And we all give thanks...

"I am thankful for my little brother because I have someone to play with even when my friends can't." Raina, Thanksgiving 2011.

Happiness

"Mom, are you happy?" asked 4-year-old Rohan, perched precariously on a chair at the dining table, eating his favorite mac-and-cheese, his eyes huge and round.
The boy's been asking a lot of questions lately.
"Yes, baby, I am," I reply. "Are you happy?"
"Yes," he said.
"Do you know why you are happy?" I probed.
"Because Mommy is here," he said, smiling.
I don't have a heart anymore. It's lying squished, a pile of goo at my son's feet.

It's what we call'em Chez Muser

Rohan: "Mom, why do you have such big elbows?"

Rohanisms

It's his turn for some classics.

Tonight: "Mom, tomorrow's going to be another beautiful butterfly day!"

This morning: "Dad, Raina's going to be a vet, and I am going to be a Corvette!"

Couple days ago: "Mom, I'm a dog, Raina's a person, and you are QUEEN of the library!"

Needless to say, the last one is my favorite. If I could rule over a kingdom, it would be one of books. Well said, my boy.

Webster: A Book Review

Was reading a book tonight to the littlest right before bedtime: Webster, the Littlest Frog. It's about this tiny frog who is always by himself because none of the bigger frogs will let him play. "Scram, shorty!" says one nasty frog. Of course, all ends well with the littlest frog showing the bullies that he may be small, but he's smart.

So Rohan, now having become an angry young man who uses fists first and asks questions later, says, "He should just hit the big frog under the water."

"No hitting, Rohan," I frown. "That's not nice."

"Then he should just kick him," Rohan says.

"No, Rohan! Kicking's not nice either!"

"Then he should just kill him," says my 3-year-old, obviously oblivious to the message here.

"Rohan, no!" I say desperately. "If we want to make friends, we should use our words, not our hands!"

"But if we don't want to make friends, then we shouldn't use words," Mr. Logic replies.

Aargh!

Beating a Hasty Retreat

"Mom, why do your eyes get stripes?" asked my talkative 3-year-old, one beat before I was going to shut the door to his room leaving him to a blessed nap.
I paused, exasperated. It had been another long morning of chores, general running around, booking stuff for our forthcoming vacation, and taking care of the in-laws (yup, they've been in town since April). Plus I had had a king sized fight with P that had ended in tears.
I really, really was looking forward to Rohan's nap, hoping to escape to a similar oblivion for a half-hour at least. The last thing I wanted to do was answer yet another question.
"I don't know of anyone whose eyes get stripes," I said quickly, moving the door an inch closer to shut.
"Yes they do!" chirped Ro. "If you talk a lot, your eyes get stripes."
"My eyes don't," I said, before shutting the door.
Talk about beating a hasty retreat.
I thought later, I bet a better mom would have paused, dredged up yet some more patience from her never-ending quota and answered thoughtfully after some serious contemplation, which would have led to another seemingly endless conversation about nothing in particular.
Moi, I exited fast. At least this time.
But it's OK to be less than better sometimes, isn't it? It's OK to be unperfect in an unperfect world. I should wax eloquent over this, but I am too sleepy. It's my naptime, so time to beat yet another hasty retreat.

Cuggling, and Other Terms

My baby is growing up.
This weekend will complete one whole week since his potty training began. It ended soon after, with the Little Man graduating to Big Kid Underwear in an astonishing three days.
Experienced parents say that learning to go potty is like a switch that turns on just when the child is ready. At almost 3 1/2, Rohan was definitely ready. It was all so anticlimactic, I, who'd been consoling myself for months that at least he wouldn't be going to college in diapers, can still hardly believe it.
So before my big kid becomes a big man, which will happen in a similar blink of the eye, I thought I'd better treasure and record all the dear little pronunciations and miswords before they go the way of poopy diapers.
1. "Can I have a toy to cuggle with, mom?" he often asks, putting together cuddle with snuggle.
2. "No, mom, that's a heli-otter," he patiently tells his mom, who stubbornly insists that the thing passing overhead is a plane.
3. "No, mom, I don't want that, mom. No, no, no! Actually, yes," if I make the mistake of asking him if he needs a snack/hotwheel/water/you name it, he doesn't want it until he does.
4. "Do you get that toy for me, mom? Do you?" instead of "would you?"
5. "Sissah!" he calls out to Raina. On the other hand, he is "Wohan."
That's a good start for now.

Day at the Museum

Open curtain.
Locale: The Natural History museum
Day: Today
Time: Late morning
Dramatis Personae: Senior Citizen Museum Guide, 6-year-old Raina, Age Undisclosed A Muser
(The museum guide stands among fossil displays of various animals of the Pleistocene period.)
Museum Guide (standing between two fossils): And can you tell me which one is a herbivore and which one is a carnivore?
Raina (rapidly): That one is a carnivore because it has two sharp incisors so it can bite into the meat. The other one is the herbivore because it has short flat teeth which helps it eat plants.
Museum Guide and A Muser look a little dazed. (For A Muser, this is a close to permanent facial expression.) Short pause ensues.
Museum Guide (finally): Very impressive. Do you want a job?
Curtain closes on Raina's smile.