Parting the Red Sea with a chance of snow

I wake to the bellowing words, “No school!” The alarm clock reads 6 AM; time to start the day. I respond today (and most Mondays), “It’s Monday.  And yes, you have school.” This inevitably kicks off the Monday morning word volley:

No school. Yes school. No school. Yes school. No school. Sam. It’s Monday. You HAVE school.

That topic put to rest, Sam heads toward the bathroom saying “Mommy, Red Sea.” “Red Sea?” I ask. “Yes. Red Sea.” He responds.

What are we talking about? Something biblical? Imaginary? Random words? I probe, curious: “Do you see the Red Sea?” “Yes.” Sam answers.  “Where?” Sam stops and vaguely points. Now completely perplexed I ask again, “Where?” He pulls me into the bathroom and hands me a tube of Crest toothpaste. “Red C” says Sam as he shoots a look suggesting I am not very bright.

The Crest logo does indeed have a red C.

“Red C. Brush your teeth. Brush my Sam’s teeth.”  Says Sam. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to ask for toothpaste?” I ask. But there is no response. A question of wardrobe has emerged in its place.

“Get dressed. Pants. Socks.”  Maybe a shirt would be nice I suggest. “Yes shirt. Blue shirt. Yes, blue shirt. No school. Mommy! No school today!” Says Sam, kicking off a second word volley:

Yes, you have school. No school. Yes school. NO school. YES school.

I pull out my secret weapon by asking: “Don’t you want to see MaryKate?”  Sam brightens, “MaryKate. Yes. MaryKate.” Sam is very fond of MaryKate. She has been with him since day one at his current school and he is loyal. It is a toss up who he will one day marry: MaryKate or Fiona from Shrek.

The school issue resolved we are off to another topic.

“Scratch my itch!” says Sam. “Where?” I absentmindedly ask. He pulls down the rear right side of his underwear, exposing half a derriere. “Butt.” He waits expectantly and adds, “Scratch my butt.” Is that in my job description I briefly wonder. No I mentally confirm. Absolutely not. I do not scratch butts. “Scratch your own butt and pull up your underwear,” I direct as I make an exaggerated expression of distaste. Sam smirks and laughs.

“Snow.” He says, changing the subject once again. “I don’t see snow.” I say. He points out the window, “Snow.” And adds hopefully, “No school today?” Again I state, “I don’t see snow. Do you see snow?” “No” he finally admits, “No snow. Is rainy today. School?”  “Yes school,” I say definitively.

In an effort to help ease the transition back to school I segue: “Would you like to know the plan today?” I ask? “Yes! What’s the plan?” He asks eagerly.

“First go to school. See MaryKate, Alanna, Crystal, Missy, Tom and Heather and everyone.

Come home. See Kait. Then see Mommy. Is it a good plan?”

“Is a good plan.” Says Sam, adding “Sam school. Mommy work. Daddy work.” “Yes,” I confirm. “Everyone has a place to go and it is good.” Resolved to Sam’s satisfaction he wanders off mid sentence. I am dismissed as he returns to his world; that place only known to him as another week unfolds.

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