Outrageous Claims by Team Stimey

Quinn has this way of being that requires him to talk all the time. I know that I am very lucky to have a child who is so able to express himself and be so adorably charming, but there are times when I just feel that it must be SO EXHAUSTING to be him. I can’t imagine talking all the time like he does. I would have to nap a lot if I were him.

The problem is that he requires someone to answer him—nay, agree with him—after he makes his statements. I know this because every sentence that he speaks ends with, “Right, Mom? Right?” He will repeat that until I say, “Yes, Quinn.”

Then, if I agree with him, which I sometimes do automatically without even thinking about it, he will make a follow-up statement, which concludes with “Right, Mom? Right?” as well. And so forth.

I get in trouble when I become present three or four sentences in, when I realize that Quinn has been saying things that I shouldn’t really be agreeing to. If you are a parent, you might have had this happen to you.

But what I am here to talk to you about today is that even when I am listening, I get into trouble. Quinn escalates quickly from logic to outrageously ludicrous claims.

I have made up this conversation to show you what it is like to ride in a car with Quinn. Even though it is an imaginary conversation, I guarantee you, this is EXACTLY what it is like. (We talk about star dust a lot. And candy.)

topics: easter island

Quinn: Purple is a color. Right, Mom? Right?

Me: Mmm hmmmm.

Quinn: Right, Mom? Right?

Me: Yes.

Quinn: Is that a yes, Mom?

Me: YES!

Quinn: Orange is also a color. Right, Mom? Right?

Me: Yes.

Quinn: Your favorite color is orange. Right, Mom? Right?

Me: Yes.

Quinn: The sun is orange too. The sun’s favorite color is orange. Right, Mom? Right?

Me: Well, I don’t know if the sun—

Quinn: Right, Mom? Right?

Me: Yes, Quinn.

Quinn: The sun is made of solar flares that make star dust. Right, Mom? Right?

Me: Well, there are solar flares on the sun and—

Quinn: Everything is made of star dust. Right, Mom? Right?

Me: What do you mean by star dust? There are atoms—

Quinn: Star dust is really, really tiny but it’s orange. Right, Mom? Right?

Me: I don’t think atoms have a color, Quinn.

Quinn: Orange is made of star dust. Right, Mom? Right?

Me: I…guess…so…

Quinn: Star dust tastes like sprinkles and candy. Right, Mom? Right?

Me: Yes, Quinn.

Quinn: Mom? Can I have some candy? With sprinkles?

Me, considering that candy in his mouth might give me two or three minutes of quiet: Yes, Quinn.

Quinn, while eating candy: This candy is made of sprinkles. And star dust. Right, Mom? Right?

Me: Sigh.

All day, every day.

*****

Jack is more succinct, but just as outrageous.

In the car on the way to school this morning:

“I invented autism.”

There you have it. We will be accepting kudos, hate mail, and bug reports at your convenience.

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One Thing That Made Me Laugh

Jack, in the car on the way to school today:

“Can I have a flamethrower? What if I promise not to use it in the house?”

Then he asked if we had any war bonds we could cash in to buy a grenade launcher. I’m blaming this one on Calvin and Hobbes.

*****

Do you want to know what is awesome? Big kids. Big kids that can buckle their own seat belts and fetch you beer and outwit you at card games. Read more about why I think big kids are awesome, over at the Wheaton Patch.

*****

Also, 2012 sucks balls.

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