Don’t forget about our week of giveaways over here . . . Today’s giveaway is a cute bag from Thirty One gifts filled with some goodies from Tastefully Simple . . .
A few weeks ago, I asked Spencer if he had sung a song his brother, Samuel, sang in the same class last year. (Oh my gosh. I just wrote a tongue-twister.)
“We haven’t unlocked that song yet, Mom,” he answered.
Thinking for sure I hadn’t heard him correctly, I asked for clarification.
I had indeed heard him correctly.
Mind you, our children don’t play video games all day. In fact, our Wii is broken so nobody’s playing video games at all these days.
After explaining that life doesn’t work like the levels of Mario Kart, he still preferred to say he had not unlocked that particular song yet.
Last week, he bounded out the door of his preschool class and excitedly revealed “We unlocked the song, Mom! We unlocked it!”
Which, of course, pretty much made me look like I just stick him in front of Mario Kart all freaking afternoon but luckily, I’m a recovering people-pleaser so I didn’t dwell on that for too long.
Also, my crew is all about finding slug-bugs these days – those brightly colored VW Bugs in case you’ve lived on another planet until yesterday and don’t know what those are.
The science behind slug-bugs is when you see one, you must blurt, at the very top of your lungs of course, the color and then proclaim it as yours.
I never did the proclaiming part as a kid but then, I was an only child. My three feel they must firmly plant their stakes in the ground and proclaim their rightful territory.
“Slug Bug Yellow!!!!!!,” I hear from, once again, Spencer.
Then . .
“I’ll put it in my account,” he adds.
“What?!” I ask, once again for clarification.
“My account of slug-bugs. It’s where I keep all of the slug-bugs that are mine,” he answers, a little too matter-of-factly.
And this, my friends, is the generation of children we are parenting.
It’s a new language (I’m pretty sure if I told my mom we had unlocked a song in my preschool class in 1976, I would be off to a child psychologist) that even the most sheltered of children can speak. Fluently.
Here’s more evidence I’m getting old: I tried to explain to my kids the other night that when I was their age, if I wanted to watch a show on TV, I had to look up when it would be on and then, gasp, watch it at that specific time and place.
“Why couldn’t you just record it, Mom?” Samuel asks, his tone implying I’m a complete idiot.
“We didn’t have DVR’s then, bud,” I answer.
“What about movies?” Sarah inquires.
“We saw them at the movie theater,” I say.
“You didn’t have DVD’s?” asks Spencer.
“Nope and if you didn’t see the movie at the movie theater, you just didn’t see it,” I answer.
More thoughtful silence.
“Did you live during the Little House on the Prairie days, Mom?” Spencer asks.
After this conversation, I think I might have.
What about you? Do your children speak a different language you didn’t speak when you were a kid?