Business As Usual

We are down to the wire.  Just over a week before we move.  For our almost-five-year-old (Jacob) and almost-two-year-old (Emma), this means . . . almost-nothing.  They’re not so impressed.  You need to put everything in the house into boxes, Mommy?  Whatever. Where’s my Elmo video?  Clearly, there are more important things to focus on.

A few days ago, I had this conversation with Jacob.  We were on our way to splash in the kiddie pool at his friend’s house.

Jacob: Mommy, can I bring my goggles?

OH.  DAMN.  THE GOGGLES.

Me: I haven’t found them yet, honey.  I need to look in a few more places.

Jacob’s goggles have been missing for over a month.  I know this because we were in a big box store about a month ago shopping for NOT-GOGGLES when Jacob fell in love with a pair of neon orange swimming goggles.  And said, breathlessly, “MOMMY-MOMMY-MOMMY-CAN-I-PLEASE-PLEASE-PLEASE-GET-THIS?!?”. And I didn’t see the point in him having two pairs of goggles.  So I promised him I would find his goggles at home.  IF (and ONLY IF) I couldn’t, find them I would buy him the neon orange pair.  Maybe. He was not pleased.

Jacob (annoyed): You need to look WHERE??

Me: I don’t know.  I already looked in your closet.  And your dresser. Maybe they are in the basement?  Or packed in a box?  But I don’t think I packed them . . .

Jacob (smart mouthy, eyes a-rollin’): I don’t even REMEMBER having goggles.

And then it hit me.  OOOOH.  Right.  That’s why I can’t find them. He. Doesn’t. Own. Them.

(I. Am. Losing. My. Mind.)

Plagued by guilt, I bought him some goggles.

And then there was this conversation when Jacob decided it was time for me to take a break from packing.

Jacob: Mommy, do you want to play Mickey Mouse?

Me: Sure.

Jacob:  Okay.  I’ll be Chip [the chipmunk] and you can be Clarabelle.

Clarabelle

Me: Jacob.

Jacob: Yes.

Me: Why am I always the cow?

Jacob: Because you’re a girl.  And you’re tall.

I’m 5’2″.

Me: Jacob, I’m not really “tall”.

Jacob: Yes you are.

Ironically, Jacob is in the 75th percentile for height.  Don’t look at me.  My genes are hiding in his body somewhere. Quivering.  Because Dan’s genes are big bullies.  And have scared my genes out of their will to express themselves.  Jacob will soon be tall enough to get stuff off the high shelves for me.  (KISS IT, DARWIN.)  But I digress.

Turns out playing Mickey Mouse was mostly about assigning roles. And then playing other games in character.

Jacob: Clarabelle, do you want to help me build a fort?

Me: MOOOoooooooo.

Jacob (annoyed): What are you doing??

Me: Being Clarabelle.

Jacob:  She doesn’t talk like THAT.

Me: How does she talk?

Jacob (eyeroll): She uses regular people words.

Me: Sorry.  I didn’t know.

Jacob: Unless, OF COURSE, she’s singing.  Then she moos.

So, basically, it’s same old, same old.  I’m losing my mind.  And my child prefers to see me as livestock.  But every now and then.  Just when it seems like The Big Move is going totally unnoticed. Something will happen.  And we’ll realize that those little minds are hard at work.  Trying to make sense of it all.

Yesterday, on the way home from preschool, Jacob suddenly asked . . .

Jacob: Mommy, when we move into the apartment, will we put our ice cream in storage?

Wow.

He thought of the ice cream.  (I’m so proud.)

(And, NO, in case you are wondering.  We do NOT have so much ice cream that we need to put it into storage.)

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