Wednesday
Mar242010
Art, Play Doh and the Existential Dilemma
Wednesday, March 24, 2010 at 11:07AM
It seems that no matter where we go as a family, a trip to some sort of museum always lands on the itinerary. I think I have more to do with that than I would like to admit, but I keep telling myself that my husband is secure enough in his masculinity to stare at abstract art for a few minutes and act like it means something to him.
Anyway.
Back in January, we went to Savannah, which many of you may know is a very “artsy” place. While we were there, we took the kids (yes, even the infant) to the Jepson Center. In our defense, they have a great little kid’s section that does a wonderful job of illustrating not only the mechanics of art, but its relevance in our every day lives.
N. and I have great conversations on these little museum trips. Like, the following:
“Hey, N., look at this one, this is by an artist from France.”
“What’s France?”
“A country.”
“What’s a country?”
“A place where people who speak the same language, eat the same kinds of food and wear the same kinds of clothes live together.”
“So. America is not a country.”
“No, America is a country. Actually, it’s the United States of...”
“But people dress different from each other here. And they eat different foods. And they look different,”
“Yeah, well, America is kind of special like that.”
“Oh, we’re better because we’re special.”
This is the point in the conversation where I flash forward twenty years and see my daughter holding up a poster with the words, “If you don’t love America, get the hell out” MINUS the sense of irony.
“Um, no...”
“Oh, we’re worse than France...”
“NO WAY... we’re just...”
“Where is France, Mama?”
“In Europe.”
“What’s Europe?”
“A continent.”
“What’s a continent?”
This is the point in the conversation where other patrons of the museum start staring at me.
“A continent is a big piece of land that different countries are a part of... like, we live in North America.”
“Oh, they named the continent after us.”
“Um. Yes. No. Wait... I don’t know...”
“DID THEY NAME THE CONTINENT AFTER US OR NOT?”
“I DON’T KNOW.”
This is the point in the conversation where the other patrons of the museum start laughing at me.
“Who made continents?”
“Well, Allah made continents.”
“Why?”
“Because, you know, he could... and, I guess, so people could live on them, so, um, we would have a place to live.”
This is a place in the conversation where I foolishly assume that I have (a) dodged a major bullet and (b) ended the conversation.
“Why did he want people to live on them?”
“So, we could follow his plan, you know, so we could do things like take care of each other and ...”
“What did he make the continents out of?”
“Rocks...”
“How did he make the rocks stick together?”
This is the point in the conversation where the other patrons start pitying me.
“I...uh, that’s a great question... we should ask....”
“He used Play-Doh.”
“No, I don’t think...”
“Yes... YES! He used Play-Doh. Brown play-doh, so we couldn’t see it.”
“N., I don’t think God used Play-Doh to stick rocks together to make continents.”
“Yes, he did. I was there.”
“Oh, you were there? Really?” I say this with way more sarcasm than is appropriate when addressing a four year old.
“Yes, it was before you were born,”
“I was born before you.”
“It was when I was up in heaven, you weren’t there, I saw him use Play Doh to stick the rocks together...”
“Come on, honey, you didn’t...”
“I WAS THERE, IT WAS BEFORE YOU WERE BORN, I SAW HIM DO IT.”
This is the point in the conversation where the other patrons begin handing me cards with the names of psychiatrists on them. Or affirming their belief that those people from over there are just born extremists, aren’t they...
“Okay, fine. Look this painting is of a flower.”
“What’s a flower...”
This is the point in the conversation where I wish I had just taken her to the Magic Kingdom instead.
Anyway.
Back in January, we went to Savannah, which many of you may know is a very “artsy” place. While we were there, we took the kids (yes, even the infant) to the Jepson Center. In our defense, they have a great little kid’s section that does a wonderful job of illustrating not only the mechanics of art, but its relevance in our every day lives.
N. and I have great conversations on these little museum trips. Like, the following:
“Hey, N., look at this one, this is by an artist from France.”
“What’s France?”
“A country.”
“What’s a country?”
“A place where people who speak the same language, eat the same kinds of food and wear the same kinds of clothes live together.”
“So. America is not a country.”
“No, America is a country. Actually, it’s the United States of...”
“But people dress different from each other here. And they eat different foods. And they look different,”
“Yeah, well, America is kind of special like that.”
“Oh, we’re better because we’re special.”
This is the point in the conversation where I flash forward twenty years and see my daughter holding up a poster with the words, “If you don’t love America, get the hell out” MINUS the sense of irony.
“Um, no...”
“Oh, we’re worse than France...”
“NO WAY... we’re just...”
“Where is France, Mama?”
“In Europe.”
