Go Ask Your Father

Photo credit: KarmenRose

Sometimes Curtis and I like to just pile the boys in the car and go for a drive. Usually, Colin and Cameron just chill and look out the window (which is totally the point kind of an appealing aspect of the ride). But last evening's spontaneous drive was a different story - for our unusually inquisitive four-year-old, that is.

After stating to Daddy that he needed to hurry and buckle his seatbelt so he wouldn't be breaking the law, Colin started in with, "What's the law?"

"A set of rules that everyone has to follow," I said.

"What's jail?"

"A place to punish people who break those rules."

We enjoyed a few golden seconds of silence. Then: "What's bald?"

"Bald is when you don't have any hair," I said.

"Are policemen bald?"

"I suppose some of them are, yes."

"The one who gave Daddy the speeding ticket was bald," he blabbered. (And he was right - I swear, the kid has a memory like a steel trap. So glad he remembers stuff like that.) "What are handcuffs?"

I explained what handcuffs are and why they're used.

"Do they squeeze your hands really tight?"

"I wouldn't know - I've never had them on," I said, then nudged Curtis. "Except those black fuzzy ones we had," I hissed with a sly smile. "Remember those?"

"What black fuzzy ones?" Colin chimed in from the back seat. (Damn his supersonic hearing!)

I pointedly ignored him.

"WHAT BLACK FUZZY HANDCUFFS?" he demanded.

"Nothing, nothing," I said dismissively, pointing to some imaginary point in the distance. "Oh wow, look at that." Thank goodness, no more was said regarding the fuzzy cuffs; psychological scarring averted. (For now.)

I thought perhaps the question-and-answer session had come to a blessed end. But then: "What makes you throw up?"

"When you eat something that doesn't agree with your stomach."

"Like when you eat poop?"

"I would think that eating poop would make you throw up, yes."

"How does the throw-up come out of your stomach?"

I rolled my eyes. "Your stomach pushes the undigested food back up through your esophagus. Can we please talk about something other than vomit?"

"Why?"

"Because it's gross."

"Oh. ... Then let's talk about penises!"

And so it went. On and on and on. I won't elaborate further, but suffice it to say that our "relaxing" car ride - which went on for a good half-hour more - was the most mentally taxing thing I did all day. I explained topics ranging from the legal system to Venus fly traps to just how much a vagina has to stretch in order to accomodate the passage of a baby (and Mommy, did your vagina stretch really big too?) By the time we got home, I was debating which would be more effective: tape for his mouth or earplugs for myself.

If I weren't pregnant, I'd have probably just opted for a cocktail.