The Logic of Children

So, we moved Elder to Mizzou last week, but I’m not ready to talk about that yet. So, here is a story from 2000 when Elder would have been four years old and Younger one…

Sunday, after church, my husband and I and the boys drove to town in search of nourishment. On the drive, Elder announced, “I want to eat at King Burger.”

Not being a fan of fast food hamburgers, I responded, “No, Elder, I think we’re going to do pizza today.”

“But I like King Burger. They have ketchup…and hamburgers…and mustard.” At this point, his voice trailed off a little and I missed a good portion of restaurant’s praises due to the sportscast on the radio and the wailing from Younger. Within a few minutes, though, Elder had raised his voice again. “They have pickles, too, but you can open your hamburger and pick those off. Okay, Mommy?”

“Okay, Elder.”

Big blue eyes shining, Elder changed the focus of his attention to my husband. “Daddy, do you want to go to King Burger? Me and Mommy do.”

So, for all those future parents, never, ever concede even one point to your four-year-old or he will assume he has won the whole argument. Remain absolutely silent, if you must, but avoid at all costs agreeing to taking pickles off a hamburger or you might find yourself eating at a restaurant not of your choosing.

Live and Let Live

The other night, unexpectedly, Younger stayed with his grandparents. When he arrived home late the next night, I hollered at him from my perch on my bed as he ran upstairs.

“Younger! I missed you!”

“Missed you, too, Mom,” he replied, easily.

But when he hit the top of the stairs, he turned to circle towards his own bedroom.

“Younger,” I yelled in dismay.

“Just a minute, Mom. I have to plug in my phone.” Then he added as an afterthought, “Love you, Mom.”

“You do not. You love your phone, not me. Otherwise, I would get a hug before your phone got power.”

“My phone is dying, Mom,” he hollered back at me. “You’re not.”

“I might be,” I cried dramatically. “You don’t know.”

He eventually presented himself for his hug, unfazed by my pouts.

I lived.

So did his phone.

And, if you are wondering, so did Younger.

Fire in the Hole

I apologize for not posting last week. We had a tragedy in our extended family.

So…Elder leaves for college next week. In the sorting of what we have and what we need, I mentioned, “And I have that microwave downstairs you can use.”

“Oh.” Elder tilted his head. “I wanted to blow that microwave up.”

Eyebrows hitting my hairline, I responded, “Get a job, buy a microwave, and blow your own microwave up.”

“Not a big explosion,” Elder assured me. “I just wanted to try to microwave fire.”

Huh.

Microwaving fire.

I am raising intelligent boys.

But they are still boys.

Maybe I should just go back to letting them shoot fireworks at each other.

At least then my microwave will be safe.