Sometimes the conversations I overhear coming from the next room over are absolute comedy gold—sparkling nuggets of nonsense that make me laugh out loud mid-coke sip (which is always a dangerous game in a house with a long haired dog). Other times, they make me cock an eyebrow in quiet concern, like, should I intervene or just let Darwin handle this one? And every now and then, a few special exchanges make me stop everything I’m doing and seriously reevaluate how the human race has made it this far without just giving up and handing the planet over to the dolphins.
This morning’s gem falls somewhere in that magical middle ground—hilarious, humbling, and deeply educational. The kids had just finished their gourmet breakfast of what ever flavor packet of oatmeal they grabbed and a suspiciously sticky banana (seriously, how does fruit get that sticky?), and I had sent them off with vague but hopeful instructions to “clean up.” You know, the kind of parenting that feels responsible but is really just a clever way of buying yourself seven minutes of uninterrupted sitting.
From the kitchen came the clink of dishes being clumsily stacked, a spray of running water, and then—right on cue—the kind of quote that could only come from the feral minds of my offspring.
“Wow, you’re so good at dishes!” said Slayden, in a tone that was half amazed and half deeply confused, like he’d just witnessed a squirrel doing math.
There was a brief pause, and then Kara, the reigning queen of smug wisdom in our home, replied with utter certainty and no hesitation whatsoever: “Slayden, girls are just better than boys.”
Now let me paint you a picture here. Slayden is my tank. He’s the one most likely to break a door handle just by existing too hard near it. He’s seven years old, built like a mini M1A1 Abrams, and wakes up every day with the energy of a Red Bull-fueled jackrabbit. He doesn’t walk through the house—he charges. And yet, despite all that bravado and brute force, he looked at his sister with awe. Not anger. Not argument. Just acceptance. Like some tiny part of him went, yeah, that checks out.
Kara, for her part, didn’t even look up. She just kept rinsing a spoon like she was a lady Solomon. Cool, collected, and handing down gender-biased truth bombs without flinching.
Slayden after receiving the highly sophisticated and gilded smackdown of the century, took a moment to process what had happened to him, and the ran into the Living room, and returned with a pillow, holding it aloft and declaring, He was better at something in this life, No one could contest that the pillow he held aloft could be held up any better by anyone else, ever.
And indeed, in that moment, I let him hold that belief. Hold on to that pillow Slayden, and don’t let the man, or in this case, the sister get you down!
It’s moments like these that remind me that my kids are growing up—and faster than I’m ready for. They’re figuring things out in their own wild, unfiltered ways, and I’m just the lucky bystander with a front-row seat and a running notepad.
Welcome to Kid Konversations. God help us all.
hope todays a good one,
-austininva
