: It's OK, I was just frustrated.
C: Why are you frustrated?
M: Because I stepped on another crumb and I was frustrated.
C: Well, why didn't you sweep it up?
M: I DID sweep it up 2 hours ago!
C: Why didn't you sweep it up again?
M: I don't need to sweep it up again because it's STUCK TO MY FOOT!
Mommy [quietly TO SELF]: Oh, that's right.
Carson: Why did you just say "Oh that's right"?
M: Oh, I just remembered something.
C: What did you remember.
M: Oh, it's nothing, honey.
C: No! TELL ME!
M: I just remembered something I forgot to put on the calendar.
C: What? What did you forget to put on the calendar?
M: Just an appointment I have.
C: What appointment?
M: MY APPOINTMENT AT THE GYNOCOLOGIST, OK, CARSON?!?!
I don't think I have to tell you that in many of these situations, my patience wore thin and pretty soon I was dodging questions about pap smears. Some of you know that I was in the drive through last week and was letting the Chatterbox get my goat again--he was trying to speak OVER me while I ordered--and as I reached behind my seat to get my money and scold him for the rudeness, I heard the most horrible scraping sound EVER. Turns out a certain fastfood place that shall remain nameless (but rhymes with Schmurger Schming) keeps a huge brick wall around their dumpster and it is precariously close to a 90 degree turn in their drivethrough. Also turns out that in an automatic, the car moves forward, even when your foot is off the gas. Hmm. I'm not going to give you the verbatim from that conversation, because it might incriminate me and my hastily hidden curses, but I will say it includes many, MANY questions from Carson, including "Why are you crying?" and "WHY do I have to be quiet so you can think?"
Also, he and I have often have a miscommunication over pronouns. Here is an example from today. I would like to reiterate that this is fresh in my memory and I swear on my children it is not exaggerated.
Carson [out of the blue in the car]: I think this is the first one of these, Mom.
Me: First one of what?
Carson: I said, I think this is the first one of these.
Me: Of what?
Carson: I SAID. I think this is THE. FIRST. ONE. OF. THESE.
Me: I know, honey, I mean, the FIRST ONE OF WHAT?
Carson: THIS is the first one!
[I know! I should have let it drop, but I'm such a glutton for punishment.]
Me: Carson, I know you are saying that something is the first, but I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT.
Carson, as exasperated as I am: I'm talking about THIS CD WE'RE LISTENING TO , MOM!!!!!!!
Oh my gosh, it is just hysterical. Well, in the moment, it's not always hysterical, but usually later in the day I can laugh at it. (Except the questions at the Schmurger Schming. That's still not funny to me.) Although it can drive me crazy, I love that we can have long discussions about whether bushes grow up to be trees, why he can't marry Sydney, why girls sit down to pee, whether bad people will go to heaven, how bees communicate, and what compost is. There are days when parenting a stubborn 4 year old wears me down like nobody's business. But one thing I can say: it is NEVER BORING!
Love this smartypants.
Love this smartypants.