When I Grow Up

Finally, finally, my sweet little Heath bear is back. Today was the first day he seemed almost normal. He started his day immediately discussing his plans to be a race car driver.

I need race car pants and a race car helmet. I'm going to drive the Target race car. Apparently he caught a few moments of a race that was on television yesterday. Mark said Heath was thrilled to see a car sponsored by Target.

But he has a lot of plans for when he grows up. He also caught a few minutes of the Olympics just before he fell asleep for his nap yesterday. He was lying in the middle of our bed. Mark on one side, watching the Olympics. I was on the other side, reading One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish. Suddenly I could feel Heath's attention diverted. Sure enough he was staring at the TV.

I'll be honest, I don't know the name of the event. There was skiing. And there was a bow hunting/gun type something or other. Heath was so enthralled, he even sighed a little.

He's got a good job, he said, emphasizing the he. HE'S got a good job.

Maybe I'll do that when I get older.

At first I thought it was cute of him to say such a thing. But then I started to worry that he was attracted to the gun, and it was probably the first one he'd ever seen, and now my little innocent baby had been exposed to something entirely inappropriate, and now, thanks to this Olympic sport that still remains nameless to me, my boy is going to grow up to be a gun-totin', good for nothin' ruffian/skier.

So I start to mutter things about safety and career choices, careful to never use the word gun. (I don't know that he's ever even heard that word before, so there was no WAY I was going to be responsible for bringing it into his vocabulary.) I suggest snowboarding, or better still, cross country skiing.

Then he cut me off. He tapped the page with Mr. Gump and his seven hump wump. Just read, mama. Just read.