Originally from January 21, 2006 – Boy, age 6
I am a fairly well-educated woman. I have managed very successful businesses, including being a major part of getting them to the point of said success. I have managed large crews of people doing everything from groundskeeping to commercial and technical sales and service to handling multimillion-dollar proposals and deals. I can speak with some authority on various medical issues. I have trained personnel effectively in every field I have ever worked. I have been sought after by several businesses at once in every field I have ever worked. I have been a professional powerhouse in my time.
…and then I became a parent.
Now, a 6-year-old can perplex me at times to the point that I need to lie down. I wonder if I’m losing (or have lost) my mind on a very regular basis. I have trouble articulating my thoughts coherently to anyone over the age of 10. My most carefully crafted proposals are meant to convince someone to eat green beans and put on pajamas, and worst of all, I find myself saying things like this: (and yes, they are all actual quotes)
“Did you just wipe a boogie on the couch? Uh uh. Where do we put boogies?”
“WHOA! No eating boogies!”
“I think there’s a box worth of Life cereal under here.”
“You can leave on your Darth Vader underwear.”
“Stop licking the ketchup off your plate.”
“No really, hold still and let me get this fuzz out from between your toes.”
“Seriously, pee in the water or I am going to have to yell.”
“Did you just put that in your mouth? Well, get it out and put it in my hand.”
“Let me look up your nose to make sure.”
“Take your hand out of your pants.”
“No, your special powers didn’t work; when you put your hand in your pants, you lose your special powers for 5 minutes.”
“Please don’t get your penis out while we’re in the store.”
“No, I don’t know where your cape is.”
“You’re right; there’s poop in there.”
“That helmet is officially too small.”
“Please don’t yell ‘UH OH!’ every time you see a police car.”
“Your penis is not in trouble.”
“Is he ‘fixing’ his penis AGAIN? I’m swear I’m going to tape that thing in place so he’ll leave it alone.”
“Yes, good wargs eat bad wargs.”
“So that’s what happens when chapstick goes through a wash cycle.”
“It’s not nice to kill.”
“Golf clubs are not for hitting people.”
“Jeremy can worry about his own underwear.”
“Just because I kiss your dad doesn’t mean that I don’t love you.”
“Sorry, we can’t take weapons to bed.”
“I can be a ninja at 5 o’clock, okay?”
Good thing I hated doing all that other stuff. I’d still like to recover my intellect though, preferrably before it starts to ferment and decay. I have faith. After all, it was only a few years before I stopped hearing the Winne the Pooh song in my head 24/7 (With practice, it is eventually possible to have sex without being distracted by this.), and I finally am no longer compelled to wonder what might be the Letter of the Day. He’s only 6 though, and I have a feeling it is going to get worse before it gets better; those teen years are coming.
Of course, if I’m REALLY lucky, sounding like an idiot will be my biggest problem. I can dream.