God bless him.
Parker is just a TALKER. Especially in the car. He really hits his stride during our commute to and from preschool. Lately, the talk has been about football, football, football. We pass his future middle school and high school each day and, without fail, he launches into a verbal assault of specific thoughts on the subject.
“That is Parker’s school when he is kinda like 14. I will go there and I will play on the big football team and their field doesn’t have numbers on it like Rice and when I am 14 I will go to Klein Collins football team and will they be the wrong team? will they play the Cowboys? I will be the quarterback because the quarterback can throw to the receiver the receiver catches the ball but he does not tackle he just runs and can he get the touchdown? T is for touchdown. You know, Mom, like the book? Will the Rice Owls beat the white team? what is the white team called? are they the defense? i play defense. I am going to see the Houston Texans on October 19th and they are going to be the right team. The Lions are going to be the wrong team. What do the lions say? The Cowboys team says “moooooo”. (right mom? right?) and maaaaybe I will play on the Spring Texans because I live in Spring. Nana lives in Houston and Icky lives in Rice. The Rice football team is the right team and I’m #81 like Jarett Dillard. I think I don’t want the Texans to play the Owls. Can the Cowboys be the right team? The Cowboys can’t be the right team because Daddy said no.”
And so it goes. And if my responses are not verbatim what he wants to hear, you’d better believe I will be reprimanded.
This afternoon, however, Parker was distracted from our usual football chat. As we got into our car after preschool, Parker caught a glimpse of a lovely (albeit portly) young girl dressed in full ballet garb. Bracing myself for the potential “Look mom, that girl has a fat belly!”, I was immensely relieved when his only comment was, “Oooo, cute! She’s kinda like a princess!”
As we pulled out of the parking lot, I could tell that Parker was mulling something over in that vast noggin of his.
“Mom, was that girl a princess?”
“Well, actually P-Bo, she was in ballet clothes. Like a ballerina.”
“Was it her costume? Maybe next day I will wear my Batman costume to school.”
“No, I don’t think it was a costume. I think she was probably going to ballet class.”
“What does a ballerina do? What do you do in ballet class?”
“Well, you learn how to dance. A ballerina dances.”
“How does she dance?”
“She twirls up on her toes and moves very softly and prettily.” (as I do my best one-handed-while-driving impression)
“I think I can go to Batman class. And then I will learn how to jump.”
“I’ll look into that, P.”
“Mom, what color are your underwear?”
Caught only slightly off-guard, I answered, “Well, I don’t remember, Parker. I’ll have to check later.”
“They are blue, Mom.”
Unable to resist, I did a quick pull-and-peek….blue as blue can be.
I’ll be darned.
And since you can’t really get enough of him,