Sign of the times

Should I be worried when the question of the day is "How do you kill someone?" ?

Hmmmm, tricky one that.

Mr H decided to look at the practical aspects ("Well you could shoot someone, or use a knife.") I took the moral ground and refused to answer on the grounds that it was very wrong to kill someone (and if anyone does the police man comes straight away and takes them away for a long long time. It didn't wash, but I felt better for doing it)

I recently read "We need to talk about Kevin" by Lionel Shriver, which was a thoroughly uncomfortable read as a parent, and does rest like undigested brain fodder on my mind from time to time.

I can't remember the follow up question, but it was something entirely disconnected to killing and the awkward moment was soon over.

Puberty myths debunked

"Daddy, is Hana mummy's daughter?"

"Yes."

"Am I mummy's daughter?"

"No, you're her son."

"Are you mummy's daughter?"

"No, I'm her husband."

"Oh... Daddy will I have a daughter one day?"

"You might, yes."

"Can I have one now, if I met the right lady?"

"No, you have to hit puberty first."

Then chimes a small voice from the other side of the room, "But daddy you can't hit people.... It's very naughty."

Even wise men need to be quiet sometimes

It's a fact that we haven't had so much banter over breakfast as late. And even more of a fact that if there had been, I probably wouldn't have heard it because my mind has been on exams, which are now thankfully finished. Aside from the small matter of business accounts at 9.30am tomorrow morning.

I shouldn't be on here now but if I don't write down the more recent ones I will forget, and not be able to recall them at the appropriate 18th birthday parties where parents make inappropriate remarks about their offspring (if you are still young and haven't had children yet I can warn you that those remarks are saved up a long time and painstakingly planned to cause deep embarrassment in retribution for years of parental abuse -the early mornings for 6 years, then the "I won't get out of bed for school ever" mornings for the next 12, the smelly farts when you are sat next to important people, the hairclips that stab your feet when you stand on them because they are always on the floor, hiding, like little wicked weaver fish waiting to prong you...)

But I digress...

"Mummy, are too many carrots bad for you?"

"No, probably not. In fact probably good for you"

"No mummy. Too many would kill you."

"You'd have to eat an awful lot. You'd turn orange before you die. And you'd have excellent night vision."

" I think carrots are unhealthy. If you eat too many."

We've also had a foray into world politics recently. He asked who ruled the world. I said no-one was really in charge of the whole world. He said someone must be, so I thought, fine, well, why not give him the spiel. I explained America, and the G8, and the EU and various other things I could think of to sound intelligent. I thought it was quite a good effort actually, and I thought he was convinced. Then he looked at me pensively and proffered "God?".

And lastly, we had thought he would become a doctor, or an engineer, or a scientist of sort, until today when he sat down amidst a table piled with books and fixed me with his eyes before asking "Mummy, do you enjoy your job?" very seriously. So psychiatry perhaps. Or personnel?

Bob: " What is a country?"

Me: "Ummmm. Daddy? Defintion of a country?"

Mr H: "Country or independent state?"

Bob: "Country."

Mr H: "Ummmm. A group of peole living in a certain defined geographical area with their own customs, langauge and currency."

Me: "The Germans don't have their own currency anymore, or the French. They have Euros."

Mr H: "OK (sarcastically) a currency then."

Bob: "Is England a country?"

Me: "Yes."

Bob: "America?"

Me; "yes"

Bob: "Africa?"

Me: "No."

Bob:" Is America bigger than England?"

Me: "Yes, lots."

Bob: "Five times bigger?"

Me: "More"

Bob: "100 times bigger?"

Me: "Don't know exactly"

Bob: "1000 times bigger?"

Me: " Don't know exactly?"

Bob:"Have a guess."

Me: "OK (glance at map, make a crude estimate of size from a not to scale map on the other side of the room), maybe 10 times?"

Mr H: "(guffaws loudly) Much bigger" (didn't notice him proffering an answer though).

Wendy: "Mummy's so silly!"

Bob: "Well?"

It amazes me how wan smol boy (one small boy, surprisingly, in Bislama) can eat so much. Given time at the weekend he'll devour two eggs and soldiers, 2 toast and jam, a grapefruit, stripped off every fleshly part and most of the pith too, and still ask "what's for pudding?"

When we were in Vanuatu he insisted on eating porridge for breakfast, every day in 35 degree heat. They don't have oats over there so we had to buy prohibitively expensive imported ones from the french supermarket, they were about £5 a box. Once we opened them only to find the oats crawling with maggots. We took the box back and the shop assistant opened several more boxes to find more of the same.

Did Bob ask himself straightforward questions like "why do I insist on eating hot meals for breakfast when it is far too hot and very illogical to persist in doing so?"? No, he did not. Instead he asked us unanswerable things like,

"Why do mangos have a large flat stone and not a small round one?" (Because they do).

Mangos became Bob's staple food over there - even usurped the porridge. 10 for a penny and tasty at that. Unfortunately, now that we're back in the UK where we don't grow mangos, he costs us the earth... again. At least oats are cheaper though, even if the questions are just as hard...

