so, the pup has been dubbed Feta. she is adorable. i love her. also, much like my second-born child, my second-born fur baby is WAY easier than my first-born. phew. fingers crossed she stays that way.
the kids love her too even though they're a little scared of her because she's already twice the size blue was. and they do miss their best old blue. last night jack and i had this conversation -
Jack: I love Feta. But I miss Blue.
Me: I know. Me too, buddy.
Jack: I wish I could have two dogs that aren't dead.
Me: I think one dog [that isn't dead] is enough.
Jack: Well, someday, when Feta is older, can we get another dog that isn't dead?
Me: Probably not.
Jack: Why not?
Me: Because two kids and one dog sounds like a full house to me.
Jack: Why does my cousin Finn have two dogs?
Me: I guess Aunt Chelsea and Uncle Rocko have more time and patience than I do.
Jack: Why doesn't Finn have a sister?
Me: You'll have to ask Aunt Chelsea.
Jack: So either two kids and one dog, or one kid and two dogs?
Me: Well, not necessarily, it just depends on what works for each family.
Jack: If I didn't have a sister, could I have another dog that's not dead?
Me: Proooobably not. Plus, you would be so sad if you didn't have a sister! She is going to be your best bud forever and ever.
Jack: Dat's dubious!
[At this point I am cracking up because not only has he picked up my phrasing (much to DM's chagrin), he is reenacting a conversation I had with my mom when I was his age! This kid is a riot.]
Jack: [Literally the next sentence.] Am I gonna die?
Me: Um, eventually?
Jack: I don't want to die.
Me: Well don't worry, it won't be for a very, very long time.
Jack: Like how long?
Me: Well, you never know for sure, but probably when you're like, 99, or 103.
Jack: What do you look like when you're dead?
Me: I'm not sure.
Jack: Why aren't you sure?
Me: It's not something I like to spend a lot of time thinking about.
Jack: Can you look up a picture of a dead person on your phone?
Me: Um, no.
Jack: Do you know anyone who lived to be a souzand-hundwed yeaws owd?
Me: Nope.
Jack: Well I do. He's some wandom guy. He's invisible and he lives on Jupiter except on da weekends.
Seriously. Killing me.
Also, please tell me my kid is not the only freakishly morbid little focker out there. Like, wanting to talk about death and dead people, and describing various manners of death in disturbing detail. E.g., "Cowby, you bettah sit down on yo' buns o' you wiow fawl ovah on yo' head and cwack yo' skowl open." Or, "HaHA, Daddy! I killed you dead! You have no head! And all the bwood leaked out yo' bains [veins?] all ovah da flow!" And my personal favorite, "Cowby, you can nevah evah open da door when da car is moving o' ewse you might fawl out da car and get runned ovah and flattened out like a pancake and yo bwains wiow come out yo' eyebawlz." I have NO IDEA where he gets this shit. I mean, I do tend to be a bit alarmist about safety concerns but I swear to you, I have never said anything about brain matter and orbital cavities. Nor did he pick this up from Umi Zumi or Bubble Guppies or even the Lego Movie.
Oh, and what about inventing a complete alternate reality? (See above re: Jack's acquaintance with "Wandom Souzand-Hundwed Year-Owd Martian Who Weekends on Planet Erf.") The kid makes shit up ALL the time. He can tell some whoppers! Is this normal??? I mean. He's really very sweet. And I definitely hear all sorts of second-hand tall tales from his preschool buddies. So I'm just going to pretend you have a PhD in child psychology and you say, yes, he is totally fine, and not at all a sociopath-in-training. Thanks! Good talk!
 |
| ha! pretty sure this applies for all the ages. photo credit: DP |
