My Dyl is a bit like Chris Matthews on our daily commute.
His line of questioning is often sudden and thud like. I am usually woefully unprepared and insufficiently caffeinated. I suspect he knows this. He raises his voice an octave, bellowing from his booster seat to test whether I am paying attention.
And then the conversation shifts life the wind, leaving me searching for a thread of connection where there is none. It's just what's on a five-year-old's mind...unfiltered.
This was Tuesday's talk:
Mommy turn down the radio. I want to ask you something.
Why did you cry when grandpa Danny died?
Why did he die?
What's a disease
Where did grandpa Danny work?
Why is it so long till my birthday ?
Are you getting me a present?
Why does my party have to be in the Winter? ( I secretly want to hold a summer party for him so he can have a bounce house. He doesn't know it.)
Can I get wrestling guys for my birthday?
No, no, no. Wait.
Can I get two wrestling guys and a matchbox?
Remind me, I say.
Anything else?
No. That's it.
No comments:
Post a Comment