“Mommy, you’re a hippo.”
“I’m a what?! Why?!”
“You’re a mommy hippo. Because I want to be a baby hippo.”
“I’m a baby hippo, but I’m also Denzel.”
“So like a baby hippo whose name is Denzel?”
“No, sometimes I’m a baby hippo, other times I’m Denzel.”
“Mommy, you’re also a baby strawberry.”
“WHY AM I A BABY STRAWBERRY?”
“Because it sounds nice. Daddy is a watermelon.”
“Are Marines allowed to ride in elevators by themselves?”
“Do they have guns?”
“They wear unicorns?”
“Mommy, you’re laughing too hard. You’ll pee yourself if you don’t stop.”
“Says the kid who accuses Marines of wearing unicorns.”
“Do Marines have to eat dinner?”
“What if they don’t like their dinner?”
“I’m pretty sure they just buck up and eat it anyway?”
“So they don’t cry?”
“Not over stupid stuff like dinner.”
“What do Marines cry about?”
“Serious stuff. Probably.”
“Like when people die?”
“Like when people die.”
“Does everyone die?”
“Do Marines like cake?”
“Of course they do.” Continue reading ““Do Marines like cake?” “Does God have a butt?” Conversations with a five-year-old”
The other day it happened again.
I was talking to a friend about the eternal issue of having kids/not having kids, when the friend said something like,
“I guess I just care too much about art and changing society for the better. Who has time for that when they have a child?”
“I mean, I guess you do, Natalia. Well, sort of, right? I assume you’d be able to do so much more with your life if you weren’t a mother.”
“I mean, there’s no harm in admitting it. Right? You don’t have to admit it publicly. You can admit it to me. Yes?”
Continue reading “I am not your monkey: on motherhood, art, and presumptuous bullshit”
I really like the neighborhood of Kuzminki, I’ve decided. We’re in that calm before the storm there – before various overpriced developers move in.
“A baby wasn’t an idea, as love was an idea. A baby was a fact. It was a being with a mind and a nature, and you could feel about it any way you liked, but a baby wouldn’t care. Just by existing, it demanded that you believe in a future: the future it would crawl in, walk in, live in. A baby was a piece of time; it was a promise you made that the world made back to you. A baby was the oldest deal there was, to go on living.”
– Justin Cronin, The Passage.
This is how I felt after I read the above for the first time:
Just like a prisoner who just got laid. Oui.
I found this month-old gif (originally a cine via Cinemagram) of mine on my phone today:
That was the day before we moved, leaving Novogireyevo for the older and stranger neighborhood of Kuzminki, also in eastern Moscow.
Grandma had introduced Lev to the binkie when he was a few weeks old (without asking my permission, of course. Why should grandma *ever* do something like that?), and moving day was as good as any day to bid it goodbye. We figured that the thrill of a new apartment, new playgrounds, and so on, would distract Lev enough from his old habits – and we were ultimately not mistaken.
In the gif, he has just reclaimed the binkie after I had unsuccessfuly tried to hide it in the kitchen.
A reminder to me that even necessary change is often painful.