I have clear memories of car rides on the Belt Parkway with my mom, me sitting in the front seat (no airbags!), driving home to Canarsie and playing the quiet game. Do you know the quiet game? It’s the “game” to get your children to be quiet for just. one. minute. pleeeeeeease. Whoever talks first, loses. I lost a lot.
Fast forward twenty-five + years and sometimes I play that game with my own little one. Nolan talks from the moment he wakes up (around 6:30am) to the moment he gets into bed at night (at 8pm), plus all the moments after that when he climbs out of bed to tell me things.
I try to write down some of the funny things he says, but of course I can’t keep up. For every keeper I remember to record, there are ten other bizarre things he comes up with that I’ve forgotten before dinner. Here are a few recent ones…
While getting dressed in the morning:
NOLAN: Do you want to see my tushy?
ME: I already know it what it looks like. I made it.
NOLAN: You didn’t make it! You just pooped it.
While having breakfast:
NOLAN: Mommy?
ME: Yes honey?
NOLAN: … Mommy?
ME: Yes?
NOLAN: Ummm…ummm…Mommy?
ME: What??
NOLAN: … Mommy?
ME: Oh my gosh, Nolan, what???
NOLAN: Um, the mosquitos are hibernating now.
While getting dressed in the morning…
NOLAN: These are my nipples. They’re little.
ME: Yup, they are.
NOLAN: Do you want to touch them?
ME: No thanks.
NOLAN: You have nipples on the front of your boobies.
ME: Yes. I do.
NOLAN: Can I see them?
ME: No.
NOLAN: I think you have bigger nipples than me.
At this point I didn’t know whether to explain to him that it’s generally frowned upon to talk about your mother’s nipples, or to tell him that using “me” is incorrect in that sentence, and he actually should have said, “I think you have bigger nipples than I have.” I decided to just leave it alone.
Finally, there is the occasional sweetness that makes all that talking worth it.
ME: Which do you like better, home days or school days?
NOLAN: Home days.
ME: Why?
NOLAN: Because I love you guys.
The Reluctant Long Islander 