Friday, January 20, 2012

You Get What You Pay For

Anyone who has owned/operated a 4 1/2 year old understands that those kids think they know everything. In addition to believing that he's always right, Connor is ridiculously stubborn to boot. So, when you try to correct him on something that he thinks he already knows, it's a feat requiring more patience than, well, a bucket full of patience.  Couple that with the fact that he didn't come by that need to be right by accident (Hello, Genetics!) and we're talking some head-to-head debates that can last a looooong time.

Enter: Charlie.

Charlie is Connor's imaginary friend.  Now, this is not one of those imaginary friends that my child talks to or acts as though he can see him.  Charlie exists only in stories that begin with, "My friend, Charlie, says / has / does...."  Therefore, Charlie only exists to prove us wrong.

From my son's stories, we've determined the following about Charlie:
  • He is 89 years old (though some stories puts him as old as 1,000)
  • He has 29 kids
  • His friends, besides my son, are named Farley and Black Jackson
  • His grandmother is Grandma Jelly 
  • His great-grandmother is Great-Grandma Dogstroller
Let me take you on a tangent with a promise that it is relevant.  Connor hasn't asked us how babies are born yet.  I'd like to say that this is because he is too young or because he hasn't really encountered many pregnant women or because he just doesn't care. Truth is, it's because he thinks he already knows where babies come from. Connor has developed an elaborate story about how his father and I bought him and his older sister at "The Kid Store".  They both came in boxes with their names printed on the outside of the box (a statement he made after I tried to explain why we gave him his name) and each of them cost $1.  He has even demonstrated the pose he made inside said box, which looks a little something like this.

One day, Connor was being a bit, um, challenging.  After having asked him a couple of times to sit down in his car seat so that I could buckle him, I gathered up my less-than-bucketful of patience and asked him, "When you don't listen to me, does it make me happy?" He answered, "No." I then asked, "Does it make me sad?" Again, he replied in the negative. I closed with the, "Does it make me angry?" question that he immediately confirmed. In typical know-it-all fashion, he added, "My friend Charlie doesn't get sad or mad. He only gets happy."  I reached into my bag of Charlie facts to say, "I guess all 29 of his kids must listen to him and do what he says." Before the smile of my verbal victory could reach my lips, he added, "Yeah, but his kids cost $100."