Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Ponderings. By Brock.
A few weeks ago, while we were at the lake playing in the pool, Brock began playing with this 11 year old girl. He asked her name, then how old she was, and she returned the questions. Brock replied, "My name it Brock, and I am three years old". Then attempted to hold up three fingers, but I think he used both hands and it was more like seven (which should have tipped everyone off that he in fact was the age he claimed). The mother of this girl then chimed in, "Are you sure you're only 3 years old?" Brock just nods. She then says, "When is your birthday?" And Brock replies, "I don't know" in a tone that implied what he was really saying is, "How the [bleep] should I know, lady? I am only 3 years old, no 3 year old knows that [bleep]". She then says to him, "You must be almost 4, because 3 year olds don't speak as well as you." Brock didn't even acknowledge her presence any longer, he was done with this boring lady, but the woman continued to smile and laugh at him, and would repeatedly mention that he talks way too well to be three. I finally made my way close enough to interject that he was, in fact, 3 and a half. She couldn't believe it. This is not the first time a stranger has been baffled by Brock's overall appearance/age. I doubt it will be the last.
And maybe I lied, maybe there are 3 things that throw off the kid-age guessing meter. He is quite quirky. Curtis, I feel, follows a lot of the same trends as his 21 month old counter-parts. Not to say he isn't brilliant or unique, but well, maybe I am saying that...at least he easily make friends. I worry about that with Brock. Quirky, unique, ummm, shall we say OCD types tend to struggle in the social scene as kiddos. And Brock is a problem solver, already. He has to have an answer to everything. And he is not that kid that just asks, why? He comes up with the why's all on his own. He loves to theorize. One night, he was having difficulty with a BM, and he said to me, "Maybe I have a screw up my butt. Right? Right, mommy? Maybe there is a screw up my butt so it's why the poop just won't come out. Right?" Right Brock, MAYBE, it's a screw. Probably not. But maybe. He has also decided that since babies are in moms' tummies, then the only logical way they could get out of their tummy is through the mouth. He told the nanny that mom's go to the hospital to throw up their baby's in the toilet. It's fairly logical.
The little synapse's in that boy's brain never stop firing and making connections, he see's a pineapple, and says, "Oh, Sponge Bob's house." He tells me his heart is broken after not seeing me all day (and being the sentimentalists we are, Matt and I say that all the time. Or, no we don't. Ever. Really, I don't think I have ever said out loud that my heart was broken.) Right now, his big thing is "NO" and "YES" signs. And what I mean by this, is that he points out every single sign with a red circle with a strike through it. No parking. No smoking. No shirt, no shoes, no service. He can pretty much read them all or make a great guess as to the meaning of all signs these days. I believe he made his Mimi take him on a "No sign" hunt one afternoon.
Recently, Brock took his cousin's wallet. Which was then found by our cleaning lady. But it was missing the cash. My sister insisted Brock was a liar because, when asked where the $15 went, his replies: I don't know. Down the sink. In the wallet. In the electricity. Doubt they're lies, more like guesses, because he truly doesn't know. And speaking of cousins. One afternoon, while riding in the way back of the van, Xander asked Brock if he wanted to go to the farm to ride the 4-wheelers. To which Brock adamantly replied, "No, Xander! We cannot drive. I can't drive cars. I can't drive a fire truck. I can't drive a bike, well, not a big bike..." and the story continued, while Xander just kept exclaiming, "I know, Brock, I know."