Kid Amnesiac

There have been a few things in the past couple of weeks that have left me speechless. For example, a while back Simon told me that his Curious George that looks like the TV character was “Mommy George” and that the George that looks like the book character  was “Daddy George”. He then put Daddy George on top of Mommy George in his bed.

Now, I can handle having The Race Talk at the tender age of three, but I don’t have to have that talk just yet, do I? Thankfully, nothing like this has come up again.

Yesterday we found ourselves snowed in (thus canceling the second part of my birthday plans—more on that later). To relieve the tedium, Simon decided that dragon hunting was in order. Aided by his flashlight and trusty meter stick*, he set off in all rooms of the house. And boy was it a good thing he decided to  hunt for those dragons, because our house was riddled with them. We had dragons in our kitchen, living room, dining room, hall closet, guest bedroom, Simon’s bedroom, our bedroom, and Matt’s office.

Some of the dragons were scary and had to be shooed off out the window. Other dragons, mostly the ones in the hall, were happy dragons. I asked Simon how he could tell they were happy and he had a pretty good reply explanation:

“The happy dragons are dancing, Mommy.”

Ah. That clears that up. I was doing my best to play along—imaginative games like this have never been my strong suit—but I had no answer to dancing dragons other than, “Oh, OK. Do you want to dance?”

As it turns out, no real response from me was required. So far as I can tell, from the time Simon awoke at 7:45 this morning to the time he went down for his nap at 3:00 he never once stopped talking. Not once! And as I shut the door to his room and walked into the blessed cone of silence, I was nearly hysterical with relief.

I was also mindful of a story my Aunt Marcia told me about me as a little girl. When I was a little older than Simon and she and my Uncle Sam lived out of town, they once picked me up for a day on a Louisville visit. A visit forever imprinted in their minds by my non-stop talking. Seems I never shut up. Not once! When they told me it was time for me to go home, I looked up at them with sad eyes and said, “Well, I guess that’s it for Jessica.”

So I guess I can just call this karma. Or genes.

* A flashlight and meter stick are required for all searches, because most of our searches are for cars and balls that roll under our couch. I have spent more hours than I can count on my belly, flashlight in one hand and meter stick on the other, hunting for lost balls/cars and then knocking them into reach. If I had to do it all over again, I would have demanded a couch that sits flush on the floor!