Monday, September 16, 2013

Game That Don't Make Sense

One time in recent memory, Ari was barfing. I'm his Preferred Vomit Receptacle. Meaning: He feels he cannot properly barf without me holding him and pressing my skin as completely against his as possible for the duration. For some reason that is probably extremely anti-feminist, I like this. Except, of course, when it is happening. Then, I think it's gross. But I like to brag to people about my status as the PVR. It is an honor. Truly. It pretty much requires that I catch the disease, and then we barf and refuse to eat in synchronicity, and poor B, who has a stomach of steel, has two babies to deal with.

It was at a time like this, when Ari began to enjoy games and conversations that make no sense. It's difficult to confuse me; I'm actually pretty sharp. So I have to hand it to him. If I can't make sense of this stuff, no one can. But, just in case--here are some examples:

Exhibit A
Scene: the bathroom. Everyone is naked, to prevent clothing from being barfed on.
Ari: (spinning a ball on a string and paddle around in circles) Mommy! Waiw's (aka where's) the ball?
Self: (pointing) There.
Ari: (giggling, because this is so much fun) No. Waiw's the ball? 
Self: Bunny, I just told you! It's right there.
Ari: (giggling more) No, mommy. Waiw's the ball? Be pesific! (aka specific)
Self: Look. I just told you where it is. Whaddya want? Latitudinal coordinates or some shit?
Ari: No, thank you. Just tell me waiw the ball is!
Self: Is this a trick question? Does it even have an answer?? The ball. Is in. The bathroom. With us. Attached to a string, which is attached to a paddle, which is in your hand!
Ari: (calmly, and still giggling) Mommy, waiw's the ball?
Self: If you don't shut up, I'm going to throw the ball in the toilet and flush, buddy.
Ari: (singing) Waiw, oh, waiw has my little ball gone?
Self: Oh, my god. I hate this game.
Ari suddenly barfs, missing toilet and hitting me.

Exhibit B
Scene: Car on the way home from school.
Ari: Mommy, I can't dwive.
Self: I know, bunny. It's okay. 
Ari: But, how wiw (aka will) I learn?
Self: When you're 16, you'll take a class.
Ari: But I can't dwive! How wiw I be able to dwive? I can't even wead, so how wiw I know the speed limit?
Self: (being drawn into the five-year-old logic) Well, you can read numbers. The speed limit is a number. (Pause. Then, an afterthought!) Oh, but! When you are 16 you will be able to read.
Ari: I wiw?
Self: Yes. I am fairly certain. I'm a reading teacher. I can tell these things.
Ari: (suspiciously) Okay. If you say so. (Pause) But, Mommy! I don't know waiw the go button is, and I don't know waiw the stop button is, and I can't see over the steewing wheel!
Self: Yes, I know, sweetie. This is why five-year-olds don't drive.
Ari: (panicking) How wiw I get to work? How wiw I get to Tarjay (aka Target)??
Self: Please try to calm down. I will take you until you're old enough to drive. That's what parents do. And you don't have a job, bunny.
Ari: But I wiw! Or how wiw I pay the biws (aka bills)??
Self: sigh.

Exhibit C
Scene: In line at the DMV, or similar.
Self: Ari, stop touching that.
Ari: (flailing arms and legs in hyperactive five-year-old manner) Why?
Self: Because you are going to knock that pole over, and then the ropes will fall down, and no one will know where to line up.
Ari: Okay. (runs to the trash can, embraces it
Self: Ari! Stop that!
Ari: Stop what? (puts both hands and face into the trash and pokes around in there)
Self: Stop touching the trash.
Ari: Why?
Self: Because it's dirty.
Ari: (playing dumb) Twash is dirty? (laughs uproariously)
Self: Ari.
Ari: (runs around with arms out like plane, in order to maximize damage) Vroooooom!
Self: Really? Am I being punked?
Ari: (still running around, knocking shit over) Yes, Mommy. Weally! What is "punked?"

Exhibit D
A story
Ari: This is a pwetend stowy. One night! Mommy told me not to go downstaiws, but somebody took me downstaiws and took me home. And he took me into a dawk, dawk, dawk cave waiw thaiw was lots of bats, and they scuwwied (aka scurried) out of the cave, and they went into a school bus. And they flew all awound the school bus and when they came out, they were somewaiw else! Thaiw was a weally big, scawy monstew, and they flew all awound him in a circle and made a tornado. And then the monstew fell down! Mommy, when does space end?

Exhibit E
Scene: The living room
Ari: (in plain view) Boo!
Self: . . .
Ari: Mommy, waiw you scared?
Self: Does it look like I'm scared?
Ari: Mommy!!!! I want you to be scared!
Self: It's good to have goals.
Ari: Be! Scared!
Self: Ari, you were in plain view. You have to hide to scare me.
Ari: (freaking out) NOOOOOOOOO! You Bad Mommy! Be scared!!
Self: (faking it, but a trained actor, so not badly done) Ah!
Ari: That wasn't good enough. Be scareder.
Self: (trembling quite believably) Help! Help! A five-year-old! How terrifying!
Ari throws fit.

But, honestly, if I act scared at such a non-scary thing, what am I teaching him? I mean. He should put more effort into it, right? He's five, not stupid.

At times like this I find it helpful to hear my Parenting Power Song. ("You're Gonna Miss This"-Trace Adkins, in case anyone wants to know.) I can't get through the third verse without tears streaming down my face, and Ari's always like, "WTF, Mommy?" But it makes me into a super parent--I can tolerate anything and still remain loving. I can play endless games that make no sense, get barfed on like a champ, be scared of whatever.
The end.

1 comment:

  1. Good to know mine isn't the only kid who plays "How much can I tweak Mommy before she gets that funny color on her face."

    You're funny!

    ReplyDelete