Yahoo #2 has turned into our "Where Did You Come From" child. I figured everyone had a "Where Did You Come From" child so I better pick one and Yahoo #2 is it. I believe Spouse and I began asking that question the minute he was born (I mean how exactly does a woman as hairy as I am produce a bald child?) and have repeated it every entertaining day of his little life (four years in January).
I have three examples of behavior that has sparked the eternal question.
1) We do yoga together. Not that I'm that into yoga, but lately I've been trying to elongate my aging sinews. We get the yoga mat out and we take turns deciding which "pose" to do. I always start the ritual because I'm the yoga master of ceremonies and we do five sun salutations. Then it's his turn to choose the pose. He usually decides on a combative air bending move he learned while watching Avatar. Ancient Chinese Buddhist stuff (I'll bet those Hindus are rolling in their graves now!), but nevertheless I follow.
So the other night, we finish the sun salutations and I say okay it's your turn. He throws his head back, forms ferocious claws with his chubby hands and screams "chase the chipmunks!" This is where I stop and say... "Where Did You Come From?"
I wonder if they are rabid chipmunks...
2) He likes puddles. And he's not interested in stomping through them to learn about physics. He likes the taste. Yes... he gets down on all fours and laps it up like a dog. He's grown especially fond of the puddles in the garage that have been created by melting mudflap snow. Again, this is where I stop and say "Where Did You Come From?"
3) He yells at the garage. I changed his diaper the other day (okay, so he's not potty trained yet and I've fully accepted my title as the potty training failure.) At our house we have a holding tank for diapers when we're too lazy to run the dreadful thing all the way out to the garbage can. It's called the garage. So I change the diaper the other day and tell him to "do his duty" which means "run to the garage and throw it in." He runs off. I hear yelling in a scolding don't-do-that kind of voice. No one else is home so I wonder what's up. I walk over to him and ask "Yahoo? What are you yelling at?" He closes the door and says "The Poo."
I yell at mine too.