Today was Take Your Child To Work Day. This annual holiday, this national celebration, this cornerstone of American society completely passed our household by—at least, until I started seeing all my friends’ adorable pictures popping up on Facebook.
I thought, Awww! Look at him! He’s getting so grown up.
And, Wow—she’s really helping. Awww!
Then I thought, Aw, crap. How did Big A. wiggle out of this again?
To be fair, I’m sure Big A. would LOVE to take the kids to work with him. We’re just out of it—we didn’t know it was today. I mean, *I* only took a kid to work with me because it’s our default setting. Every day, they’re in my
general laptop space while I edit. As
for my mom job, they go with me to get groceries and to get my hair cut and to
the bank and to the gynecologist…. You
think I’m kidding? I assure you, I’m not.
So today S. went off to school as usual—but, then again, she’s rehearsing all day for the spring musical revue. That’s kind of like one of my ex-jobs, so she’s good.
And, as usual, I dragged Little A. around with me all day; today we were doing errands for my Girl-Scout-troop-leading job. He was a good sport about it, although I think he got a little tired of listening to “Come On Get Higher” by Matt Nathanson.
I briefly debated taking the song off repeat based on the innuendos involved, but then I decided that A) not even super-genius boy would catch the innuendos, and B) having mom in a good mood outweighed any premature exposure to entendre.
Ironically, this led to Little A. joining me at my poet job later on. As we ate lunch, we had this talk.
“Mommy, I’ve got that part stuck in my head—‘pull me down hard and drown me in love.’”
He’s got that tone of voice. This is going to be A Conversation. Okay, we’ve talked about poetic language before. And I’m an English major. I can spin ANYthing. I got this.
“So, what does that make you think about?”
Little A. shrugs, eating away at his lunch.
“Normally, pulling someone hard hurts, right? And drowning is bad, right?”
Little A. meets my eyes and nods. Clearly, this is what he was getting at. “Yeah.”
“But what else is he talking about?”
Little A. lights up; now HE’s got this. “Love. And love’s a good thing!”
“That’s great! And have you ever wanted a good thing so much that you just can’t say how much you want it?”
“Or have you ever wanted lots and lots of something good, like wanting to eat chocolate ice cream even after your tummy is full?”
Crickets. After Little A. thinks a minute, he shakes his head.
“So you wouldn’t want to drown in love, even if it’s really good?”
Little A. giggles. “Noooo.”
I get whimsical. “What about Legos? Would you want someone to drown you in Legos?”
Little A. gets excited. “Yeah! Police Legos! Lots and lots of police Legos!”
And we moved on.
So there you have it: Legos trump love when you’re a five-year-old boy. That’s probably why pre-K boys don’t write a lot of pop hits. And why poets don’t take their kids to work. At least, not literally.
And I think we’re going back to Roger Day and Sweet Honey in the Rock in the car….