Welcome to wtf? wednesday, when we contemplate and appreciate the verbal whack flowing from the mouths of babes. Or the brilliance. Depending.
This weekend was the “Whole Earth” festival in a town near us. When we drove by it, Rocket says, “Mama, are we going to the Whole Wheat festival this year?”
I almost died. Of course, from this point forward it will forever be the “Whole Wheat” festival in our family. It’s actually quite perfect, considering all the granola crunchy wheat-ish people there.
Lately we’ve been listening to Eckhart Tolle in the car (I know. I know.). And I’m thinking Ava has no idea what the guy is talking about. I mean I barely understand him and I’m 32. She’s nine. Perhaps that’s her advantage. Either way, I was wrong.
The other day he was talking about ego – the way it prattles on in your mind, telling you things that aren’t true, fucking everything up…and how there’s this deeper self, a “watcher,” who can observe the ego doing its thing and choose to ignore the ego’s rants. When he’s done, Ava pipes up “You know? This guy’s right, because I always have two thinkers in my mind. One is going on and on about how I should care what people think and be upset and angry, but then there’s this other thinker who tells me something else, tells me there’s another way to act, a calmer way. Mostly, though, I listen to the first thinker. Because it’s louder.”
Damn. I couldn’t have said it better myself.
P.S. Can 9-year-olds write spiritual books and earn their parents millions? (Not that I would do that. That would be exploitation.).
Rocket was in a parade with his T-ball team on Saturday. He woke up so excited to get there. He bounded out of bed, ran into the living room and says “Mama! We need to make like rascals and get to the parade!!”
I have no idea what that means. But I love it so much it hurts a little.
Here was my interaction with the 5-year-old yesterday morning:
Rocket: “Georgia pooped.”
Me: “Okay. I’ll go change her.”
Rocket: “Can I come?”
Me: “Do you have to?”
Rocket: “Kind of.”
I take the diaper off. Rocket’s jumping up and down next to me, trying to get a better view. He can’t get a good enough one, though, which results in this conversation:
Rocket: “Is it a big one?”
Me: “ Sort of.”
Rocket: “Is it soft or hard?”
Me: “Do we have to talk about this? I find it pretty unpleasant.”
Rocket: [now giggling in delight] “Well, which one is it?”
Rocket: “What color is it?”
Me: “Rocket! My God. Why do you care about this so much?”
Rocket: [very seriously, with an eye roll] “The question is, Mama, why do you care SO LITTLE?”
And on that note, let me just say ‘have a good Wednesday, my peeps.’