Holy Terror and Super-Wy are playing with the dog in the front room. I'm sitting at the computer, working on my novel.
Holy Terror comes and stands next to the desk. "Mom, mom. Where did you get Wyatt?"
My fingers freeze on the keyboard...uh, oh. This wouldn't be like telling the older kids. These two boys are...well, wild. Not only that, Holy Terror must drill to the tiniest element of something. I prepare for a LONG , DIFFICULT conversation.
"I made him, honey," I answer.
"In the garage, like daddy makes things?" he asks.
I snicker as both boys eye the outside, in the direction of the garage. "No, in my tummy." They both shift their gaze to my belly, eyes wide.
"Did you get the parts from the store?" Holy Terror asks.
"No, I grew you in my tummy all on my own," I say.
Both boys look at me as if I were a superhero...the awe twinkles in their eyes. Then Holy Terror knits his brow in thought.
Here we go...time for the interrogation.
After a moment of silence he looks at me, a little upset. "Why didn't you make me out of paper?"
Of all the weird, oddball things that he's ever said...
What does a mother say to this? I had to think fast, or the day was going to be...tense.
"I didn't want the rain to make you soggy."
To my surprise, he nods in appreciation of the scientific reasoning. Then he goes off to play with the dog and Super-Wy.