Simon’s bedtime chat with me as we lay side-by-side in his bed, a pretty accurate snapshot of life with him these days:
“Mommy, what’s 3 plus 2?”
“You tell me?
“Um, 6?
“No, use your fingers if you have to.
“Oh! 5!
“Right.
“What’s 2 plus 2?
“You tell me. (hereafter “)
“4
“What’s 4 plus 4?
“”
“8
“What’s 10 plus 10?
“”
“30?
“No. Forget the zero. Both numbers have them, so hide it for now. So what’s 1 plus 1?
“2
“Now add the zero back.
“20!
“What’s 20 plus 20?
“”
“40!
“What’s one hundred plus one hundred?
“OK, same thing as before, only now hide and then add back two zeros.
“200!
“What’s 600 plus 600?
”
“No Mommy, you tell me.
“Twelve-hundred. Or one thousand, two hundred.
“What’s twelve-hundred plus twelve hundred?
“Twenty-four hundred.
“What’s twenty-four hundred plus twenty-four hundred?
“Forty-eight hundred.
“What’s forty-eight hundred plus forty-eight hundred?
“Niney-six hundred.
“Wow, that’s as high as I can go. Is this the third song? (We play a CD at bedtime, and I’m usually kicked out of the room when the third song begins.)
“It is, it’s ‘Michele’.
“OK, I need to go to sleep now. All this talking about numbers has made my brain tired.”
At this point, he rolls over into bed with Dirty Dog, who makes a monkey and not a dog sound “to joke [me].” Prior to this conversation, he hid something down his pajama shirt with a sly grin and explained that he was being “like when Grandpa took Ringo’s card [invitation]” (“A Hard Day’s Night” reference).
Have I mentioned lately that talking to five-year-olds is awesome?