“What’s Europe?”
“A continent.”
“What’s a continent?”
This is the point in the conversation where other patrons of the museum start staring at me.
“A continent is a big piece of land that different countries are a part of... like, we live in North America.”
“Oh, they named the continent after us.”
“Um. Yes. No. Wait... I don’t know...”
“DID THEY NAME THE CONTINENT AFTER US OR NOT?”
“I DON’T KNOW.”
This is the point in the conversation where the other patrons of the museum start laughing at me.
“Who made continents?”
“Well, Allah made continents.”
“Why?”
“Because, you know, he could... and, I guess, so people could live on them, so, um, we would have a place to live.”
This is a place in the conversation where I foolishly assume that I have (a) dodged a major bullet and (b) ended the conversation.
“Why did he want people to live on them?”
“So, we could follow his plan, you know, so we could do things like take care of each other and ...”
“What did he make the continents out of?”
“Rocks...”
“How did he make the rocks stick together?”
This is the point in the conversation where the other patrons start pitying me.
“I...uh, that’s a great question... we should ask....”
“He used Play-Doh.”
“No, I don’t think...”
“Yes... YES! He used Play-Doh. Brown play-doh, so we couldn’t see it.”
“N., I don’t think God used Play-Doh to stick rocks together to make continents.”
“Yes, he did. I was there.”
“Oh, you were there? Really?” I say this with way more sarcasm than is appropriate when addressing a four year old.
“Yes, it was before you were born,”
“I was born before you.”
“It was when I was up in heaven, you weren’t there, I saw him use Play Doh to stick the rocks together...”
“Come on, honey, you didn’t...”
“I WAS THERE, IT WAS BEFORE YOU WERE BORN, I SAW HIM DO IT.”
This is the point in the conversation where the other patrons begin handing me cards with the names of psychiatrists on them. Or affirming their belief that those people from over there are just born extremists, aren’t they...
“Okay, fine. Look this painting is of a flower.”
“What’s a flower...”
This is the point in the conversation where I wish I had just taken her to the Magic Kingdom instead.
Reader Comments (53)
Perhaps she WAS there. You just never know, do you?
Certainly this is preferrable than having your child announce to a healthcare professional, "My mom says I'm brain damaged," after I explained his condition to him.
@Finn, Preferable TO, not than. Oy.
My grandmother (who, in fairness, spent her first 18 years living on a farm in Ireland), used to argue that the Civil War was fought between North and South America. When I was five and trying to explain to her that it was fought between the northern and southern states of the United States of America, she would agree and say yes...North and South America.
Then she would give me pie or chase me around with barrettes (hair clips) because she thought my hair was too long. She should see me now!
Good stuff, I love the age of questions. Just make sure you ALWAYS have an answer, even if its not 100% correct, you just need an answer. With history and creation, you just need to be logical really, it makes the questions slow down.
My dad once asked my sister why she asked so many questions to which she responded "Daddy, I'm only 4."
Santa used to come through the dishwasher at my wife's house when they were kids. Not too many fireplaces in our state as you may have noticed.
Hahahahahaha!
N is awesome!!
And really, how do you argue with I WAS IN HEAVEN AND I SAW IT AND YOU WEREN'T BORN YET?!
I mean - you don't know. You weren't even BORN yet!
Haha, she is very funny.
my heart swells with love for that child. i can't possibly express how perfect she is in this pithy comment. please hug and kiss n. a little extra for me this evening, please.
and really, who are any of us to tell her she doesn't remember being with god when he did anything? maybe her memory is just better than ours...
"I was THERE!" Hahaha, oh man, so cute. I love little kids. I really do. Your kid is so cool, but scary in a way; I have no idea how I'd answer those questions! They're good questions, but big questions that many adults don't have the answers to.
Your daughter is 10,000 shades of awesome. :)
I hope you never get to the if God can do anything can God make a rock he can't lift one.
That's reminiscent of how you argue, too.
I almost died laughing.
Oh the joy of children!
I once had a twenty minute conversation with my four year old niece about a guy who walked across the street.
"Why did he cross the street?"
"Where is he going?"
"To the store?"
"What's he going to buy?"
and on and on and on it went.
i've read this post a few times now, and it still makes me laugh every time. LOVE the writing, and absolutely love N's questions&answers. one of my favorite posts of yours, faiqa!
seriously, play-doh? N is genius. of course she would know -- she was probably part of god's advisory committee on How to Make the Rocks Stick Together. long before you were borned. =)
Hahahaha. That's exactly what happens. One of my favorites from N is still, "mama, why do people fight wars?" Followed by her own answer: "I think its because their mamas don't hug them enough"! Great post. Love u.
