Thursday, November 25, 2010

Slow mornings

The Boy (tm) was having a slow Thanksgiving morning with his mom and me.  For those who don't know, a slow morning isn't as peaceful as it sounds in a household with a pre-schooler.  If you don't have young children, I imagine a slow morning means curling up in your beige snuggie with an $8 cup of coffee, reading a book written by a doctor about how to maximize the Feng Shui of your Pilates room.  Or, if you are feeling really energized by your full night's sleep, you'll wrap everyone's Christmas presents, right on the living room floor, that you finished buying two weeks ago.  You're probably watching the Jim Lehrer News Hour or This Week with George Stephanopoulos - heck even the local news - while wearing both socks (that match), and the string of your hoodie sweatshirt still sticks out of both collar holes.  

Or something like that.  I don't quite remember.

Add pre-schooler(s), and a slow morning is achieved if you are strangled by the sleeves of the beige snuggie at a rate of less than one noose per minute while holding a cup of Folgers over your head just out of slosh range.  The books within reach aren't by any doctor other than Dr. Seuss and your exercise routine consists of zigzagging from the living room to the kitchen to get paper towels for the spilled coffee without stepping on a matchbox car.  The holiday presents?  Ha!  They'll be purchased  three weeks into December, only to be removed from the locked car trunk and wrapped after Bedtime.  On Christmas Eve.   

And I'm not sure if I've seen an entire morning local newscast for (almost) five years.  This particular slow morning, we were watching a Transformers cartoon, mid-1980s version, that by some divine wonderfulness (or curse) is still on TV.  Between snuggie-smotherings, he was chattering about how much he loved transformers and how they had one at school, but he had to share, but it was okay, because sharing is Okay.

Naturally, this led to a conversation about a new student at the pre-school.  A little girl that I'll call Jane for her protection (or more likely, my own).  The Boy stated nonchalantly that Jane was in fact new and she looked like "Joe", another 4 year old,  because she had the same eyes.  What does that  mean, dear child?  I knew I shouldn't have asked as I was asking, because I didn't want to know the answer that I already knew, but before I could distract him or change the subject the answer to my impulsive query was already out of his mouth. 

"Her eye covers don't open all the way," he stated as he pointed at both eyelids.

Ah, crap. 

Where's the class picture from last fall honey? 

After a few minutes search it was found, and sure enough, Joe is Asian.  Jane, the new girl, is Asian.  Now, I will say it did lead to a noble attempt on my part to talk about people's differences and how we're all great and that everyone is beautiful in their own way and we're all unique and how Joe and Jane are Asian and isn't that wonderful and blah blah blah.  He took the impromptu Barney-esque lesson well, only slightly annoyed that I was talking during Transformers.

But alas, after the conversation I remain convinced and horrified that he's going to make sure to explain directly to the new girl that her eyes covers don't open all the way, and "Dad told me that's because yer aging,"  which will be his best effort at pronouncing Asian after several tries. 

So, other than my elastic waistband, the thing I'm most thankful for this Thanksgiving is that it's a long weekend, and that the Boy doesn't go back to school for 4 days.  Hopefully he'll forget to enlighten his class with the information he learned from Dad. 

Parenting tip:  Travel mugs, with sealable lids, are perfectly acceptable for morning coffee in your own living room.  

PS:  I know of a couple of you parents of young children that have somehow, and for some reason, already finished buying this year's Christmas presents. (I've even seen it as your boastful facebook status update).  That's a long time to hide wrapped things, good luck.  For the record - yes, they DO know where your hiding places are, and yes they WILL open them, play with them, and then repackage them.  Several times.  It only gets worse with aging.

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