But then there's the whole "encourage your child's learning" crap, so I had to suffer through a few sums, all the while pretending it was fun, before we finally hit some colors and shapes activities, which is where I live. It was smooth sailing for a good while.
All the early morning brain benders must have revved Ethan's appetite for the day, because here's a list of what he's eaten—so far:
- Ten strawberries
- Two sandwiches' worth of roast beef, sans bread
- A container of cherry yogurt
- An entire can of mandarin oranges
- Several slices of pear
- A container of peach tidbits
- Potato chips, in lieu of popcorn, of which we are out
- Several large bites of parmesan cheese, straight from the block
- A popsicle
The day's thrills don't stop there! At the grocery store, an old guy said "Hi, little girl," to which Ethan said, "I'm not a girl, I'm a boy," thus leading to a five-minute discussion between the two that included jokes about hair and not having hair, the meaning of "as the crow flies," and the fact that God made pecan trees to help feed the birds. The conversation was quite well-matched, by the way. Meanwhile, I stood to the side quietly trying to pay for my groceries. "Be patient," Ethan said to the two toddlers honking their cart-car-horn behind us.
Also on the agenda for discussion today: Why Daddy has a good point about Ethan brushing his teeth. Because yes Ethan's teeth will eventually fall out, and yes "something special happens" in the form of the tooth fairy, yet I had to explain you're not supposed to make your teeth fall out with excess of sugar and candy. He pressed me for hard facts, so I told him his teeth would come out on their own when he was 7.
Inevitably, what with the day's fruit-heavy menu, the time came for a trip to the bathroom, during which I was meant to stand outside the door and chat. When I asked if I could at least go get my water bottle and come back, this is what I heard:
"Mark my words, if you do it again, you won't be able to come to the potty with me anymore."
Apparently that was a threat. "Okay," I said.
"Mark my words."
"I've marked them."
"No, MARK THEM. Like, say them back!"
"Okay, okay, if I leave again I won't be able to come to the potty with you anymore."
"That's what I like to hear," he said condescendingly. "I'm done poopin'."