“Mom, do they have bathrooms in Heaven?” Ben asked when he was 6, with a look of thoughtful concern. I stood stumped, with raised eyebrows, wearing my hmm-I’m-completely-at-a-loss face.
Fortunately, rescue came quick as Ben’s wise older brother Alex weighed in with a beautiful blend of theology and logic. “Ben…” he said emphatically, “your body doesn’t go to heaven. Your soul goes to heaven and your soul doesn’t have privates.”
Uh huh. What he said.
It’s been a number of years since that exchange occurred. But I remember it perfectly. Mainly because I write everything down. I’m not sure why, other than I read somewhere that it was a good idea. And guess what? It is a good idea. Especially since I can’t seem to remember where I left my keys a minute ago, jotting down the interesting things my kids say helps me remember these moments like they just happened.
I’ve got a basket full of memories scratched on napkins, ripped corners of scrap paper, receipts, you name it. From Alex asking “Who made God?” to Emma, when she was a preschooler, asking how the person working at the drive-thru fits into the speaker box, I drop the new quote into my designated basket then eventually get around to adding each one to my on-going Word document. There’s really no big point in doing this, other than the smile it brings me when I scroll down the page every now and then. That, and of course it’ll be great fun to share with their fiancées one of these days.
What I conclude as I scan over my master list of quotes is that childhood is an adorable time, when everything is black and white, but full of color.
One of my favorite entrees happened one October when Ben was in first grade. He was still absorbed in a long-running cowboy phase, wearing his Tony Llamas with everything, including shorts throughout the summer. He’d even been known to sport his leather vest and chaps out in the backyard taming the Wild West in the middle of our urban-lot-sized ponderosa. And Church? Every Sunday he attended in his standard garb: boots, Western shirt, khakis, and rodeo belt — complete with the apropos oversized silver buckle.
On this particular morning, the Sunday school teacher was going around the circle of kids, asking what they were going to be for Halloween. It was my week to be a helper, so as I sat on the carpet behind the children, I overheard Ben’s friend Katie quietly say to him, “I know what you’re going to be for Halloween.”
“What?” Ben asked, skeptically.
“A cowboy,” she replied knowingly.
“Huh?” Ben said, glancing down at his big ‘ole buckle and boots then back at her like she was obviously, apparently, 100%, completely blind. “I am a cowboy,” he replied. “I’m going to be a Power Ranger.”
Yes, one can glean a lot about children by listening to their quips. Here are a few things I picked up on recently after scanning my sheet of memories.
- Children are observant. Living in a metro area, we have our share of panhandlers. One afternoon, when Alex was in third grade, there was a man standing on the side of the road holding a cardboard sign that read “Homeless Vet.” “Look Mom,” Alex said, “there’s a homeless veterinarian.”
- Little guys know when to throw in the towel. When Alex was 7, he was upset because his allotted TV time had come to an end. Ben, who was 4 at the time, took it upon himself to rid his brother of his deep sadness. Ben’s happy-making repertoire included classic face-making tricks, like sticking both thumbs in his ears and wiggling his fingers while waggling his tongue at the same time. But after an exhausting number of tries, he walked over to me and threw his hands in the air like a miniature prosecuting attorney. “Mom, I put all my funny faces on him and he’s STEEL sad.”
- Childhood is tough. Ben had just turned 6 and was enjoying the loot that came with his birthday. He was focused on the finer points of Lego architecture when he hit a snag. “Emma,” he sighed dramatically to his 2-year-old sister. “When you’re my age, you’re going to have a very difficult life…” I stopped in my tracks to overhear what could be so stressful, “…putting together Legos and stuff.”
- Quiet walks are great for imaginations. Alex and I were on a post-dinner walk around the block when he was 7. As we rounded the corner to home, he said, “Mom, what if the roots of all the above-ground trees were really the tops of underground trees?”
- Little ones are little philosophers. At the dinner table one night when my Emma was 3, she announced with a Plato-like sense of musing. “Hmm…I don’t like apples. Dramatic pause. And I don’t like sauce. Another pause. But I sure like applesauce!”
- Once a daredevil, always a daredevil. One morning when I was taking a shower, I had Ben (then 3) safely set up in my bedroom watching a cartoon. While I was in lathering up, I heard a shocking thud and yelled, “Ben…are you okay?” The bathroom door swung open with bravado and there he stood sporting his favorite blanket as a cape, his little fists resting on his hips. “I’m okay. I was just flying.”
- Kids come with a fresh perspective. As a family we were glued to the 2008 Summer Olympics. During the diving competition Ben innocently asked, “Do they get to pick what event they do, like gymnastics or swimming?” He thought the athletes might get to pick their daily activity out of hat, like an elementary school field day. Then during Sean Johnson’s gold medal performance on the beam, he looked up at me — completely blown away by her routine — and asked, “Wow! Does she just make this up as she goes along?”
- Little girls are mostly sugar. When Emma was 5, she woke me up one morning by climbing into my bed, using my sheet as a belay rope. She plunked her head on the pillow next to mine and asked me softly, “Mom, when we die, do we get to fly there?” “There” meaning heaven. “Fly” meaning like Tinker Bell. And her innocent question meaning I had another quote to put in ink.