Life Is But a Street

Jay took the boys to the grocery store Sunday and they couldn’t decide on which flavor of ice cream to buy, so they got “The Great Divide”, a carton with chocolate and vanilla. That night, Jay said something about the Neapolitan ice cream. Jack replied, “I thought we bought Blue Bell.” (For those not in the southern U.S., Blue Bell is a brand of ice cream.)

Whenever Blake wants a bit of what someone else has, he declares, “But we’re sharing.” I think that’s along the lines of, when he sneezes, he calls, “Mama! I bless you’ed!” Usually before I can take a breath to say, “Bless you.” I’m sure there are manners in there somewhere.

The boys and I were walking through the library parking lot one windy day, and Jack said the wind was going to blow him away.
Blake: “If you blow away, I’ll build a new big brother.”
Me: “You’ll build a new big brother?”
Blake: “Yeah. With Legos.”

I didn’t buy it, but cereal has migrated back into our cabinet. Every time I pour Blake some Honey Nut Cheerios, he asks, “Where the honey?”

Blake and I have a little game. I’ll kiss his face and he’ll wipe the spot and giggle and say, “I wiped off your kiss!” I’ll frown and tell him, “You better not wipe off my kiss!” and kiss him again. Of course, he does it again, so I end up telling him, “You can wipe off the kiss, but not the love.”

Blake is into Blue’s Clues and Blue’s Room right now. I wonder at the wisdom of letting him watch it because Blue and Steve were the bane of my existence when Jack was little. Any time I told him he couldn’t do something, my darling literal child would say, “But Blue and Steve said I can do anything that I want to do.”

Blake is a little confused about the whole growing up thing. He frequently says, “When I grow little,” or “When I’m a baby again…” And he’s asked me several times if I’ll like something when I’m a little girl. No, he’s not asking about when I was a little girl. He’s asking about the future. I’m sure he’ll figure it out eventually.

This morning, Blake was singing.
“Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Life is but a street.”
Yeah, if you didn’t catch that, go back and read it again.
Jack’s version at that age was:
“Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Basabada dream.”
Yeah, I don’t know, either.