VivaCity

I fear I’m going to have to have Spencer’s head examined. He seems to have quite the issue with memory (“membry”). All is well and good when we are playing the card game of the same name, or when I ask him simple questions about something that happened within the past hour or so…But lately Memory Lane has taken a Stephen-King-ish twist down some dark avenue to Crazy Town.

For instance…

“Hey Spence, here’s that toy truck Dada got you from the store, remember?”

“Yup! I ‘member! And when we go to da STOW-ur (extra syllables for emphasis), Dada will buy me a TRU-uck, and he will buy me IY-uce cream, and da monster will TAY-uk my ice cream, aaayuuund…I will get a bloody NOSE!”

This child has had one bloody nose his whole life, but perish the thought anyone should ever be so heartless as to forget The Day Blood Ran From Spencer’s Nose. To hear him tell it, you’d think we take turns punching him in the face for the fun of it, just to watch the blood fly. Good times.

Don’t get me wrong, I want to encourage his burgeoning imagination, but I think he may have “remember” confused with “what if.” What if a monster came and ate our house all up? I don’t know, head for zee hills maybe? But I certainly don’t remember it happening yesterday. The house, after all, is still right here. Just try telling Spence that. Go ahead, reason with the 3-yr-old. Ha!

So I guess I’ll just keep whispering common sense into his ear and trying to make sense of the tangled mess he spews forth....And trying like HELL not to laugh my ass off at inappropriate junctions that would reinforce his idea of “membry,” like this honest-to-God gem, “Hey Dada, ‘member when you poked me in the eye with a stick?”

I knew his teacher at preschool was giving me dirty looks.

I hope it’s not a phase, honestly. I hope he fine-tunes the master storyteller within and becomes the next Edgar Allen Poe and supports my ass. Early retirement, here I come.