Bob, Boats and Deer

It must be told that my son, who is 3 yrs and 10 months old, will no longer accept being called 3, 3 1/2 nor 3 3/4. When I pushed the math I was told this, " I was 3 one years ago, Mama. Now I am just almost 4." Nothing else is acceptable in his world. So, until July, I have a 2 yr old daughter and an almost 4 yr old son. I told my algebra teacher in high school that math was not fact, it was relative (I hated math) and now this is simple proof that I was right. Everything is relative.

A few days ago I was reading the paper and found that our legislatures here in Oregon were on their way to making a bad decision. Well, as we all know, a lot of our officials everywhere are making bad decisions but I digress....

Anyway, I felt obligated to write a rather long and nasty letter to my friends in Salem. To allow me the time and freedom to accomplish this my helpful husband took the kids out to the back yard to play.

I was just finishing up with my letter when my sweet Kenny ran (physically) through the screen door (if you have kids you know screens are just no match for the determination of a child's desire to enter or exit quickly). He was speaking about 700 words a minute and I, being focused on other things only caught a few words. They were, "Mama"..."Bob the builder"..."Boat"... "Deer"..."Ok?"... "Bye Mama." Like a flash, Kenny flew right back out the hole in the screen and was gone from sight. I looked up at my husband, who was cursing under his breath about the screen door. He shrugged.

I did a quick "mom evaluation." I peeked into the backyard. No one was bleeding, crying or dying so things must be alright. I went back to my letter. Not three minutes (almost four?) went by when the scene replayed itself. This time I caught even fewer words than before!

Instead of running back out Kenny finished his speech and stood waiting for a reply. My husband slowly walked in and told me he could now clarify what the excitement was all about.

Apparently, Kenny's boat is broken. It has a square bottom and boats have round bottoms. I, Mama, must call Bob the Builder to repair his boat so he can sail over the green "ocean" to get to the deer by the trees so he can catch one. Bob will not be allowed to sail the boat but he can mop the slide because only Kenny can be the captain. I am then supposed to make skettie for everyone because Bob is going to be hungry after all that work. I have to make a bigger salad because deer only eat green stuff and the deer he catches will be hungry.

Here is a little further explanation. This photo is of the "boat"(now residing in the backyard) that Santa Claus brought for the children almost two years ago for Christmas. It is a "boat" because it has a wheel and a "poothole" (porthole). We live on about three acres of land below a mountain of BLM forest. We see deer and wild turkeys daily who come down to the prairie grass for meals. The tree line has been of extreme interest to Kenny since the first winter we lived here partly because he never saw so many trees in Nv and partly because these trees "talk" when it gets windy. The green "ocean" is the expanse of prairie grass between the house and the tree line.

On with our dramatic story.

I told Kenny that I didn't know Bob personally. He thought about this for a bit and told me to call Papa. "Papa is friends with Bob because Papa has a boat and lots of tools to build 8 houses." Hmm. Can't ignore the logic! My dad restores old boats and is a contractor. There is no getting out of this one.

So we call Papa. I quickly let my dad know about the story so that he will have an easier time understanding the "almost 4 year old" vocabulary. Kenny and Papa have a 20 minute conversation over the phone about Bob, boats, deer and the like. I do not know all of what my dad said, but my son seemed more excited than ever. He said, "Ok Papa, Bye!" and flew back out the door. I picked the phone from the floor and asked if dad was ok. He giggled and told me that I must be a great mom to raise such and imaginative, smart little guy. I thanked him. We chatted a few minutes about his latest restoration project and said our "goodbyes."

For the next hour or two Kenny could be heard singing the "Bob the Builder" theme song over and over again. While I was making dinner he came in to tell me that Papa couldn't bring Bob over for a few weeks so I have to "hold off to the skettie" until then. I agreed since I was making chicken. I must say Thank God I wasn't making skettie for I believe it would have caused a social disaster in the eyes of my son. He gave me a hug and started singing as he headed back outside.

We haven't cut the prairie grass down yet this year. When the wind breezes through, the green waves it creates are beautiful. I can actually sit here and see exactly how that "boat" would look sailing across the green "ocean" in search of unsuspecting deer, captained by a strong, blond, blue-eyed and determined young boy who is so full of spirit and life. I hope that I am sailing with him when he shoves off in his dreams. I have no problem "mopping the slide" or doing any other deck hand job. I would simply be awestruck to be blessed at the chance of being in such company.