California conversations

Are you glad to be home, guys?

The Boy:

Yes.  I mean, eventually it gets boring in California.  And I missed my friends.  And we had to take a car everywhere.

This from the child who while we were there declared:

There aren't any kids in California.

Q had, of course, a different take:

I like California better.
Us: Why?
Q: Because Ba Ngoai* likes me so much.
Us: How do you know?
Q: Because she makes me pho and gives me lots of kisses.
Us: What about all the swimming?
Q: That, too.

__________________________________
*Maternal grandma in Vietnamese.

Good question. Good answer.

Not long after I walked in from work yesterday, The Boy started shaking his head back and forth.

The Boy: Daddy.
Me: Yes?
The Boy: I can hear my brain move in my head when I do this.
Me: What?
The Boy: I can hear my brain in my head when I move it back and forth.
Me: [Pause] What does it sound like?
The Boy: A rock.

Okay. And then a little later as I'm running the bath and as my wife is negotiating with Q over something, the boy comes in. Quiet, he eventually stops in the middle of pulling off his second sock.

The Boy: Daddy.
Me: Yes?
The Boy: What is thinking?

Now unlike many questions I expect to encounter as a parent (about, e.g., the origin of babies and whatnot), this one I've actually been trained to answer, have actually studied for years, published articles on, and have given talks to learned audiences about with complicated slides. This was my moment. Supposedly.

Me: That's a good question—a really difficult question. I think thinking is a little like asking yourself questions and then answering them to yourself.
The Boy: [skeptical look]
Me: That's how I think about it, anyway.
The Boy: [skeptical look]
Me: ...
The Boy: [skeptical look]
Me: What do you think thinking is?
The Boy: I think with my imagination.
Me: I like that. That's a good way of thinking about it, too.

He's got the making of a philosopher. Unfortunately.

Remember kids: Stay in school. (Just not for too long.)

No doubt, Q

Overheard conversation between my lovely wife and Q while my wife was putting on her makeup this morning. Q was pretending to put on makeup, too, running an empty brush along her cheeks in imitation of her mother.

Lovely wife: When you grow up, you're going to break some hearts.
Q: I'm going to break some hearts and squares.

No doubt, Q.

(Picture taken by The Boy, by the way.)

Christmas Short #1: Not his father's Santa--let alone my father's Santa

The Boy: Does Santa have a desk?
Me: A desk?
The Boy: Yes, a desk?
Me: [pause] Yes.
Boy: Does he have a computer? For his e-mail?
Me: Yes he does. And we sent him one saying that you were such a good boy this year.
Boy: Okay.
[pause]
Boy: Where does he put his candy canes?
Me: He has a little cup on his desk where he keeps them.
Boy: What about when it's not Christmas?
Me: He puts them in a big closet.
Boy: No. I think he puts them in a drawer in his desk.
Me: Maybe that's right.

No doubt we'll soon have some interesting conversations about the Tooth Fairy.