Apparently, I'm brilliant. Yes, I'm a frickin' genius. At least, that's what I surmise after much brow furrowing and banging of the head on the wall. Why else would my four-year-old son wake me up every morning with what appears to be pop quizzes for I'm Smarter Than A Fifth-Grader or university entrance exams or maybe even Mensa.
Climbing up on my bed and often snuggling in with me for a few minutes, he covers every topic: from the mundane to the abstract, from the intricate interpersonal relationships of his friends toys to the rastafarian.
"Where's Chloe?"
"Why is the sky blue, Mummy?"
"What are they doing?" Holding out his dinosaur/animal/superhero figurines to me.
"What does purple taste like?"
And this is all before I can fully open my eyes or unglue my tongue in my mouth and croak "Whaaaaa???" in the fully perspicacious way that I have about me as the sun begins to rise.
His faith in my estimable cognitive powers appears to be vast, as he doesn't wait for a fully formed answer to be completed before launching his next verbal missile.
I like to be concise and not miss any nuance of his enquiries, so I sometimes wait until he finishes his bucket list of questions before my essay-like answers. At least, that's my intention. However, if a question goes unanswered for even a millisecond, he repeats it in ever-increasing frequency and pitch. His expectations are clear: rapid-fire question and answer format shapes my every. waking. moment.
While college and university did indeed enrich my thoughts and refine my sagacity, I think his belief in the depth and breadth of my intelligence far outweighs the reality of the grey matter that rests within my skull. Because, it is true, is it not, that it's all down-hill... brain-wise... after university? Unless you're actually, you know, using your brain?
Whatever braininess I had left the pregnancy sucked right out of me. I can't tell you how many times a day I forget how old I am or what I'm supposed to get from the store or what my name is. And a new address and phone number? Forget it. I wrote it down and keep that crucial scrap of paper in my purse to refer to for the next 10 years or until the next move. Whichever comes first. (This all makes me sound really old and sad, doesn't it? Well, I'm actually not. I think. I forget. Where was I? Oh yes, questions.)
But the question that really haunts me is: what is this everlasting pop quiz preparing me for?
Really though... What does purple taste like? The world would like to know.
ReplyDeleteMy sons were both like that and my nephew is too. So many big questions. You want to answer them, but sometimes you just want to tell them to please be quiet and let mommy sleep. It's a tricky line to walk. :)
Oy. The questions. I think they just get harder.
ReplyDeleteMy son kept saying "I hear purple" when we watched fireworks this year but we don't know what purple tastes like.
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