eleven hundred and six

Friday, November 20, 2015

Jack and I spent some quality afternoon time together earlier this week.  We got him a much-needed (and very hip) haircut and then stopped by Soup Peddler to see what we might find delicious for dinner.

We ended up eating a super early dinner there, because Jack was adamant about having a grilled cheese sandwich IMMEDIATELY.  I respect the urgency with which we sometimes need a grilled cheese, you know? (I also wasn't going to argue because they had mulligatawny that day.  SCORE!)

He was a little pensive.  Apparently, when you are almost six, you get pensive.  A few weeks ago, it was about the devastating fact that he IS NOT YET SIX.  This was a cataclysm.  I had the unfortunate responsibility to explain that we cannot fix that.  We just have to tough it out, day by day, until the glorious sixth year begins.




We were also pensive about Nutella this morning.  Jack is allowed to have "chocolate toast," (aka, wheat toast with Nutella) one morning a week.  He had it on Monday.  He knew it.  Durel knew it.  I knew it.  

He demanded chocolate toast.  He whined.  He pointed to the pantry emphatically.  He went to the pantry and handed me the Nutella.  (I put it back, but on the top shelf, with the booze.  Touche.)  

Sometimes, you have to stay strong.  We stayed strong.  We hoped that the five bites of Cheerios he grudgingly ate would hold him over until morning snack time.

The struggle is real, you know?




Really though, the pensive moods are pretty quick and infrequent.  They are vastly overshadowed by the ten gazillion things that we are REALLY PSYCHED about.  These things include:  kindergarten, soccer, Sawyer, Star Wars, the new beanbag chairs that Durel bought, chocolate toast (it's really important, you guys), learning to read, and math. 



For instance, this happened:  

Jack:  Mom.  What's 900 + 200?

Me:    Eleven hundred.

Jack:  Nooooo!  That's not a real number!  Ha ha ha!

Me:   Right, OK.  900 + 200 equals one thousand, one hundred.  But sometimes, you can also call that number eleven hundred.  It's like a nickname for one thousand one hundred.

Jack:   [eyes wide; mind blown]  Oh...



Three days later, every picture Jack drew at home was of eleven hundred.  The pictures are folded up like secret notes from middle school, taped with washi tape, and solemnly handed to their intended recipients.

Eleven hundred, you guys. 

Hope the clouds pass quickly and the realizations are momentous.

Talk soon,

Heather

2 comments:

  1. Aunt Kiki must confess----I let him chocolate toast every day. Bad Aunt Kiki. Good Aunt Kiki!

    ReplyDelete
  2. That's what Aunts are for!!! ;)

    ReplyDelete

Friday, November 20, 2015

eleven hundred and six

Jack and I spent some quality afternoon time together earlier this week.  We got him a much-needed (and very hip) haircut and then stopped by Soup Peddler to see what we might find delicious for dinner.

We ended up eating a super early dinner there, because Jack was adamant about having a grilled cheese sandwich IMMEDIATELY.  I respect the urgency with which we sometimes need a grilled cheese, you know? (I also wasn't going to argue because they had mulligatawny that day.  SCORE!)

He was a little pensive.  Apparently, when you are almost six, you get pensive.  A few weeks ago, it was about the devastating fact that he IS NOT YET SIX.  This was a cataclysm.  I had the unfortunate responsibility to explain that we cannot fix that.  We just have to tough it out, day by day, until the glorious sixth year begins.




We were also pensive about Nutella this morning.  Jack is allowed to have "chocolate toast," (aka, wheat toast with Nutella) one morning a week.  He had it on Monday.  He knew it.  Durel knew it.  I knew it.  

He demanded chocolate toast.  He whined.  He pointed to the pantry emphatically.  He went to the pantry and handed me the Nutella.  (I put it back, but on the top shelf, with the booze.  Touche.)  

Sometimes, you have to stay strong.  We stayed strong.  We hoped that the five bites of Cheerios he grudgingly ate would hold him over until morning snack time.

The struggle is real, you know?




Really though, the pensive moods are pretty quick and infrequent.  They are vastly overshadowed by the ten gazillion things that we are REALLY PSYCHED about.  These things include:  kindergarten, soccer, Sawyer, Star Wars, the new beanbag chairs that Durel bought, chocolate toast (it's really important, you guys), learning to read, and math. 



For instance, this happened:  

Jack:  Mom.  What's 900 + 200?

Me:    Eleven hundred.

Jack:  Nooooo!  That's not a real number!  Ha ha ha!

Me:   Right, OK.  900 + 200 equals one thousand, one hundred.  But sometimes, you can also call that number eleven hundred.  It's like a nickname for one thousand one hundred.

Jack:   [eyes wide; mind blown]  Oh...



Three days later, every picture Jack drew at home was of eleven hundred.  The pictures are folded up like secret notes from middle school, taped with washi tape, and solemnly handed to their intended recipients.

Eleven hundred, you guys. 

Hope the clouds pass quickly and the realizations are momentous.

Talk soon,

Heather
 
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