Wednesday, September 15, 2004
If only so mom will get off my back....
Now that Max is thoroughly verbal, I get to laugh out loud at something he says at least once a day. A few minutes ago he produced this memorable line: "'God is great, God is good, Let us thank him for our food.' Mom, that's a prairie."
At other times, I want to burst with laughter, but for the sake of more important things, I opt for a different response. For example, on the way home from school this afternoon, Max posed this very earnest question: "Mommy, do the Wiggles have penises?"
And sometimes what's particularly funny isn't so much what Max says, but what I imagine he would say if he had the words to do so.
As I've mentioned before, when Lee and I put Max in bed at night, we swing him by his hands and feet as long as he counts correctly. For weeks now his sequence has gone like this: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen...." And each time we say, "Max, it's eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen...."
This afternoon, Max and I were playing with a numbers puzzle in his room when he made the same misstep. Here was our exchange:
Mom: Max, why do you think you always forget number 13?
Max: I don't know. Because that way I forget 14, too [not that this makes logical sense, mind you, it's just what he said as he tried to sort out my question.]
Mom: Let's do your numbers together.
Mom and Max: Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty. [We intoned this pattern several times in unison, like Sesame Street characters performing a rudimentary Gregorian chant.]
Mom: Do you think you're going to remember 13 from now on?
Max, with a sigh: I hope so.
At other times, I want to burst with laughter, but for the sake of more important things, I opt for a different response. For example, on the way home from school this afternoon, Max posed this very earnest question: "Mommy, do the Wiggles have penises?"
And sometimes what's particularly funny isn't so much what Max says, but what I imagine he would say if he had the words to do so.
As I've mentioned before, when Lee and I put Max in bed at night, we swing him by his hands and feet as long as he counts correctly. For weeks now his sequence has gone like this: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen...." And each time we say, "Max, it's eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen...."
This afternoon, Max and I were playing with a numbers puzzle in his room when he made the same misstep. Here was our exchange:
Mom: Max, why do you think you always forget number 13?
Max: I don't know. Because that way I forget 14, too [not that this makes logical sense, mind you, it's just what he said as he tried to sort out my question.]
Mom: Let's do your numbers together.
Mom and Max: Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty. [We intoned this pattern several times in unison, like Sesame Street characters performing a rudimentary Gregorian chant.]
Mom: Do you think you're going to remember 13 from now on?
Max, with a sigh: I hope so.
1 Comments:
Is it 14 that he forgets, or 15? Your listing of the numbers he says makes it sound as if he was skipping the odd numbers over 11... which, if he knew the difference between even and odd numbers, would be pretty interesting.
How did you answer his question about the Wiggles?
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