Mommy, How Do You Eat Someone's Soul?

That was what Zephyr asked me a half hour ago, just as he was drifting off for his nap. I have never outgrown the belief that my mommy knows everything, so I guess it should be no surprise that he thought I would have the answer to his query. Even if I did indeed know how to eat someone's soul, I'm not sure a 3 1/2 year old could be considered mature enough for this type of sensitive information. But maybe I could use it as leverage while trying to get him to finish his breakfast. "If you eat 6 bites of egg, I'll tell you how to eat someone's soul."

It's that odd time of year where it's actually pleasantly warm outside and a bit chilly inside our house. The other day I was washing up a few dishes when I heard the washing machine finish it's cycle. I called into the living room, "Zephyr, do you and Jubilee want to play outside while I hang the clothes on the line?" "If we can bring our babies," he answered. I went around the corner to see them both sitting on the small couch, Zephyr holding his beloved Teddy and Jubilee holding a small stuffed lion. Did I say Jubilee was holding the lion? Mostly, she was dropping it. Zephyr would hop off, fetch it off the floor, and put it back in her hand, saying "This is your baby, Jubi. Lion, this is your mommy." She would drop it again. "Your baby is crying, Jubi. Lion wants to be held."

I remember my friend Katie telling me that her sons started playing really well together at ages 1 and 3. I can see how this is coming true for our family as well. Besides "Babies," Zephyr and Jubilee play a number of other pretend games. The other day, they were playing "Grinches," which meant stealing all the books and toys, aka taking everything off the shelves. They also play "Firefighter," dragging a tent pole around the house together, in lieu of a firehose. It's impossible to know Jubilee's interpretation of these games, but she never smiles bigger or laughs harder than when she has her older brother's full attention. One day she was chewing on his toy pirate as he stood next to her, voicing the pirate's thoughts, "Oh, no, I'm being chewed up by a giant baby! Yikes! She's eating my head off!"

Another favorite game of theirs could be called "Shoe." Zephyr grabs some random item and loudly proclaims, "Jubi, I have your shoe! Shoe! I got your shoe!" and starts running around the house. She chases him in hot pursuit, shrieking with delight. It doesn't seem to matter to either of them that the item in question has never been an actual shoe. And then there was the day last week when I overheard him ask her, "Jubi, do you want to play transformers? You can play transformers. It's not too scary for you." Zephyr may have the vaguest idea of what transformers are, especially after seeing one at the playground on Tuesday, and I'm curious about what this game would have looked like.

There are certainly times when I recognize the usefulness of having a preschooler around while parenting a baby. For instance, when I'm driving and Jubilee is very very quiet. Since she is still rear-facing, I can't see her. Instead of worrying that she's found something to choke on, I can ask Zephyr to fill me in. "Zephyr, is Jubilee asleep?" I wondered, for example, on the way home from Kindermusik on Wednesday. "No, she's just looking out the window, thinking. But I don't know what she's thinking about," he added.

Although I was an elementary school teacher for eight years, I was never very interested in early childhood. Since becoming a mother, I'm constantly wishing I majored in it. This morning I was watching Zephyr study the pages of The Tawny Scrawny Lion, which remains a favorite. I waited patiently until he finished before asking, "What were you thinking about as you looked at each page? Were you telling yourself the story, or just enjoying the pictures?" "Well," he began, "My brain keeps putting my hair in my eyes." Pause. "I'm trying to make it stop." No wonder they say it's difficult to assess the IQ of young children.

Friday morning the kids and I were outside, hanging laundry on the line, as usual. Zephyr pulls down his pants, starts peeing, and states "My weenis is open." "Your penis?" I ask. "No, my weenis," he insists. "What's a weenis?" "It's the bone that carries the pee from my bladder," he explains. Oh yes, the elusive weenis bone. Anatomy according to Zephyr.

The night before, I explained to Zephyr that I might not be there when he woke up, since I had a 7 am dentist appointment. "Are we all invited?" he wanted to know.

And in the future, when I hear happy babies babbling "Dadadadada," as Jubi does, I'm certain I'll remember Zephyr's response. "I'm not Dada, Jubi! I'm you're older brother, Zephyr."