I've Learned It All From My Five-year-old Son

Spencer is an unusual child. I know what you're thinking -- how could I possibly raise anything but an unusual child? I can assure you, though, that my youngest has definitely broken the mold. And, of course, I absolutely love him this way.

My hazel-eyed dream child with a vivid imagination has a tendency to state things -- all kinds of things -- as if they are indisputable, written-in-stone fact. Not his ideas; not his opinions; not even his suggestions -- but FACT. And since I have, over the past couple of years, been privileged to learn these essential pieces of information, I thought I might do my readers the service of sharing them, so that you, too, can ponder their depth.

I am sure you will be as amazed and enlightened as I have been.

"Jesus has very long legs." This statement begs for an explanation, and Spencer readily gave one: Jesus has long legs because he lives in heaven but he has to be able to reach down to us. Hence, the long legs. Forget the whole omnipresent, spiritual nature of Jesus -- it's all about those long legs!

"It's not okay for parents to be angry with their children." Not ever. Angry parents make their children sad, and that is very, very bad. Of course, one must understand that Spencer's definition of "angry" includes "someone speaking in a firm tone of voice." What Spencer really means is that it's not okay for parents to correct their children's bad behavior. It is also not okay to say "no" to a child or to take away a child's privilege. Such behavior may easily lead to the child calling the police (so I've been told) and throwing the offending parent in jail. It might also lead to said child's never, never, never coming out of the van ever again.

"Sometimes trucks smash into cars and that's not okay." Well, sure, that's true enough. I'm not quite sure what has given Spencer the idea that it's only trucks that do the smashing. Eric has done a fairly good job smashing other cars in parking lots with his little BMW over the past couple of months (leading to a doubling of our car insurance rate). Cars smash into trees sometimes, for that matter (as I can attest to), and into anything else that might be in the way. Spencer's main point, though, is that this car-smashing is most definitely "not okay."

"When we see a police car we need to sit up really tall so they can see us in our carseats." Okay, I blame myself for this one. I think I went off a bit when Tennessee changed its carseat laws last year, and a certain, small boy was obviously listening with large ears. During the time or two that I discovered, much to my dismay, that Daddy had driven off with the carseat and left me with a carseat-less van, I am sure I lamented loudly over the fact that I would be in trouble if I got "caught" shuttling my five-year-old around in an old booster seat on top of a folded towel. (Come to think of it, according to Tennessee law, I should be in a carseat as well.)

"When I grow old and die and go to heaven to live in a palace that looks like a castle, I am going to be a Real King." He's completely serious, too. To top it off, he has already declared that I will be his Queen (you mean I'm not a queen now?). My favorite part is Daddy's role in this afterlife fantasy: "You will be a REAL JESTER!" Spencer exclaimed to a less-than-amused Eric. I tried very hard not to smirk. Okay, I didn't try that hard. Actually, I didn't smirk at all -- I guffawed.

"The night is too long." This is a serious issue for Spencer, and I think he's about to take it up with God himself. In fact, the other night he asked me if I would please pray that God would make the night only ten minutes long. I assured him that, while I certainly wasn't going to do that, the night would certainly FEEL like only ten minutes if he went right to sleep and stayed that way until morning. He claims that he feels lonely when he's in bed, and when I remind him that Jesus is always with him, he comes back with, "But I can't see Him." Must be those really long legs of His, keeping His face at a distance.

"I am too old to be spanked." This has been unequivocally stated, and I'm sure that Spencer expects me to comply. Most assuredly, my three older children have passed beyond the age of "spankability," and I think that Spencer has assumed that he has been included in this group by default. I'm not even sure what led Spencer to this conclusion in the first place; I can't even remember the last time I had to spank his bottom. Perhaps he has concluded that he has passed out of the realms of spanking by default -- you know, six months of no spanking and you're home free.

"Smarshmallows have chemicals. We need to buy organic smarshmallows." A "smarshmallow" is, of course, a marshmallow, and yes, they do have chemicals in them. I have not, however, been able to find the organic variety (okay, I've never even heard of an organic marshmallow), so Spencer is going to have to slum it when he enjoys his homemade hot chocolate (which isn't organic, either, but at least it doesn't have any chemicals in it).

"Mommy, you have BEARD growing on your face!" Naturally, this was in reference to a few stray facial hairs that I had obviously missed. I'd rather not comment on this one.

"Some people live to be a hundred, and then they are bigger than God." I had to set him straight on this one -- NOBODY is bigger than God. I can't seem to get Spencer to understand, though, that grown-ups don't keep growing taller as they age -- they just keep getting older. He remains convinced that I will one day be "as taller as Daddy." I don't think I'll tell him that my mother seems to have shrunk a couple of inches -- that would really confuse him.

"I love you very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very much!" Can't dispute this one -- these are the words every mommy craves. This little guy makes me feel like the most beautiful, treasured star in the universe; and if he's a bit on the quirky side, I'll take him anyway! He brings laughter and joy to my life on a daily basis.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to put on my crown, strap Spencer into his Tennessee-mandated carseat, avoid all madly swerving trucks, and go shopping for organic shmarshmallows (while refraining from becoming angry or spanking my five-year-old). Who, me? Charmed by my own son?

You bet!