Addison stood up on his chair at lunchtime yesterday and said, “I am the Lord, and you are Satan.”
He was pointing at me, his faced clench into the most adorable expression of wrath I’ve ever seen. I really didn’t know what to say . . . I was really just doing my best not to laugh. I mean, was I supposed to lay down the law here and now that in the world of make believe, you are not allowed to pretend to be Jesus. The only acceptable times to assume that role is in manger scenes and Passion plays. This was neither, so the obvious thing to do was to nip this behavior in the bud.
“Sit down, Lord,” I heard myself say. Okay, this had gone too far. And then, it went farther. Addison went into old school WWF mode.
“Watcha gonna do, Satan? Are you gonna destroy me? Or are you gonna give up?”
“Well, I guess I’ll give up. What’s the point, really?”
“No, you’re gonna destroy me.”
Okay, so the theology was beyond messed up at this point, so Mommy stepped in between the Lord and Satan to offer this word of counsel: “No, Jesus is all powerful, so Satan can’t destroy Him.”
“Oh.” Thoughtful, four-year-old pause. “You know who can destroy Jesus? Bad guys.”
We eventually straightened Addison out, assuring him that Jesus could not be defeated by anyone or anything and that pretending to be Him for play was probably not the best idea, nor was calling his father, “Satan.” He still gave me one more Hoganesque, “Watcha gonna do, Satan?”
Heather (and Addison) swear that Colin is saying, “Da-Da.” Frankly, I don’t see it. Or I don’t hear it. I don’t buy it. No one is suggesting he’s actually calling me Da-Da, but I don’t even hear the sounds. I hear awooyaga. And olyowaa. But not Da-Da. Why I’m not playing along, I don’t know. I’d kill for a Da-Da. Maybe I’m just not ready for another kid to grow up. Nothing to fear . . . he’s not yet eight months old, but still . . .
Tonight as Addison was going for his ritualistic bedtime cereal snack, he said, “I’m vo, vo, vo, voracious.” God bless Pinky Dinky Doo’s Great Big Word Machine.