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ninanevermoreToday on my drive into work, I was thinking about how glad I am that my son can not yet understand what his father and I are talking about, and how we are going to have to rein in our senses of humor as his vocabulary grows, because some conversations should not be repeated verbatim in front of the grandparents.
We had just such a conversation in front of my son this past Sunday. The good news is that he didn't understand a word of it. The bad news is that a Baby Einstein video can bring out the depravity that his parents work so hard to keep under wraps.
On Sunday afternoons I like to slip out of the house for an hour or so while my son and my husband take naps. During this hour I visit a coffeeshop, where I sip on a latte, watch people and write, both in a journal and in a notebook (the paper kind). This is not mommy time, it is me time. For one hour, I am nobody's mommy and nobody's wife. For one hour I am simply an observer of humanity who contemplates deeper meanings and creates art out of words. For one hour a week, I pretend that I am cool. After this hour is up, I go home and step back into reality, but it's nice while it lasts.
When I returned home last Sunday, Jeff was sitting on the couch next to our son watching a Baby Einstein Video, Baby Mozart. If you have never seen a Baby Einstein video, you should know that they are designed for people between the ages of zero and three years of age. They are very simple, yet surprisingly visually stimulating, even for a grownup. This one features close up shots of kinetic toys (trains, wind up tops, bubble blowing toys, et. al.) doing their kinetic things to the strains of Mozart. The video has no plot, but it is edited in a way to make you wonder what will pop on the screen next. Jeff and our son were both mesmerized. I sat down on the couch and soon found myself equally entranced.
Our two year old made the experience interactive by pointing out things on the screen and telling us of what noises they should make.
"Train! Choo-chooooo!" "Cow! Mooooo!" "Cat! Me-ow!"
Then a toy shaped like a winged unicorn came into view.
"What is that?" Jeff asked. Our son frowned - he didn't know.
"It's a unicorn," I said.
"I didn't know unicorns had wings," Jeff said. He fixates on stuff like this, which is why I hate to watch science fiction with him. No, unicorns don't have wings, and robots wouldn't talk like that, and there are no flames or smoke in space. Who care? Shut up and watch the movie. Still, I felt compelled to answer him.
"They usually don't. Pegasus's have wings. That's a hybrid."
"Hmmm. I didn't think unicorns and Pegasus's got together like that."
"They usually don't," I said again, "Just this one instance. Let's just say there was alcohol involved, and neither of them likes to talk about it."
"Ohhhhh, I see," Jeff said, "And no one talks about the video..."
"Well, people talk about the video, but not when either of them is around. You can find it on the web, if you know where to look. For a price, that is."
We were silent for a moment, listening to Mozart as we imagined pornography that featured mythical animals. Our son sat between us and ignored us until a puppet shaped like a bulldog peaked from around the side of the screen.
"Dog!" he said, pointing to the TV.
"Yes, that is a dog," I agreed.
"And what does a dog say?" Jeff asked him.
"Woof! Woof!"
With that, our son steered the conversation back toward something he was interested in, animal noises, and away from magical husbandry and what happens when fabled equines get drunk and kick up their heals. Eventually he will need to learn where babies of all sorts – be they humans, puppies, kitten, or winged foals with spiral horns – come from. But that is a lesson for another day. For now, it is enough for him to know that a unicorn is a horse with a horn on its forehead, and that it says, "Nehehehehehehehe!" He doesn't need to know that the unicorn's daddy is some Greek stud who flew out of town after a wild night of passion, and never looked back.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ # ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
We had just such a conversation in front of my son this past Sunday. The good news is that he didn't understand a word of it. The bad news is that a Baby Einstein video can bring out the depravity that his parents work so hard to keep under wraps.
On Sunday afternoons I like to slip out of the house for an hour or so while my son and my husband take naps. During this hour I visit a coffeeshop, where I sip on a latte, watch people and write, both in a journal and in a notebook (the paper kind). This is not mommy time, it is me time. For one hour, I am nobody's mommy and nobody's wife. For one hour I am simply an observer of humanity who contemplates deeper meanings and creates art out of words. For one hour a week, I pretend that I am cool. After this hour is up, I go home and step back into reality, but it's nice while it lasts.
When I returned home last Sunday, Jeff was sitting on the couch next to our son watching a Baby Einstein Video, Baby Mozart. If you have never seen a Baby Einstein video, you should know that they are designed for people between the ages of zero and three years of age. They are very simple, yet surprisingly visually stimulating, even for a grownup. This one features close up shots of kinetic toys (trains, wind up tops, bubble blowing toys, et. al.) doing their kinetic things to the strains of Mozart. The video has no plot, but it is edited in a way to make you wonder what will pop on the screen next. Jeff and our son were both mesmerized. I sat down on the couch and soon found myself equally entranced.
Our two year old made the experience interactive by pointing out things on the screen and telling us of what noises they should make.
"Train! Choo-chooooo!" "Cow! Mooooo!" "Cat! Me-ow!"
Then a toy shaped like a winged unicorn came into view.
"What is that?" Jeff asked. Our son frowned - he didn't know.
"It's a unicorn," I said.
"I didn't know unicorns had wings," Jeff said. He fixates on stuff like this, which is why I hate to watch science fiction with him. No, unicorns don't have wings, and robots wouldn't talk like that, and there are no flames or smoke in space. Who care? Shut up and watch the movie. Still, I felt compelled to answer him.
"They usually don't. Pegasus's have wings. That's a hybrid."
"Hmmm. I didn't think unicorns and Pegasus's got together like that."
"They usually don't," I said again, "Just this one instance. Let's just say there was alcohol involved, and neither of them likes to talk about it."
"Ohhhhh, I see," Jeff said, "And no one talks about the video..."
"Well, people talk about the video, but not when either of them is around. You can find it on the web, if you know where to look. For a price, that is."
We were silent for a moment, listening to Mozart as we imagined pornography that featured mythical animals. Our son sat between us and ignored us until a puppet shaped like a bulldog peaked from around the side of the screen.
"Dog!" he said, pointing to the TV.
"Yes, that is a dog," I agreed.
"And what does a dog say?" Jeff asked him.
"Woof! Woof!"
With that, our son steered the conversation back toward something he was interested in, animal noises, and away from magical husbandry and what happens when fabled equines get drunk and kick up their heals. Eventually he will need to learn where babies of all sorts – be they humans, puppies, kitten, or winged foals with spiral horns – come from. But that is a lesson for another day. For now, it is enough for him to know that a unicorn is a horse with a horn on its forehead, and that it says, "Nehehehehehehehe!" He doesn't need to know that the unicorn's daddy is some Greek stud who flew out of town after a wild night of passion, and never looked back.
