Explain Yourself

It seems like someone's always explaining something in our house.
I used to think I was the only one explaining, since I seem to get most of the questions. Of course, it's important to answer kids' questions as honestly as possible so they'll know it's OK to keep asking questions. So, that's what I did. With N. Once B started asking questions, around the time I was pregnant with O, I just couldn't always think of the answers as quickly. So, mostly, I just made them up. I realize this may result in him asking fewer questions. I am OK with that.

Sometimes, though, I couldn't even think of a made-up answer that quickly, and I would have to resort to making some sound that hopefully passed for an answer in a toddler's mind. You see, I had lost a lot more brain cells by that point, due to the fact that babies eat your brain cells in pregnancy. It's true. I'm walking, grunting proof. And unfortunately, they don't come back. Soon O will start asking questions. Sorry, O, this is one of the hazards of being the third child. Your mother is too brain dead to answer your questions. So is your father, though I don't know what his excuse is--it's not like you ate his brain cells. Just remember that, if you ask a question and you don't hear us answer, the answer is either: "Because I said so", or "Because I'm the mommy".  If it can't be answered by one of those two phrases, it probably wasn't worth asking in the first place.

Fortunately for O, he has two older siblings who love him and who are really good at explaining things. For example, B recently explained that he wasn't the one who took a pack of cookies out of the cabinet at six-thirty in the morning and brought them into their shared bedroom. Apparently, it was O. B explained in great detail that O, at twenty months, climbed out of his crib, came downstairs, pulled a stool over to get the cookies, gave them to B, then went back upstairs and climbed back into his crib. What an amazing brother.

B also recently explained that he wasn't the one who poured hand lotion all over the kitchen counters. It was Daddy. Same for the dish washing liquid. You know Daddy. He just does stuff like that.

Even when B gets caught in the act, he has an explanation. When I caught him sneaking downstairs one night and opening the refrigerator (I feed them. I swear), he looked at me innocently and said, "I was just looking to make sure we had food, mom". The next day he informed me that the crayon marks on the wall were there because "I was just trying to make the house look prettier".Wow--what an incredibly thoughtful boy.

N is also good at explaining things. When I recently noticed that the channel on the TV had been changed from the cartoons I'd put on, she explained that she had accidentally sat on the remote and it changed the channel. To one of her favorite shows! And let's not forget the Leprechaun who always messes up her room. Also, I sometimes notice that N is wearing what appears to be eye shadow, though it's actually oil pastel from her art set. Apparently B sneaks into her room early in the morning and applies it...perfectly, and without her knowledge.  Truly an amazing three-year-old. (This should not be confused with the times that he really has snuck into her room and drawn on her. Those times, he used pink marker and it was not confined to her eyelids...or to her face).

Sometimes their explanations don't quite make sense, like when I asked B why he was hiding, and he said , "So N can't smell me". At these times, I've found that it's just better not to ask for further explanation.

Occasionally, they decide they don't even like their own explanations all that much. Today after nap time, I noticed a perfect number 3 written in crayon on the wall next to B's bed. When I asked him how it got there, he said O did it. When I said that O couldn't reach that spot from his crib, he said N did it. Then he looked at that perfect number 3 for a minute, and realized that N was going to get all the credit for it. "I drew a really good three, didn't I, mom?"

At least N and B are sharing their talents with O. Thanks to them, he's already gotten good at explaining. His favorite phrases include the following:
"B did it."
"N did it."
"Daddy did it".

On a rare occasion, you might hear him say this one:
"Mommy did it".

But wait, I can explain...

Stop the Madness! Please...

When N was in kindergarten, she came home one day in March and asked me if leprechauns were real. This was a no brainer for me. Santa? Real. Tooth Fairy? Real. Tarty Fairy? Unfortunately, Real. Easter Bunny? Real, of course. (An aside-I don't know when people started getting their kids' pictures taken with a person in a big stuffed bunny suit for Easter, but I don't really get it. In fact, it kind of freaks me out, and I'm allegedly a grown up. Do kids really think this big headed bunny suited thing is going to come hopping through their yard on Easter morning? And if so, do they hope to catch a glimpse of him? Or do they hide, cowering in the corner, hoping he just drops the basket on his way past?  Just leave the basket, Bunny, and keep on hoppin. I would be quite interested to know how much bunny phobias have increased since we started this practice. I'm guessing ten fold. At least).

