Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Life With Dylan

Dylan is genuinely one of the oddest people I've ever met. This is a good thing; I find being a stay-at-home mom really dull in a lot of ways. I'd probably be working or in the loony bin right now if he weren't so ... well, here's a sampling.:

Frequently, he'll take off running out of the room exclaiming, "I have to go to pee!!" His pants are down before he hits the poster in the hallway about atoms. A few minutes later, I'll hear him reading the text on the poster about atomic mass and electric current, etc. His pants are still down. "Dylan, did you pee?" "No," he says in his sweet breathy voice. "Go pee." "OK." Off again to the bathroom.

He asks to go downstairs to see the fire extinguisher. He also locates every last one in any building we are in (I feel much safer now that I know there are about 2 fire extinguishers per square foot in any given commercial building). He'll either stand directly in front of it like an English pointer, his nose perfectly in line with the extinguisher, and ask "what is that?" or look at it sidelong through his eyelashes, point to it with a fully extended arm while leaning the rest of his body away from it, and ask "what is that?" It is always, always a fire extinguisher.

I spent 10 minutes alone with him at dinner last night. Here is the succession of events during that time:
1) "Can you spell 'EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY ALARM WILL SOUND'?" I do, and leave out the 'g' on purpose. He catches it and demands I respell.
2) After gazing into the distance for a minute or so, he asks "Can I poke you in the eye?" to which I say "no".
3) It's quiet and now I'm gazing off into the distance, probably dreaming up a better place to be. I see movement. He is studying the shadow the spoon is casting onto his shirt, angling it for different effects. When he bores of this, he wipes his shirt vigorously. I realize that he began playing around with the spoon shadows before the bite of soup reached his mouth and the soup spilled on his shirt.
4) A brief period of spelling things backwards ensues. He then decides to cut out the middleman and faceplants himself into his pizza in order to save himself the bother of using his hands. I do nothing to stop this, as I am busy trying to reconcile the person who can read the poster about the atom pretty near fluently at the age of four with the person who is attacking his pizza like a wild dog.
5) My mind has gone into a state of overload by this point. I start actual research on better places to be.


  1. You are hilarious!! And so is your life!

  2. Oh Dylan! How funny are both of you.

  3. He sounds so funny and so smart!

  4. Special people fill your house! So glad you recorded this. I have done the same research thing as a cooping mechanism. How did Mom's cope pre internet?