Does Jesus live in Connecticut?

Well, only 3 years in, and we have proof we screwed up. Hubby and I were kinda hoping we could blame Society, or School, or the Snot Nosed Kid Who Tells The Boy Lies, or Anything But Us as the reason our child is a little…off…but nope, it’s us. And well, now I just need to get it all off my chest. And also, I need to write it all down simply so I can make sense of it. Maybe print it and carry it with me and the next time I get unsolicited advice about child-rearing from people I don’t know (which happens way too often, doesn’t it?), I’ll whip it out and say, “Okay Ms. Smartypants, tell me how to fix this?! How?? Hooooowwwww???????” and they will run screaming and I will laugh maniacally but inside I’m still just flummoxed by the whole thing.

Hubby and I are an interesting pairing. We are the best of friends. You could call us soulmates if by soulmate you mean complete opposites in every way. I can be naïve; he’s sharper than all tacks put together. I’m grey; he’s black and white. I’m imaginative; he’s factual. I’m book smart; he’s street smart. I’m spiritual; he’s tangible. We make an incredible team, though, and I used to think the Boy would greatly benefit by the vast personality spectrum he’s been exposed to thus far. We have “agreements” about our “stories”, such as how to explain Santa, God, Heaven, Death, the Birds and the Bees, Bodies, House Rules and other such concepts you don’t give much thought to until your child enters the never-ending “why” phase. We are both on the same page and ready with our answers should we be subjected to the inquisition.

As the Boy is now 3 (“and a HAFF mommy!”), we’ve touched on almost all subjects now except for birds and bees, and we really, truly thought we’d done a good job. We high-five each other when we hear our son talk about what to ask Santa for, or how daddy’s mommy and daddy are in Heaven. But ya know how you go to the store sometimes and you made a list, but you left it at home and you just try to visualize it and do your shopping, and get home and realize you greatly missed the mark on a lot of things? Yeah, well. We missed the mark.

In our quest to answer all things truthfully and keep our stories straight, we’ve created a monster. This poor kid has taken the plethora of information we’ve thrown at him in bits and pieces and has created his own little reality out of it. In retrospect, I can totally follow his logic, but what I don’t know is how to re-explain, if at all. I mean, I’m pretty certain that in a few years it will all just work itself out, but what damage will remain? Oh, alright, for Pete’s sake, I’ll just get it all on the table here and you can tell me what I need to do.

Very recently, I had to run an errand that meant about a 45 minute drive, and I had the Boy with me. We’d been driving for a little bit, just kinda chillin’ out to the Barry (as in Manilow, the God of Easy Listening), when I started to pick up some odd words here and there – the Boy was having a very animated conversation with himself. Concerned, I turned down the radio and started listening. Then I asked a lot of questions and he gave a lot of answers. Instead of providing you the transcript, which would be entertaining but incredibly long, I will sum it up in one paragraph:

Apparently, Jesus lives in Heaven with his daddy, God. (which is like, say, Connecticut in his mind - too far away to drop by today, but certainly we can go for the weekend) And they have a pet rabbit named Easter (the Boy would have named him Tooter) and Santa lives with them and so do hubby's parents and everyone can fly like birds. He wants to visit soon on his super fast motorcycle.

Seriously, folks….what am I supposed to do with that? Tell me, please! Until then, I'm totally blaming the snot nosed kid.