Kids really do say the darndest things.
Usually when I am driving.
It’s a minor miracle I don’t crash the minivan with their constant random Nattering questions and hijinks. I’ve heard Mom, did birth mom have any other kids? And can I meet her now? Like tonight?
Also random statements like: We aren’t biologically related, right? Then there’s always: Do you miss Grandma? Does Daddy miss his Mom? Do you know why the sky is blue? Did you ever smoke? Did Daddy smoke?
Here’s me driving along thinking, ‘Hey what’s for dinner? What did I thaw? Did I forget to thaw anything again? Is there a sale on coffee at No Frills? Why does husband never thaw any meat? Why is that dipstick driver in front of me not turning? Where are my favourite jeans? Do we have laundry soap? Did I write that post? What is Margarita doing? Did I miss the conference call? Do I need to reschedule? Whose lesson is tonight? Did I eat lunch? You get the idea.
The Constant Challenge of Parenting Curious Kids
My kids, I know, have been put on this earth to challenge me. In so so many ways. The random running commentary is going on in my head when I heard one pipe up the other night (forgive the pun). “Mom, What’s a bong?”
What is a Bong and Other Drug Questions
Wait, what? Back the minivan up. Did I hear that right? The commentary in my head now switches to something like: WTH? Where did that come from? Why? For the love of all that is holy, I think, can I just get through one day without something tripping me up, or a major sib spat, or a meltdown in which one tries to jump from the moving minivan/ or run away from home? Why can’t I jump from the minivan? Or run away from home?
Not so Fast…
I can pretend I am suddenly stricken with hearing ailment, or I can distract. But the tweens are onto my tricks. One may fall for that but the other has heard the question and surely now she will seize on the word and start asking about it, or using that word at school and then the world will think we are bong using anarchists or something. Last thing I need is PTA looking at me like we are even stranger than we already are.
I wait a moment. But there it is again. “Mom, what’s a bong?”
Mom, What is a Bong?
I am trapped. Tiny fluttering wings of panic in my chest. Where the H. E. double hockey sticks did she hear that word? Is someone I know on drugs? Did someone bring one to school? Are the kids in her circle talking about drugs? Wait, um, why don’t I ask:”Where did you hear that word?”
Reading Signs and More
How to Answer Drug Questions?
So I launch into the truth and spill that it’s a device used to do drugs. Well, bless their little hearts they know the Just Say No spiel from school. Health class is working out well for me so far. Score one for the public education system.
This spins out fast into a big old discussion about why do people do drugs? And how can stores sell drug paraphernalia? How is that legal, asks the twelve-year-old? She’s a clever one and she frequently peppers me with the hardest questions ever. Some days I am not sure why I taught them to read. My sister-in-law was against it. Also she was against teaching them to walk. In retrospect I now see why.
What Is a Bong Anyways?
Wait, for it…