I Know What Gay Means

We were buckling into our seat-belts in my husband's truck. The kids were revealing their alternative identities. Charlie, 3, said he was Dolphin Tale. Miles, 6, claimed Lightning McQueen, the star of the Disney movie franchise Cars. I asked the boys to tell me my secret identity. "Sally!" said Miles, referring to McQueen's significant other.
"Wait, you can't be Sally," Miles reconsidered. "She's gay. I know what that means."
I remained silent. He repeated himself. I waited.
"Do you know what gay means?" Miles asked me.
Refresh me, I requested.
"It means ... you're married."
I let out a deep breath and regrouped my thoughts.
Miles added, "And married people don't kiss."
Well well well, I wanted to say, but instead said, Wait, wait wait. Let's back up.
"Mommy and Daddy are married so we're gay, and you and Charlie are single, so you are not gay. I got that right?" I posed.
"Yeah," Miles said.
"And gay people don't kiss?" I confirmed.
"Yeah. Not if they're married to someone else. Sally is married to someone else."
My ah-ha moment was upon me. I hadn't recalled Sally ever mentioning she was in a committed relationship of any kind.
"So that's why Sally and McQueen never kiss?" I offered.
"Yeah," Miles said.
"Is McQueen married?" I asked.
"No," Miles began then paused. "Race cars can't get married, I don't think so."
"So, on the TV show Modern Family," I tested, "Jay and Gloria are gay since they are married and have kids, and Claire and Phil Dunphy are gay because they are married and have kids--"
Miles nodded both times.
"--And Mitch and Cam are gay because they are married and have a kid named Lilly?"  Miles and Charlie nodded.
Breathing almost naturally, I smiled and paused. I don't need to correct anything right now. If Miles sees no difference between hetero-led families and same-sex-led families, then I've done a good job showing my boys what I believe is true: That love is love, and we should celebrate love as much as we can.
Or, more accurately, Modern Family has done my job for me.
One question remained. It was the white elephant squishing into the cab of our pick-up truck.
I addressed my boys.
"If Charlie is Dolphin Tale," I reasoned, "and Miles is Lightning McQueen, and I'm Sally, then who is Daddy?"
Charlie was speechless. Miles searched for the perfect hero.
A second passed and Miles shouted:
"Ted Mosby!"

"Can anyone really walk 500 Miles?"
-Miles

I had just crow-barred my boys off the couch and into the car. I was late for work, angry and anxious. As I zoomed out of the driveway, our radio station played The Proclaimers' "Gonna Be (500 Miles)."
I have sung this song to Miles for six years, and ever since How I Met Your Mother featured Marshall and Ted loving this song, Miles has jumped on board the adoration bandwagon.
To see Miles in my rear view mirror draw his fisted arm to his side while whispering YES!, made me almost forget all the bad words and frowns that spewed from me seconds before.
As the song ended Miles asked, "Can anyone really walk 500 miles?"
Basing my answer strictly on the fictitious character of Forrest, Forrest Gump, I said Sure!

We were making pie from the apples he picked on the field trip this week.
Miles caught himself licking his fingers. He trotted to the sink.
"I'm washing my hands to get off the germs in case a friend has some of that pie. I am a lot more precious about germs."
I twisted my smile back to a neutral line.
Yes you are precious, Miles. I tell him so, and then I define conscious and precious.

Three of my favorite Miles Quotes of Summer 2011:

"FBI! Initials!" Miles shouts this after springing through a doorway and stopping abruptly. I can almost see Alonzo Mosely's ID wallet in his hands.
***
"Oh look, a perry chicker! " Miles alerts us from his car seat.  Charlie, next to him repeats perry chickah faintly as he scans the horizon. Through my windshield I see a hard-hatted electrician repairing a power line high in the trees. I ask my six-year-old son to try again. After a beat, he shouts "Cherry Picker!"
***
"Charlie, rub your penis on the bed, it feels awesome!"

"Doesn't smell like roses or like Mary."

I have some sad news, Miles. Poppa died this morning.
"MY Poppa?"
Yes.
"That means I have no more Poppas left."

Trying to capture the "Oh Man!" tone in his voice. Kind of like when you fill a bowl with cereal and then learn there's no milk, or you get all excited to slice into your buttered pancakes and there's not a drop of maple syrup in the house. There is no substitute. Cheated.

Driving Through Queens on a Friday Evening

"I'm sorry I pissed you out."
-Miles, mistaking my swearing at my malfunctioning GPS, as anger directed at him.

Most nights, I lay Miles's outfit for tomorrow next to his bed. Tonight, Miles did the same for Chris. Best socks ever.

We had been enjoying most of Dirty Dancing, when the big, Baby-Loves-Johnny-in-his-bedroom scene approached.
"I'm scared!" Miles said more than once.
"Why? Because Johnny isn't kissing Baby back?" I hadn't noticed before, but Patrick Swayze averts his eyes and keeps his hands in his pockets when Jennifer Grey starts making her move.
"No," Miles whispered, "My penis is going up."
"Really?" I asked, trying to keep my voice quiet. "That's interesting."
A few seconds later Miles started to chant quietly, "Weewax your body, it will all be OK."
The next day, in the car on the way to a sleigh ride event, I got lost and turned around in a stranger's driveway.
"I'm scared!" Miles said.
"Scared because we don't know this house, or scared like your penis is going up?"
"Oh ma!" Miles said, slapping his knee, "My penis goes up only when I see people with no clothes on or kissing!"
5 years, ten months.

"What does 'spoil your appetite' mean?" Miles asked this morning on the way to school.
I explained it was when you filled up on snacks right before dinner.
"Moms get mad when that happens," my nearly six-year-old said.
Yes, I agreed.
"Hey Miles, do YOU know what it means to spoil a baby?"
"Um,' he said wistfully, "kill the baby?"
I've read both of our copies of Siblings Without Rivalry.
Starting to think I might need something more potent.

See what happens when you never take your kids to church?
Another Friday night, saved by my five-year-old.

You Say Bikini

Miles and Charlie were battling with each other for legroom in the supermarket shopping cart.
Charlie was whining, Miles was ruthless. We were collecting stares, and causing traffic congestion near the deli meat display. It was Friday afternoon.
"Mommy, Charlie's gonna squish your bikini!" Miles shouted.
"WILL YOU TWO STOP THIS FLIPPING FIGHT----" I shouted back, then stopped as I absorbed what my five-year-old had said.
I spied two cucumbers that were about to get pounded by my littler son's size 8 winter boots.
I rescued one cuke, and in a much nicer voice, I asked, "You just call this a bikini?"
Miles nodded nervously. He knew he was off the hook, but he didn't know why.
Like me, Miles has a hard time discerning between cucumbers and dark green summer squash.
He was trying to say zucchini.

Miles of Advice

Just found a note scribbled in a work notebook. It dates back to summer.
I had been driving Miles someplace and I was angry at my husband. Chris and I had been arguing, and I was emotionally raw. I am sure I said to Miles, "I am not mad at you, I am very mad at dad."
I jotted my son's advice to me when we arrived at our destination. In all capital letters, I wrote at the top of the notebook page, Miles on Spouse Communication

Just calm your body
Everything will be O-tay
Weewax your body
And think what you're doing

Then tell Dad
I'm sorry, I love you, 'cept but we just please get over this?
When you ask him
He will say
O-tay we will get over this

Use your words not your anger
Right, mom?
That's what you taught me.
Nobody likes a screamy body.