No More Gravy Covered, Kindergarten Baby

Today was Dyl's last day of Kindergarten, and he was pumped. Dave met me at the school, and we settled into the auditorium to watch the Patriotic program that Dyl has been singing for weeks. It was cute, and Dyl sang great, with a very stern expression. But the best video footage came, when it wasn't his turn to sing, and he was relaxed and giggling with the girl next to him.

The whole thing was just cute, until the lights dimmed and they started playing some sappy music about childhood, and slide show of our kids. My eyes immediately welled up with tears and I was in complete panic, thinking that this is only Kindergarten graduation, but before I know it, he will be gone, an adult; and have I played enough with him, given him enough snuggles, let him know just how much I love him? Freaky.

He has changed so much in just a few short months, and I don't necessarily want to go back in time, I just want it to stand still, so I have more moments with each of the Hoodlums.


After the program, we went back to his class and gathered all of his last projects. He gave Mrs. Ure a big hug and we were on our way. Dave suggested the drug store for lunch, and Dyl saw a bunch of his friends there. We also saw the friend that does "the sweet trick" aka the snot rocket. Every so often during lunch, Dyl would look over at that friend and then back at me and start giggling.

It was my turn to giggle, when after lunch, we were driving to Heber to see my Gram, and Dyl asked me this, "Mom, if something expires in a day, and you eat it, does it expire in your stomach?" I explained that everything expires in your stomach, but the feeling he was experiencing was just post-drugstore belly pain. The food is delicious going in, but I have never eaten there, that 20 minutes post-meal I didn't wish for a quick death.

Dyl has really been cracking me up lately. He is the kind of kid, that you are never quite sure what he is going to ask, so his questions are better asked, and answered in private. When we were in Vegas, our family was in the elevator, when it stopped, and a 65ish looking couple got on. The man was decked out head to toe in Ed Hardy clothes with a bedazzled hat, and about 20lbs of big bling-y necklaces draped around his throat. Dyl clears his throat and starts to say something, until I poked him in the back to silence him.

My bad. What I thought would be a sly reminder to shutt-y, turned into a "Geez, why'd ya poke me Mom?" That's when the woman leaned over and said with a smirk, "What did you want to say, Honey?" Thankfully, he just had some observation about the elevator, but the rest of the ride was a bit awkward.

This afternoon, while I was loading the groceries into the car, Dyl announced to the crowded parking lot, "Hey Mom, how do you get a dark baby?" After a quick scan of our surroundings to make sure the "dark baby" in question wasn't lurking nearby, I told Dyl to get in the car and I would explain it to him. I took my time loading the goods and thinking of the explanation that I would provide. In our defense, there are not very many "colors" represented in our area, light or dark, it's pretty vanilla.

I must have given him enough time to think, because by the time I finished loading the groceries, returned the cart, aligned the stack of carts, looked at the posted want ads, chatted up a stranger, realigned the carts, and shuffled back to the car; he said, "Oh, I know. Ya gotta have a dark Mom." True dat, Son. Problem solved.

I would have explained the intricate workings of genetics and baby making, but he figured it out himself, and in the end, really all he wanted to know, was if it was possible to make camouflage babies, so that when he was a Dad, he could have a hunting buddy.