“Mom, I wanna get a potbellied pig,” my five-year-old told me yesterday.
“Where are you going to keep it?” I asked.
“I don’t know…They defend their owner,” he said.
“From what do you need to be defended?”
He didn’t have any real answer for this question either.
But it’s only a matter of time until he learns that he’ll need to think through his proposal before he presents it to his mom. He could take a cue from his older brother.
The last time our eight-year-old broached the subject of pets he was lobbying for a snake. He said I wouldn’t have to feed the snake – he’d do that himself. I said that’s right: when you get your own place and your own snake you’ll be the one to feed it. And as far as I’m concerned, the only pet we’ll be bringing in to our home anytime soon is a pet rock.
“Rock?” he asked.
“Yes, a pet rock.”
“But a rock doesn’t DO anything.”
To the boys, I suppose I sound just as infuriating as my dad used to when we asked him to get us a horse. (Because, you know, all the cats and cows we had on the farm weren’t enough.)
Perhaps one day my boys will be on the other side of the conversation. Then they’ll understand my point of view.