I am always amazed at a child’s imagination. There are times when I’d love to be able to shrink myself and travel through the neurons and synapses of my boys’ brains. I can imagine the sparks and flights of information travelling through the synapses to the various different compartments. I often wonder if my brain ever held their levels of ingenuity, and if it did, has the daily drudge of grown up life completely snuffed out the existence of any of those sparks.
Henry is becoming a lot more vocal and his vocabulary continues to expand. I’m still bombarded with the continuous dribble drabble of toddler speak, but for the most part he know what he wants to say and usually says it.
Davey is well past the standard vernacular of toddler speech. I am amazed at how well he speaks and the inflection and tone with which he says things. He is very good at enunciating his words. Of course, having a mom with at least two degrees, one in English and another in Speech and Communication Studies and Political Science, only serves to either help him or frustrate him as I constantly correct his grammar and tell him how best to diagram a sentence and conjugate a verb.
***side note*** I don’t think my Political Science degree with have any influence on his learning. And my Master’s in Business Administration may serve us when the boys become older. Who knows?
Today; however, isn’t so much about how either boy is communicating, but more so about what they have to say. I find myself chuckling at times, shaking my head at the absurdity of what I’ve just heard and the all out amazement with the things they develop.
Davey enjoys sitting in his room, perched upon his bed with books abounding fruitfully as if they seem to magically spring up from the never reaches of his mattress. He, of course, “reads” each one and then turns to his pirate ship and reenacts what he’s just “read”.
As I sit here writing this, today’s conversation seems to have flashed forward a few months to Christmas. Davey grabs my calculator and informs me it’s his mini computer with which he can text. This is our conversation:
“Mommy, I need to text Santa on my computer.”
“Santa? Why are you texting Santa?”
“I need to see if he was ok in daddy’s truck.”
“Why was he in daddy’s truck?”
He becomes exasperated and rolls his eyes at me as if he can’t seem to understand why I would ask such an asinine question before responding with this, “Because that’s how he gets to work, Mommy. Daddy takes him in his truck.” And then he walks off upstairs shaking his head at my apparent stupidity on the subject of how Santa gets to work.
Earlier, when I woke him up, he told his three good monsters who are strategically placed within his room every night before he goes to bed, that they were off work and could go home to their monster families. Interestingly, these monsters are the same every night, but they have different names, names I can’t speak, not because I would be banished for saying their names, but because I don’t speak “Davey” and can’t say the names. These three good monsters are in his room every night to protect him from the bad monsters and they even made it on the plane to NY a few weeks ago!
I’m impressed with his creativity, his attention to detail and I’m actually a bit jealous of it. As many of you know, I’ve begun writing some books. I have a few short stories under my belt, but the illustrious novel I want to write seems to elude me. I hit a constant creativity obstacle. My child, on the other hand, seems to exude my much needed spark. Once again, what I wouldn’t give to travel into his brain and see how it works.
We still have quite a few hours left in the day, so I’m sure our conversations will continue to grow and continue to astound and even stupefy me. Maybe he sucked out all of my creative writing skills when he was still within my womb. I don’t know if I really want to believe that, because it could mean my days of writing are over.