"...I guess, so people could live on them, so, um, we would have a place to live."
That made me laugh so hard I almost hurt myself. I hear you muttering in a "how did I get on the wrong end of this conversation" bewilderment tone. It's just... awesome.
You made a smart cookie.
As you said in my comments yesterday, children often mimic what they hear from their parents.
(Really, do I need to say any more? I mean, the joke just writes itself, doesn't it?)
You take your children on vacation? Have yet to do that. I must be a selfish prick.
@Finn, Hahahaha... oh, MY.
@B.E. Earl, Well, she kind of had a point. It was the Northern part and Southern part... or don't you speak English, er Irish? ;-)
@Hockeymandad, I love the "I'm only 4." And I wish I could use that, too. I, actually, go out of my way to say "I don't know" every now and then, so that she doesn't walk around thinking I have ALL the answers. That's a bit too much pressure for me... and I suppose for her. And, also, I am a horrible, horrible liar. It's like a handicap, it's that bad.
@Sybil Law, That she is. She gets it from me. Obviously.
@Miss Britt, It's the most compelling form of logic, really.
@J from Ireland, She's got a million of 'em.
@hello haha narf, It's likely. And, giving her hugs and kisses is one of my favorite things to do, so sure!
@Elizabeth Kaylene, It does scare me. I mean, what's she going to ask me in the years to come...
@Robin, Aww, thanks. I like her.
@RW, Why do I feel like if you ever have the opportunity to meet her, you'd slip a piece of paper with that written on it into her little hand... just to mess with me. You would. You totally would.
@Avitable, You only think that because I have to act like I'm four when I argue with you.
@Faiqa, so you can understand me.
@Sheila (Charm School Reject), Oh, yeah, the ones where they start asking about why strangers are doing whatever their doing would be funny if it weren't, you know, MORTIFYING.
@yasmine, She probably was. And I'm glad you liked it.
@tariq, I should really just start saying, "Uhhh, go ask Daddy..." I am fascinated by the prospect of you having to field these questions. I imagine your answer to why we fight wars being something about resource management and the evolutionary process complete with statistical data. You could even ask Adam to make spreadsheets for you.
@Poppy, That is EXACTLY the tone I said it in.
@SciFi Dad, Well, yeah, the child is BRILLIANT. Obviously.
@muskrat, Actually, I think people hate us. But, whatever.
I would rather cart my children along on every single vacation than have my parents brainwashing them for several days straight.
It took my mom ONE day to convince my daughter to give up her dream of becoming a mermaid in order to go to med school. Like the world needs another doctor. When was the last time anyone around here saw a mermaid?! It's a high demand field.
That was awesome...I feel sorry for my kids, they are going to hear a lot of "I can neither confirm nor deny that"
@zia, Lucky for your kids that by the time they're old enough to understand that statement they will also be old enough to know that they can call their Aunt Oompa Loompa if they really need an answer. Because she's got all of them.
@Faiqa, Don't take her side! Her house smelled like moth balls!
The fun thing about kids and questions is that they only get better from here. I always thought it was important for my son to know he could ask me anything and I would tell him the truth. That policy bit me right on the butt when he asked me about a new word he learned - dildo. In front of my mom.
@Faiqa, My way around most instances of constant questions is to give my son the most complicated answer I can think of so that he has a lot to ponder before he can come up with another question. Like, "Mama, why is the sky blue?" gets a five minute answer about the sky and the ocean and reflections and blah blah blah.
@Faiqa, my 12-year-old still wants to be a mermaid. Actually, a mermaid-fairy. And a vet. On a ranch. By the ocean. As a part-time marine biologist.
Like Sheila, I usually give so much detail in my answers that they have to think about it for a while. Unlike Sheila, I don't do this intentionally, it's just the way I answer questions. It's also often the way I write comments on blog posts, though I think I've managed to avoid it this particular time. Unlike my comment on Marty's HCR post. Uh-oh, I think I've started doing it here as well... submit!
@Ren, Well, it's a very well thought out plan, in my opinion. It makes absolute sense.
@Lisa, BUWAHAHAHAHA...oh, my GOD, I would DIE.
@Faiqa, yeah... but she *dreams* about being Bella.
Oh my, you have your work cut out for you, lol!! I will say the Princess used to do that kind of stuff all the time and she is awesome smart!
@Ren, I do the same thing... I mean, that's the way I answer questions in general, as well. I prefer the term "detailed" as opposed to say... "wordy." :)
@Becca, I'm looking forward to it. :)
I love kids who tackle the big questions. The Play Doh part is just priceless. I look forward to her future observations on the meaning of life. :D