But I digress. Leprechauns? Not real. So that's what I told N when she asked me, and I thought this was a perfectly acceptable answer. Until she looked at me with a mixture of confusion and devastation, and I realized that I had majorly screwed up. "Oh, are what real? Leprechauns?" I back tracked. "Of course Leprechauns are real. I thought you said something else".  She was clearly relieved to know that my answer was due to a misunderstanding, but then she wanted to know what I thought she said. "Um, I thought you said Metrachauns." She looked at me, clearly confused, and said , "What's a Metrachaun?". "It doesn't matter," I told her, "Because Metrachauns aren't real. Unlike Leprechauns, which most definitely are real. Very real. For real". When N informed me that she was going out to look for leprechauns,  I figured the damage had been undone, and I was relieved that I could stop talking.

Clearly, that was not my finest mommy moment. But here's the thing. When I was N's age, Leprechauns weren't real. We didn't look for their foot prints. They didn't make mischief around our house. My school didn't organize a leprechaun hunt. In fact, the only leprechaun we saw around St. Patrick's Day was a little paper cut out on our classroom door. It's not that we didn't celebrate St. Patrick's Day. My family was all about St Patrick's Day. In fact, St Patrick's Day was as big as Christmas in our house. But it wasn't about the leprechauns. I would like to say it was about honoring St Patrick, and that was a part of it, but it was probably more about other things. It was about the parade. It was about celebrating our Irish heritage. It was about the beer.

This year, Caca and I took the kids to the parade the weekend before St Patrick's Day, and the only leprechaun they saw was some guy dressed up as one who threw candy and temporary tattoos at them. Ok, I guess I should say he was throwing it to them, but really, he was throwing it at them. They didn't ask to see any other leprechauns, because the parade wasn't about leprechauns. It was about Irish music, and Irish dancers, and Irish wolfhounds, and how disturbing it is to see your bag pipe playing Uncle wearing a kilt. Who needed leprechauns? This parade was about being Irish, even if you really weren't. It was about being there with your family. It was about celebrating. It was about trying to scrub the temporary tattoo with the picture of a pint of Guinness off your six-year-old's arm before school the next day.

Once back in school in the week leading up to St Patrick's Day, however, it was all about leprechauns again. Apparently they leave their mark in the classroom on a fairly regular basis. Green footprints, little pieces of leprechaun gold, things on desks apparently re-arranged. I'm thinking this is a lot of work for N's already over-worked teacher. N kept looking for signs of them at home, and would occasionally tell me she'd seen one. Works for me. I'm all for an NBO letting their own imaginations and/or hallucinations run wild if it means I don't have to find something green to put in the bathroom and say it's leprechaun poop. It started to become a slight problem, though, when I would ask her to clean her room and she said "Mom, I didn't make that mess. It was either the boys, or the leprechaun".

N did complain on St Patrick's Day that the leprechaun didn't seem to visit our house as much as some others. So I grabbed some green icing when she wasn't looking and made leprechaun footprints on our siding. It appears that the leprechaun climbed up to our roof. Just fyi: green icing doesn't wash off siding nearly as easily as you'd think. That crap's never going away. Come next St Patrick's Day, I'll probably be grateful for that. "Look kids, the footprints from last year are still there! I don't know why there aren't any new ones. Maybe he drank too much green beer and fell off the roof."

Apparently my leprechaun footprints are nothing compared to the leprechaun magic that some parents work. I was talking to a neighbor the other night who told me that, in her house, leprechauns turn mattresses upside down, throw clothes around, and sometimes even bake and leave a huge mess behind. Now, I love this neighbor. She is a great mom, and obviously a really fun person. But I have to ask: Why the hell would I want to mess up my own house, on purpose? I have enough real people who mess up my house. I don't need to help the imaginary people mess it up. Not to mention, my kids probably wouldn't notice the difference.

It's now March 19th. I'm thinking the leprechauns should be packing up about now. But N is still blaming them for messing up her room, and just tonight she made a little house for them. I guess I'll have to put up with them a little bit longer. Fortunately for me, Easter is only a few weeks away. I'm counting on the big headed Easter Bunny to scare em off.