Precisely Six

Turbo: "Mom, my watch is a six!"

Me: "Hey, that's cool. It does look just like a six."

Turbo: "No, mom, it is a six."

You may notice that I put a lot of exclamation points at the end of Turbo's sentences. Do not think this is accidental or inaccurate. He is fond of exclaiming this discoveries with much ado and I would not want to misrepresent him with a lowly period.

Where Milk Comes From

Oh, it's begun it has. I have such fond memories of my parents asking my sister and I questions that made us ponder and guess and struggle to serve up the right answer. Questions like, "Where does beef come from?" When our parents finally admitted that meat comes from animals, I think the first guess when asked again about the beef was a tentative, "Giraffe?"

Sometimes I think I had kids just to hear the funny things they say.

Tonight at dinner Turbo declared, "Cows give us milk."

Ooh, goodie! A perfect opportunity to see where his kid logic would lead...

Me: "How do cows give us milk?"

Turbo, matter-of-fact-ly: "It comes from their bodies. They give it to us from their bodies."

Me: "Where in their bodies does milk come from?"

Turbo: "In their bottoms... where the babies are also."

Me: "The babies are in there too?"

Turbo: "Yes and the babies will never, never, never come out of there."

Me: "Why won't the babies come out?"

Turbo, shrugging: "Cuz they don't."

One Foot in Front of the Other

There is an old Depeche Mode song that is ringing through my mind and I'm realizing that I'm not at all sure what the song is about, but the lyrics that speak to me tonight are this:

By putting one foot in front of another

And repeating the process

Cross over the street

I've been away from this blog for a while. I mentioned a couple of months ago that our lives were going through some adjustments, and at that time in mid-Summer I had every intention of getting my swing back quickly and vowed to write more often.

Best laid plans and all that... fast forward two or three months and it's now the downpour season in the Pacific Northwest (officially known a Autumn) and it's been really hard to sit myself down to write.

I think I've been afraid to begin, to take that first step. Would I remember how to bring cohesion to scattered thoughts? Would I be interesting? And, gulp, would I still be funny? Believing steadfastly, of course, that I was funny in the first place.

As always, it's not for lack of material. Turbo still inspires moments of utter bewilderment at how powerful a force his wit is. He's four years old now and in pre-K and into Legos (the teeny-tiny kind that make you yowl(!) when you step on them in the middle of the night) and he's got a good rhythm of vacillating between the good, the bad, and the hilarious. Yesterday, for example, he didn't want to finish his breakfast and exclaimed with overly dramatic flair, "Mom, if I eat one more bite my skin will fall off!" And gave me a look that said, "Duh!" You'll have to trust me that there was some logic behind this odd claim.

Smiley, oh wonderful, beautiful, calm Smiley. She is now two years old, talking all the time, and proud to share even the dullest observations like, "Mommy, Daddy's eating," and "Mommy, my chair is right there." I guess when you finally get to speak the same language as all those tall people surrounding you every day there is no need to hold back any thought in your head. Let the words flow, baby girl. Bring it.

And, so, I don't necessarily have something profound to share tonight. I merely needed to start writing again. This is where I belong. Writing is in me and it feels good to compose again. I have a few half-written posts that dribbled in over the past few month and I may revisit some of them later this evening. Better yet I should save them up for a night when I feel I have no topics stirring my fingertips.

Thank you for reading. Oh, and the Depeche Mode song is called Compulsion. But I'd put good money down that at least some of you already Googled that. ;)

I've taken the first step and now it's time to lather, rinse, and repeat the process. Cross over the street.