Every Song is Beautiful

Sometimes, I need to decompress after work and so on the way home, I'm guilty of giving E$ the iPod and letting him watch a show. It is the kind of thing I always said (pre-kid) that I said I would never do and here I am, mashing up my foot to fit it into my mouth. But sometimes, I just need twenty minutes of quiet, to think through my day or to just focus on the road with NPR in the background. So yeah, I hand over the iPod and enjoy the quiet.

However, there are days when we don't turn on the iPod or the radio. We just talk. My almost four year old is a glorious conversationalist. He sings the songs from music class; he asks, politely and genuinely, "how was your day?" We tell jokes, share what we had for lunch. He tells me about the playground antics; I tell him about the books that we're reading. I often make up songs about our days and today, he just said to me, "Mom, your songs are beautiful. Every songs are beautiful." If you heard me sing them, you might disagree, but that's the wonder of a preschooler. Sometimes, there are these gems that I just hold onto. One day, not too long ago, we were talking about zombies. In his class, they made a list around Halloween of "Real or Not Real?" and zombies, of course, were Not Real. (Note: My son, he is obsessed with zombies, specifically the zombies in the Thriller video and Michael Jackson. See evidence in his Halloween costume:

In the fall, when his interest was a part of our daily life, we talked about how the zombies were just people in costumes. While he still loved the zombies, Christmas brought new things to think about. And just a few weeks ago, in the car, on the way home, he suddenly got very quiet. I glanced into the rear view mirror to see if he was okay and he just seemed to be thinking. Finally, he spoke and we had this exchange:

E: Mom, zombies are Not Real, right?

Me: Right. Just people in costumes.

E: But people are real.

Me: Yup.

E: Costumes are real.

Me: Yup...

E: So if zombies are just people in costumes, zombies are real. 

Me: (crickets chirping)

I had no idea what to say. It was hard to argue with his logic. I love these conversations; I look forward to these conversations. Sometimes, I am so amazed at the person he is becoming. He is smart and curious and funny (he seriously has an amazing sense of humor), but he is also equal parts rough and tumble boy. In all of the rambunctiousness that comes along with raising sons, I am happy for these car conversations and the glimpse into him that they give me.