Daily Archives: March 22, 2007

Conversations With Caleb


On the way home from taking Katie to school, Caleb and I stopped at the Walgreen’s pharmacy drive-thru to pick up a prescription.
Caleb (yelling out the open window at the pharmacist behind the glass): I’d like some money, please!
Me: Shhhh … this isn’t the bank, sweetie. It’s the drugstore. They don’t have money here.
Caleb: Yes, that man inside the window do have some money.
Me: Well, he has some in his cash register, I guess, but he doesn’t give it away.
Caleb (disregarding my clearly erroneous information, resumes calling to the pharmacist): Hey! I need some ten dollars, please!
Me: What do you need ten dollars for?
Caleb: I need to buy a penguin.
(He later informed me that the penguin’s name would be Grayson and that they would be Best Friends Forever.)


This morning, while I was helping him get dressed for the day, Caleb made an observation.
Caleb: Mom, what is that fing on your tummy?
Me (looking down and pointing at the tie on my pajamas): You mean this?
Caleb (poking me painfully in the chest): No, that fing!
Me (trying to remain matter-of-fact): Those are breasts, honey. Grown up girls have them.
Caleb: Breff?
Me: No, breasts. There are two of them, and they’re private, so it’s not nice to poke them. Okay?
Caleb (laughing): There’s not two of them; there’s five!
Me (Finally losing the fight against laughter, and wondering just where four year olds get their information): Whatever you say … just leave them alone, okay?
Caleb: Okay.
(Sometimes ending the conversation while you still have your dignity is more important than strict factual accuracy, you understand. And just for the record, they’re not actually all the way down to my tummy yet.)


This afternoon, Caleb and I had lunch together at Carl’s Jr., where the talk covered everything from rockets to Grayson the Penguin. Good will abounded.
Caleb (grinning and holding up his cup of Orange Fanta): Cheers, Mom!
Me (“clinking” my plastic cup against Caleb’s paper one): Cheers! What should we toast to?
Caleb (laughing at Mom yet again): It’s not toast, silly! It’s orange juice!

Will somebody please hand me a copy of the script? I didn’t get one.