October 13, 2010
If it weren't for his giant head and stellar personality, I'd question whether or not James was switched at birth. The kid does all kinds of things I'd never expect someone with my DNA to do--and I know he's not getting it from his father either.
For example, James reads almost fluently--he still gets hung up on the words with 'ght' all in a row. And I'm sure I don't have to convince you that there's never been a hint of a flashcard in this house. PBS Kids? Yes. Hooked on Phonics? Yeah, Hooked on Phonics can kiss my lazy istillhavetosoundthingsoutsometimes ass.
But it's not just the reading that's got me all freaked out, it's what my child likes to read--namely, the Children's Encyclopedia. I crap you not, this kid just read me two excerpts, one was about a painting called The Great Greyness and the other one was some complete boringness about an Asian (pronounced 'agent') teacup. I tried so hard to act captivated by the teacup, I really did, but there's no mincing words here, Asian teacups suck.
I wouldn't say that we're a non-reading family, but we're not a bunch of bookworms either. Jared's been reading the same book since last Thanksgiving, and as an adult, my reading is strictly limited to food blogs, status updates, and library books with hot pink covers (oh my word, I always skip the sex scenes...and sometimes I lie).
In high school I literally, literally, read one required reading book out of approximately five hundred. It was Night by Eli Wiesel and I only read it because it was skinny. That was back in the day before internet book summaries, so I passed my classes on nothing but natural intellect, a pleasant witt, and a casual deal with the valedictorian. I can't say I ever cheated in college (honestly, never not once), but I will say that by the time my third year rolled around I was spending my text book money--all if it--at The Gap.
Me and books? Not so much.
Me and The Hills? Yes, yes, yes.
I guess you can say I'm not sure what to do with this kid. I tell him to go play outside and he acts likes it's an enormous and painful punishment. I tell him to go sit in his room and read a book and he starts jumping up and down and swinging his socks around like he's about to rope a cow.
Yesterday we finally compromised, and James agreed to work on his puzzle books outside. Let me tell you, both times he got up to take a whiz on the tree in the sideyard I was like, "Thank goodness. I wonder if that counts as exercise."
So here's my question for today. Does anyone else have a kid who hears the phrase, "It's time to go outside and cut your own leg off," when you're actually saying, "It's time to go outside and play"?
The average age on our street is seventy, his sibling can't even walk yet, and a trampoline is way out of the budget this year. What do I do?