Tuesday, April 6, 2010


Once the cool teen agers started wearing the really skinny jeans, I knew. My time for understanding youth culture is over. It’s not so good for my career longevity to squint my eyes and mutter, “You can’t tell the difference between the boys and the girls…” But what can you do?

And I don’t kid myself. I always knew there would be a time where I ceased to understand what the heck my kids were talking about. I figured it would be decades from now, when they’re into music you plug directly into your skull or when it’s fashionable to wear a shiny silver suit on your way to Mars for the night.

I didn’t know it would begin last weekend.

I like to think I’m fairly up to date on Elijah’s life. I know the obscure Curious George characters (Compass is his pigeon friend). I can recite every lyric to every terrible kid song he owns (“Banana Phone again?” Really?). I even know which sweat pants he prefers (Pockets are itchy).

But when he opens his mouth, I have no clue what he is talking about.

For instance, when I change him, he’ll say, “So. Dada. Picture frame coffee cup tape dispenser Rubik’s Cube photo of Diana in a girl scout uniform commemorative boot.”

Those are just random objects I picked from my office. And yet that sentence makes more sense than anything he says to me.

Diana claims it has to do with other non-Curious George TV shows he’s into when I’m not at home. Well, I want to know what the heck these shows are teaching him to make him speak like a bearded crazy on Lower Wacker Drive.

“Hey kids! Want to see your dad get a nervous tick? Repeat after me!”

p.s. I know I didn’t do an Easter post this year. Our Easter was pretty low key. Some friends, some hidden eggs, lots of jelly beans. A half hearted attempt to explain the religious ramifications to a two year old.

The only blog worthy thing was Eli was convinced his jelly beans were delivered by the “History Bunny.” Which kind of makes sense.

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