Where Ladybugs Roar

Confessions and Passions of a Compulsive Writer

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Conversations with an Eight Year Old--Part Two

So, the endless questions continue with T. They go on and on. Sometimes, I wake up to him staring at me, waiting to ask me a question. His Aspergers means that he doesn't "get" why this is creepy and weird. Sometimes, he also doesn't get that when people have their eyes closed while in bed... they're sleeping. The other day, he woke me up by throwing a can of raviolis at me while saying, "I'm hungry." In the car, I'm a captive audience to throw questions at... endless questions... forever and ever and ever and ever....


T: "So, school is like slavery, isn't it?"

Wendy: (sputters out laughing) "What? No! School is nothing like slavery."

T: "Well, there are rules and rules are like laws and laws are like orders. So, school is like slavery."

Wendy: "School is nothing like slavery. Learning and math and reading are nothing like slavery."

T: "A little, though, right?"

Wendy: "No."

T is silent for a bit and I think he's conceded the point, but I don't know why I think this anymore. He cannot and will not concede any points as long as he draws breath. (See previous post on genner.)

T: "They tell you what to do at school, though; so, that's like slavery."

Wendy: "School is nothing like slavery."

T: "Why?"

Wendy: (I'm tired... exhausted actually, so my ability to form logical arguments has completely deserted me.) "Because I said it's not. You're in school to learn, and it's not that bad."

T: (mutters under breath) "School is a little like slavery."

B: "What's twenty times twenty-four?"

Wendy: (has nervous breakdown)

*head slap* Okay, so some of you might think, "Hey, Wendy... you missed a wonderful and touching opportunity to explain the plight of slavery in history and modern times. You missed a glorious teaching moment! For shame!" First of all, this is my blog... and how dare you? HOW DARE YOU??? *diva slap* Actually, in all honesty, I was too tired to do anything other than "because I said so!" but also THIS IS T. T will pick the worst possible moment to parrot back comments or ask awkward questions. Until you're in a grocery store and your son says loudly, "So, I know the Chinese kill their boy babies due to overpopulation, but I have one question..." well... you just wouldn't understand. Trust me. He does that.

*makes note to thank husband for explaining infanticide in overpopulated Asian countries to second grader*

So, next time you feel like saddling up your moral high horse and riding it around my blog... first... nice horse... second... I'm not touching the land mine that is slavery until he's in fourth grade, and I won't sound like a zealot when my son parrots it back in the weirdest terms possible. People expect fourth graders to know crazy weird things. People don't really expect small boys to spout weird facts and info in grocery stores. Trust me, I know these things. I've learned these things. I'm waiting.

In the mean time, I'm going to continue to throw my poor eight year old into what he thinks is akin to cruel oppression.

Actually, I can't wait until third grade rolls around, and he's forced to go back to that hell hole where they worry if he doesn't have a coat at recess when they send him out to play on the biggest slide I've ever seen at a grade school.

Because that's what slavery is... the cold cruel world with a giant slide that they force you to sit down on when you slide down it.

These awful rules... which are like laws which is almost the same as orders! This oppressive regime. What are they thinking? They're monsters! Monsters!

We also got into a discussion about what constituted singing vs. humming vs. whistling vs. chanting when I asked them to be very, very quiet because I had a really, really bad headache. (I've had headaches nearly every day for a week... I've been a tiny bit short-tempered.) Specifically... I first asked them not to hum because it made my head want to explode. Specificity is often my downfall.


Wendy: "STOP!"

T: "I wasn't humming anymore. I was singing then. Humming isn't the same as singing."

Wendy: (moans) "Just be quiet."

B: (whistles)

Wendy: "Stop whistling."

T: "I can still sing right? You didn't mention singing? I can still sing right?"

Wendy: "Stop making noise!"

B: "What if I whistle quietly?"

Wendy: "No."

(Someone in the back seat starts banging things together.)

Wendy: (snarls) "We're playing a game... it's called "If you make any noise with anything, I will throw it out the window." Stop clicking things together!"

T: "So, if I hum you'll throw my mouth out the window?"

Wendy: "Yes! Yes, I will. Would you like to test that theory?"

(Blissful silence for nearly a minute while T tries to figure out how that might work... and then he starts humming.)

B: "What's four hundred plus three hundred and sixty-seven?"

*sighs* When is September again? Can we skip August just this once?


  1. Whatever. School is TOTALLY like slavery. *snicker* Also, I want to slide now...

  2. I don't know why you thought we would judge you for answering like that - just the idea of being asked 'Why? Why? Why?' is enough to make any sane person want to killer the questioner.

  3. God must think you have the patience of saints. (I'll pray that He overnights that patience to you.)