Engaged and Underage: Toddler Love and Dancing Pigs
My oldest son recently turned four. For all practical purposes, he is a man now. Or so he would have us believe.
Apparently, he is getting married soon. I thought I had at least fourteen more years with him, 
at the very least given that we do live in Mississippi, but we have had a good run. It would be disingenuous of me to act surprised at the news of his impending marriage, though, as I clearly should have seen this coming.
(Up until this point on my blog, I've always referred to my oldest son as "Pants." This is short for Mr. Pee Pants, which is something we've called him since he was a baby, a play on an Aqua Teen Hunger Force character called MC Pee Pants. But men shouldn't be called by baby names such as "Pants," so before I tell you the story of how he came to become engaged, I think the time has come to change his "blog name."
Pants, my quintessential first born son, full of entertaining quirkiness, endearing with your quiet loveliness, I hereby christen you with your new blog pseudonym: "Q."
Jot that down folks. We don't do reminders around here, mostly because I forget to, a la Sweet Valley High intro chapters about the characteristics of Elizabeth vs. Jessica. Pants is now Q. Done. Blog magic, no legal forms involved. Now back to the story of how my baby became fodder for an MTV reality show.)
While blogging doing housewife-ish things the other day, I overheard Q and 
his younger brother, Goose, arguing in the kitchen over a toy. Q ultimately cornered Goose against the cabinets and said, "Just listen to me. You should give me [the toy] because I'm going to have to leave you some day."
Goose responded in his best Toy Nazi tone with "No toy for you!" He's two, but he has a keen sense of pop-culture humor.
Q then calmly explained, "Look, some day I'm going to get a girlfriend and I'm going to have to leave you. Now just give me the toy and we'll play."
How little time we all have together. Thank God Q is here to remind us that someday soon he'll choose hooking up with his girlfriend over playing with his baby brother.
Good grief, people. I about fell out of my chair over the dishwasher when I heard his Imminent Girlfriend Warning. He was so serious and I swear to you, Goose eventually bought the argument!
I had almost forgotten to remember that we had best all bend to Q's wishes because we are going to miss him when he's out macking on the ladies, when he offered another reminder the other day.
Q goes to a local Montessori school three days a week, so Goose and I were picking him up the other day and loading the circus that is our family into the car when Q broke the news...
Q: "I asked Evelyn to marry me today."
Goose, don't say he didn't warn us. Like three days ago.
Me: Really? Evelyn, huh? What did she say?
Q: She said yes. We are going to get married outside. I really love her.
Me: Yeah, that Evelyn is something else. She's really pretty, don't you think?
Q: Yes and she can run fast.
Had I known that running speed is how men choose their wives, I would have spent more time in training. As it is, I don't think I even owned running shoes when I met my husband. Ah, the "what if's" of life...
Me: So, who is paying for this wedding?
Q: Pa will, but you and Dad can come, and Goose. And Cittie and Granddad. And Ghee. And Luke.
Goose: I want to party.
(note: This sounds like an entirely coherent contribution to the conversation, but Goose is two and once he caught on enough to realize there were invitations involved in whatever it was we were talking about, he was up for any party.)
Q: You can dance with Dad, I'll dance with Evelyn. Goose can dance with his girlfriend... And then I'll hire a dancing pig to sit with her mother.
Me: Evelyn's mother?
Q: Of course.
Ah, of course.
My little man, Q. He has already caught on to the delicate nature of the relationship between son-in-law and mother-in-law. I have to say, setting her up with a dancing pig right out of the gate is one way to set the expectations for a relationship.
Q: No, actually I'll get a dancing monkey to dance with Goose.
Goose: "A pirate says 'Arrrrrrr!'"
The end...
Good grief. I really am a mom.
Conversations like that make me think I should stop lacing my coffee with LSD. How else do you explain these conversations with toddlers?
The funny thing is, if you are a parent, the progression of that conversation probably not only made sense, but sounded familiar.
Welcome to toddler parenthood. Leave your disbelief at the door. Dancing pigs are real and like going to weddings just as much as the rest of us.
And don't forget the dancing monkeys, too.
Arrrrrr!
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