Have you met me? I like to talk. So does my child. He gets to sleep in my bed once a week and last night we snuggled up. I didn't sleep very well. Actually, I'm not sure I would even call my time in my bed last night sleep. I was thirsty, tired, awake, thinking and revisiting the past week in my head and wondering about what this week has in store. Not what you should be doing while your body and mind regroup! But last night was not my night to sleep.
Z loves to know what time it is. He woke up, asked me what time it was (I have no clock in my room, only my phone), and it was 6:47am. He rolled over and seemed placated. Then he asked (second question of my day, mind you) if Christmas would be the same day next year. Um, what? Will it be on a Thursday next year? As I tried to figure out what he was talking about I told him that Christmas is always December 25th. I compared it to Thanksgiving, which is always the third Thursday in November. For that Thanksgiving the date can change, but not for Christmas. Which led to the discussion about Christmas.
I asked him if he knew what Christmas was really about. Nope. I KNOW we've had this conversation before, but I told him about this woman named Mary (skipped the virgin part) who had a kid in a barn. His name was Christ. And there were some wise men and sheep that were there, too. You know what he said? "Mom. Before he died he was punched in the face." I laugh even typing that!!!! His friends have been through CCD and apparently this is what they've told him. Yeah, the poor guy had a rough time on that cross. I'm not sure he was punched in the FACE, but he died. What the heck are they telling these Catholic kids?
That conversation ended. Thank God. Or Christ? Nah. I think we thank God for that. Where the hell is my bible? Oh right. I don't have one.
Then, a few minutes after the Christmas conversation ended, I tooted. Farted. I didn't mean to, but it snuck out and it wasn't quiet. First thing I said was "It wasn't me." Well, it was just me and him in my room. You know what he said? "MOM. Sophie isn't here any more, so you can't blame her." Dammit. She only left us this past Thursday but oh how I miss that dog. The cat was outside and there was clearly no one else who could have produced that noise. Of course, the smell of roses is a bonus. I fart roses. Did I mention that?
I know later today as we were skiing at Bretton Woods I expained why ski patrolers have sleds, and how they get them up the mountain. I also had to explain how I telemark ski and why I make such funny turns. On our walk to the car after our three or four runs he tried to justify how saying "drawed" instead of "drew" sounds better. Yes, these are the conversations I have with Z.
Right now it's dinner time and before he would get into the shower we had to have a ninja fight, and he needed to win. It was tough for me to lose. Especially since I'm a ninja. But he just emerged showered and spring time fresh!
There were so many other Z stories I wanted to share with you, but I can't remember any of them right now. I guess they were for me to share with my boy and not with you. What you have read is just a snippit of my life raising my now 9 year old boy named Zachary. It's always interesting to say the least!
Sara
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