Saturday, February 24, 2007

Something new every day.

A little background: Barak has been told many many times that he does not give things to the baby or put things in the baby's crib without asking Imma. He has pretty much absorbed this lesson and will in fact usually ask me before handing anything to Iyyar. Sometimes we make a game of it. "Barak, can you give a crocodile to the baby?" "No! Iss very dangerous!" "Can you give a toy to the baby?" "No! Gotta ask Imma!" "Can you put a toy in the baby's crib?" "No! Gotta ask Imma!" Etc.

So. Friday night, I was setting the table for dinner. Chicken soup (the famous "kitchen soup") was on the menu, so there were soup spoons, forks, and knives. I put a spoon, fork, and knife at my place and at Abba's place. At Barak's, I just put a fork and a spoon. Barak did not like this.

"I needa knife."

"Barak, you don't need a knife. Knives are very dangerous."

"I needa knife! I be very careful." Soulful, earnest, and such big eyes. Hmm. He is usually careful when he knows I am watching...

I considered. Then I looked through my plasticware for the most innocuous plastic knife I could find--being all too aware that even the mildest-mannered knife can, if used carelessly, send one unexpectedly to the emergency room (yeah, remember the borekka incident? Me too.) I found one that looked the closest thing to safe one can find in a knife, and put it carefully and respectfully by Barak's plate.

"Okay, Barak, I gave you a knife. That's for you, but I want you to be very, very careful with it. Knives are dangerous. If I see that you're not being careful, I'm not going to count. I'm just going to take it away, and then I'm not going to give you a knife again. Okay?"

Barak could live with that. "Kay."

I mentioned earlier that his language has gotten a lot better lately. He still, though, has a totally endearing habit of struggling mightily to construct sentences that are little bit beyond him. He'll come out with a phrase, stop, purse his lips, say "hmm," and try again a few times. That's what he did after I gave him his knife. It sounded like this:

"Imma say... hmm. No can't... hmm. Iss very... hmm."

And then,

"No can't putta knife inna baby's crib. Iss very dangerous for the baby."

1 comment:

pat DeLeeuw said...

I am convinced that boys are genetically programed to love knives, guns and other sharp and dangerous items! I saw a toddler one time who had never seen a gun(according to his mother) who picked up a stick in the yard and pointing it went"boom boom". It's in their DNA-which is why women should run the world or at least run the Department of Defence!