No! You're a Nator!

My three year old has a hearing problem. Okay… not really, though I doubt his ear drums are fully intact after the super high pitch squealing soundtrack of his infancy and the shouting match gold medalist status of his toddler years. I say he has a hearing problem because he constantly asks everyone “What?”

*** he may or may not have picked this up from a certain Muddy fellow from another country that once visited us and spilled coffee on my carpet. And I don’t care about the coffee… it’s the “what?”ing  you’ll pay dearly for mister!***


He just likes to talk. He likes people. And why shouldn’t he? Everywhere he goes, he’s charming and that’s the feedback he receives.  People like him, adore him, even. For no reason I can see. That came out wrong. Of course I CAN SEE…. I mean jebus. He’s adorable to the tenth degree. Those dimples… the big knowing brown eyes…. The reddish blond mop of limp hair on his head… his tiny man swagger… that way his eyebrows wriggle just before he's about to really blow your mind with funny.... it’s a miracle I haven’t eaten him whole. But I’m his Mama… I’m talking about virtual strangers.

My son will be throwing a raging tantrum in the cart area at Wal~Mart because he’s just found out that once again his mother has blown all her quarters in the jukebox at the pub and he won’t be riding the rocking whatever it is that month.  And old people will approach cooing and handing me five dollar bills I’m supposed to trade in for quarters to satisfy my tyrant of a child. That’s not normal! Usually when you have a screaming child in public people stare at you as though you brought a razor on an airplane. Old people more than anyone!

Actually I have a theory about his adorability. (it's a shouldbeaword) He’s a supremely good mimic. And people love nothing more than themselves. That’s a fact.

Wow. I lost track of what I’m talking about. OH! The goddamn whating is driving me bonkers.

Imagine for a moment that most of your day is spent saying simple mind numbing things like “please wash your hands” or “Yes I love that blue line you drew.” and “Stop hitting your sister.”  Don’t forget the stand bys such as “no.” and “Maybe later.” and “not right now.” and “yes I’m very sorry I crumpled to the hardwood floor when you jumped on my back unexpectedly whilst hollering "YEEHAW MOMMY!" and we both rolled onto a pile of legos and matchbox cars bruising our bodies head to toe.”

Now imagine having to say it all thrice. Not just because my “intense personality” children are often so absorbed in whatever havoc they’re reeking that they actually don’t hear me. But because Thatcher always always always has to ask “What?” two or three times after I say anything.

“Mom? Where’s my Dad?” he asks

“I think he might be in the bathroom. Give him a minute and he’ll be out before you know it.”

“What?”

“He’s in the bathroom.”

“What?”

“HE’S URINATING!” my sister tried to help me out.

“No! You’re a nator!” Thatcher retorted.



*sigh*  now it’s like our family catch phrase. “No! You’re a nator!” 

September 30, 2009