Q-isms
Mixed fruit = mixed up fruit
creepy = creaky
Fee fie fo fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman = Fee fie fo fum, I smell an English muffin.
Oh, and she said “fixin’ to” for the first time in my memory.
I think I’ll change my blog to “mixed up fruit.” Seems appropriate. 
Sorry, Jenny. 
Q and God
For her story tonight, Q chose a book of bible stories (re-)told for small children. My stepmother gave her this book for her birthday last year, but Q has just recently discovered it and really likes it. (I’ll save for another time my other, more complex thoughts/struggles/joys about spirituality and religion and how to relate that to my child.) Suffice it to say that the book doesn’t quite cover my own personal beliefs[i].)
Recently we’ve had some discussions about God, and mostly I try to get across to her that God is another word for Love, and it’s all that is good and creative and holds us all together (when, of course, any of us actually *are* together). Inadequate as it may be, that’s the simplest and closest I can come to explaining my version to my preschooler. Oh, and that God lives in our hearts, which is my version of, “God is not an old man in the sky…”
I asked her why she picked that one, just because I was curious what her response would be. She said, “Because I LOVE God!”
I responded, “What do you love about God?”
Q: Because He made the night and the day and all the food and the people we love, and, and, and….”
We went on to read very sanitized (to my relief) versions of Moses, Noah, David & Goliath, and Jesus stories. She went back to the David & Goliath page, where an illustration of Goliath (who “liked to fight” and was “taken down” by David in this version) showed him lying down, his face inexplicably hidden behind David and some other shepherd-like guys.
Q: Why did Goliath like to fight, Mommy?
Me: I don’t really know, honey. I guess he was angry and scared and didn’t know a better way to handle it.
Q: God doesn’t like fighting.
Me: No, I don’t guess He probably likes it very much.
Q: Why did Goliath like to fight?
Me: I think he maybe just didn’t know another way to handle how he felt.
Q: Like me.
Me: Well, maybe, but like all of us, I think. I think we are all learning and trying, and I think that’s something God likes the best.
Q: You know what else God does?
Me: What?
Q: God makes you toot.
Me: What?
Q: God makes you toot. I just tooted, Mommy.
Me: Oh. OK.
[i] An interesting quiz is Belief-O-Matic at Beliefnet.com:
“Even if YOU don’t know what faith you are, Belief-O-Matic™ knows. Answer 20 questions about your concept of God, the afterlife, human nature, and more, and Belief-O-Matic™ will tell you what religion (if any) you practice…or ought to consider practicing.”
My results are as follows, though they seem different than they were a few years ago when I took this (generally, more Eastern at the top). Mahayana and Theravada Buddhism (even though *I* couldn’t tell you the difference between the two!) were 1 & 2 then, and it seems Taoism and Baha’i were higher then, too. I might know why it’s different, but it doesn’t matter here:
|
|
|
A few blurbs while I have a moment
Background: Our community garage sale (which the more-placid offspring of Hurricane Ike attended) happened to fall on Q’s 4th birthday.
Negligent, selfish mommy: How’s my birthday girl?
Q: It’s *not* my birthday.
Negligent, selfish, yet oddly clueless mommy: It isn’t? Why not?
Q: Because you’re selling all my toys!
(In my defense, I can say that I had two dozen balloons and birthday paraphernalia aplenty, including a birthday girl hat and special hair bow, as well as a birthday cake later in the day, presents, and a party planned for next weekend.)
Q, upon being reminded to make a wish before blowing out the candles on her birthday cake:
I wish… I wish… I wish to eat up a cake!!
I love the sweet, in-the-moment and unintentional wisdom brought to me courtesy of children in general, and my child in particular. Then again, this might have just been Q latching onto something, anything, when prompted to produce under pressure.
Scene: Q has odd scuba goggles on her face, ring-style Frisbees in each hand. She makes her way across the room, her arms making swimming/scooping motions with the Frisbees.
Q: Scoop, scoop, scoop, scoop….etc. ad nauseum
Me: Hey there! (or something equally brilliant) What are you doing?
Q: I’m a scoop-ah diver, Mommy.
Yeah, really. That’s all there is today. Seriously.
On early-childhood mothering and its influence in musical and literary taste, OR my new favorite song
I have a new car that came with a free trial of XM. There are 200+ stations, yet somehow I managed to end up listening to this song. As if that weren’t a sad enough state of affairs, I am now blogging about it after searching for the music and lyrics online. While listening to it, I laugh until I squeak and leak and also think of Jenny, who introduced me to Trout Fishing in America.
I hate to ruin the nail-biting anticipation by giving away the title of my new favorite song, but otherwise you won’t know which song to listen to. The song is “There’s A Carp In The Tub” by Robbie Schaefer. I recognize his voice and suspect he might sing a song about the ocean or perhaps another fish in a video I’ve seen on Noggin. (insert eye-rolling smiley here).
Tub carps in my world
shelter me from the horror
of The Cheetah Girls
On another note, I also heard a song on the same station by Devo. (Watch that video and explain to me how I ever thought they were completely cool.) Yes, Devo of “Are we not men? We are Devo!” and “Step on a crack, break your mama’s back.” On a kids’ station. Further research reveals that Devo has, appropriately enough, devolved into Devo 2.0, a group of kids under the kudzu that is Disney.
The board book version (but for some reason, not the full version) of Go, Dog. Go! by P.D. Eastman includes the line (surprisingly enough) “Go, dogs. Go! It’s not too late!” Of course you know just how I am compelled to finish that page: “…to whip it! Whip it good!” (Oh, that Alan!)
My favorite song
Yesterday Q sang to me my newest favorite song. It wasn’t so much the melody I love (or even remember) as the lyrics, which weren’t terribly original, but still.
“I wuhv my mommy. I wuuh-uuh-v my mommy. I wuhv my moooommmy. I wuhv my mommy. I wuhv my mommy!!! I wuhv my mommy….”
You get the idea.
Too bad that if I ask her today to sing it to me again, she will have no idea what I’m talking about. 