"Mummy, are oats the same as wheat?"

"No, they are different. Different plants, different cereals."

"Why?"

Bob on Life

" The problem with life, mummy, is that it just goes on and on".

Glances exchange between me and Mr H.

" You see, a baby turtle hatches, and then it grows up, lays and egg and gets old. And then a new turtle is born and the same thing happens. It just goes on and on mummy".

I would have thought life eternal was not a bad thing for a child to contemplate - particularly as most small children think they are immortal anyway. I don't think he has a problem with life in general, I just think he finds the circle of life, well, a little too uncomplicated for his liking. He'd prefer something more flanimal-esque, he's rather touched by Ricky Gervais' spin on things.

Saturday 26 January 2008

I had a lie in today and missed breakfast. It's very rare, so don't begrudge me it. However, I do have an old breakfast snippet, from a couple of weeks ago. It was the reason I started this blog - prior to that I arrived at uni every day and told my study group what happened at breakfast. Someone suggested I start a blog so other people could giggle at my kids' expense. I think they might have been getting a teensy bit bored of me.

Wendy: "When did Jesus die?"

Me: "About 2000 years ago"

Bob: "But why do we celebrate Easter?"

Me: "Christians believe Jesus came back to life again, around Easter time"

LONG PAUSE.

Wendy: "Mummy... that's really not normal is it, to come back to life?"

Bob: "Yes, but Wendy, he's the Son of God"

Wendy: "Oh"

Bob's latest view is slightly more accurate than his previously held believe that Jesus rose from the dead because he was (is) a superhero "a bit like Sporticus from Lazytown".

And still on the God theme, it makes sense to throw another one in because we're on the subject. Bob was rather confused when he visited my parents church and picked up on the fact that people were referring to God being all around. So he asked my dad in a toddler's whisper "Where is he then? Is he that one?" and pointed to a man in the congregation. It obviously wasn't a successful whisper because a different man sat a few rows away looked round and helpfully pointed out "No, it's that one over there". Bob now thinks God is tall, grey haired and around eighty years old with hairy eyebrows and a nice warm waistcoat.

And another thing: with one set Christian and one set Muslim grandparents, the God issue is understandably perplexing for a five year old. We're still stumped by "is nanna's God the same as Bibi's Allah?". Answers on a postcard please.

24 January 2008

Still on the dinosaur theme. I blame @Bristol, the local science museum with a very good dinosaur talk which must have captured their imaginations...

Bob: "What makes a dinosaur a dinosaur Wendy?"

Wendy: "It has legs"

Bob: "No"

Wendy: "I know, it's Diplodocus"

Bob: "Wendy there are lots of dinosaurs you know, so that's wrong."

Wendy: "Maybe it's their teeth"

Mr H: "I have teeth, and I'm not a dinosaur"

Wendy: "I know, it's Diplodicus, and he's not scary"

Me: "Do you know what makes a dinosaur a dinosaur Bob?"

Bob: "Yes. Stripes."

23 January 2008

Bob: "Mummy do dinosaurs use the toilet?"

Me: "No"

Wendy: "Diplodocus does"

Bob: "Actually no he doesn't. He's too big. He would squash it."

Wendy: "Yes he does, doesn't he mummy?"

Me: "No"

Bob: "Actually Wendy, the only dinosaur that uses the toilet is Velocorapter because he is small. He fits on the toilet. T Rex would squash it and so would Diplodocus and the flying ones just... MUMMY! How do flying dinosaurs use the toilet???"

22 January 2008

Bags under eyes a plenty at the table this morning... Monday night is always swimming lessons for Bob and Wendy and myself and Mr Hubbard played badminton till late with 3 other couples. Fun, but to regret this morning when the alarm went off.

Alas, it seems tiredness does not affect Bob's breakfast wisdom. Only one spoon into his porridge we were faced with today's prize winning question...

" Mummy, when you take your stocks and shares out, is the money still yours or someone elses?"

Cue Mr H choking on his branflakes and asking Bob to repeat the question just to make sure he'd heard correctly before giving an explanation of how the Bank of England makes new coins, which was fascinatiing but did not entirely (or even nearly) answer the question.

As parents, we hardly ever answer the questions in depth for him. Mainly because we don't know the answer, or we can't think of how to explain it in child friendly terms. But I do wonder if we'd be better off just answering it as we would had an adult asked it. Maybe that would stop all the follow on questions which tend to get progressively harder.

Welcome to the Madhouse

This blog has been created in honour of my five year old son. Every parent thinks their child is a genius. I don't know about that, but mine is pretty weird, especially in the first two hours after he wakes up. Thus breakfast time, that precious 15 minutes squeezed between work and school, consists of surreal and profound conversation between Bob and his little sister Wendy (names changed to protect identities and make cheap references to kids TV). Occasionally we join in. Mostly there are questions raised about the universe which we just can't answer. I would welcome your contributions if you can answer them, so I can pretend I do know the answer and gain a little credibility with him... It's not good to be dimmer than your child.