Hard Questions
Oct. 1st, 2007 11:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tripperfunsterMy four year old son, Quincey is FULL of hard questions lately. ;0
Q:How do babies get INSIDE your tummy?
Me: Uh...the mommy and the daddy PUT the baby in there.
Q:But how?
Me: Well, the daddy has a 'seed', sort of like mommy's egg, and he puts it in her tummy.
Q: How?
Me: With his penis.
(we both laugh uproariously)
Me: No, really, I know it SOUNDS like I'm joking, but it's true.
Q eyes me suspiciously, to see if I'm really kidding or not.
Q: So, what colour is the daddy's seed? Black?
Me: *snickers* No, mostly white.
Q: Are you SURE it's not black?
Me: not that I've ever seen!
and then today;
Q:Why do people die when they're old?
Me: Um...sometimes their bodies just get worn out and don't work properly anymore.
Q:Are WE going to die when we get old?
Me: Probably. But I hope not for a long, long, time.
Q:Will we be in the same graveyard together?
Me: WTF???? Sure, if you'd like.
Q: Do you need your shoes on to die?
Me: HOMGWTF?? Do you mean, do you have shoes on when they bury you?
Q: Yes. Why do you need shoes?
Me: I don't really know. I suppose that it's tradition to dress up nice.
Q: Oh. I'm going to play the piano now.
Me: THANK FUCKIN' GOD!
*snatches him away and sticks him in a bubble where he doesn't have to think about sex or dying ever again*
Q:How do babies get INSIDE your tummy?
Me: Uh...the mommy and the daddy PUT the baby in there.
Q:But how?
Me: Well, the daddy has a 'seed', sort of like mommy's egg, and he puts it in her tummy.
Q: How?
Me: With his penis.
(we both laugh uproariously)
Me: No, really, I know it SOUNDS like I'm joking, but it's true.
Q eyes me suspiciously, to see if I'm really kidding or not.
Q: So, what colour is the daddy's seed? Black?
Me: *snickers* No, mostly white.
Q: Are you SURE it's not black?
Me: not that I've ever seen!
and then today;
Q:Why do people die when they're old?
Me: Um...sometimes their bodies just get worn out and don't work properly anymore.
Q:Are WE going to die when we get old?
Me: Probably. But I hope not for a long, long, time.
Q:Will we be in the same graveyard together?
Me: WTF???? Sure, if you'd like.
Q: Do you need your shoes on to die?
Me: HOMGWTF?? Do you mean, do you have shoes on when they bury you?
Q: Yes. Why do you need shoes?
Me: I don't really know. I suppose that it's tradition to dress up nice.
Q: Oh. I'm going to play the piano now.
Me: THANK FUCKIN' GOD!
*snatches him away and sticks him in a bubble where he doesn't have to think about sex or dying ever again*
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no subject
Date: 2007-10-01 06:20 pm (UTC)One time, when we were on a CROWDED monorail at DisneyWorld, Quincey was misbehaving and I told him to calm down or I'd beat him. (Obviously joking, we never hit the kids). Harrison looked up at me, and very loudly asked, "Did you bring your beating-stick, mom?" I, of course answered, "No, they wouldn't let me take it on the plane." Hubby rolled his eyes and pretended to not be related to us. (although he's just as bad)
Quincey is endlessly interested in the whole reproductive process AND death. He's forever asking who came from who's tummy, when was daddy in MY tummy? Were he AND Harrison in my tummy at the same time? He also sighs loudly and laments that he was so, so lonely in my tummy because he was 'all by my own' in there. And also that he ate all my food when he was in there.
As for death, the other day he was 'writing cheques' (scribbling on scraps of paper) and he held one up, and proudly announced that "This chequce is for Grandpa Frank! (dead long before I had even met my husband). He then said "I'm going to tape it to his gravestone!" *snerk*
no subject
Date: 2007-10-01 06:28 pm (UTC)