Military mama: Son has become quite a character

Those of you who know my family personally know that my son is a sitcom writer’s dream child. The things that come out of that child’s mouth are often comedic gems rolling off a four-year-old’s tongue.

All moms have moments where pride bubbles over when nuggets of wisdom come from your child, and yet there are inevitably moments that call for a blush and quick escape. Inappropriate parroting of something a grown up has said or the volume battle particularly when an embarrassing observation is being announced.

My son Kaleb is known for his “Kalebisms.”

“It’s mine now!” when the man in front of us dropped a quarter at the checkout. Or when his obsession with Guitar Hero boiled over into real life conversations, like when he was asked to dance at a wedding reception he rejected her explaining, “I’m a singer, not a dancer.” He insists that his cousins live in “Sweet Home Alabama.” And one of the best recent responses was when he told me that I could go home on the airplane, that he was going to stay with his grandma. Then to top that off, he told me that his girlfriend needed to come on an airplane to live with him. I told him that I would miss him too much and her mommy would miss her too. He looked at me and said, “But, I love her very much.” That certainly left me speechless.

The downside to having an outspoken child, particularly one with a very active imagination, is that he has a tendency to tell big stories. While watching TV a few days ago, Kaleb asked me when it was going to end. I assumed that he was talking about the television show and told him in about five minutes. His eyes started welling up with tears and I immediately began asking follow up questions. Turns out he was asking when the world was going to end. I quizzed him further. He was sure that a volcano was going to erupt and end it all. I tried to comfort him and he just looked at me and replied, “No mom, we’re doomed.”

Kaleb is also turning into quite a hypochondriac, he comes up with excuses to try to get out of just about every chore. “I can’t, my hands will get sweaty.” “My tummy hurts, it’s telling me it’s full, except for treats.” “I’m sick, I have a fever.” “My legs hurt, I need a popsicle.” He’s really quite the character.

And yet, with all of the craziness that comes from my four-year-old’s mouth I am still working with my twins encouraging every “ooh,” “ahh” and (unfortunately first spoken) “Dada” that has rolled off of their tongues thus far. You’d think I’d learn my lesson and allow them to stay incomprehensible as long as possible. But what fun is that?