His little hand, still with baby dimples for knuckles, nicked a pointy-edged Transformer from my grasp, and with a quick mix of spins and elbow grease turned it from a robot into a car. Officially marking one of the first moments I gave my husband, “the eyes.”
“They’ve done it,” my husband said. “The children are outsmarting us.”
Skip forward a couple years and they’re learning new tricks. Like this:
School starts soon. Meaning crayons, markers, notebooks and Ticonderoga pencils line our walls in anticipation. I bought a new backpack for my son, since a T-Rex chewed a few holes in his last one. And we’re stocking up on juice boxes and snacks. In short — getting ready.
What I wasn’t ready for were the gleaming eyes of my kids chittering in the back of our minivan on our way out the door yesterday. They’d plotted something — I could taste it on the air.
“What are you two talking about?” I asked.
“Nothing,” chirped my daughter. “Snakes,” said my son.
I gave him a different set of “the eyes.” The ones mothers reserve for those shocking moments when their children veer off the path of Truth.
“Sure!” piped up his cohort. My daughter exchanged a giddy glance with her brother, who from a whim of the air began a comprehensive diatribe on slithering creatures.
I got into the driver’s seat and heard the laughing begin. At five- and six-years-old it’s happy laughter. Happy they “got away” with whatever they’d been discussing. Which, let’s be honest, was something like, “Look! Here are some acorns. Let’s eat them.”
They’re pretty smart, these tiny people we call children. I’m just glad my two are still tiny enough their cries of “Don’t tell Mommy!” mingle right in with the things they yell playing hide-and-seek.
“Where are you?”
“I’m under the coffee table — don’t find me!”
Truth. It must be like a Transformer to a kid. Bend it, twist it, shake it, make something else out of it. As long as it’s all there somewhere, it counts.