I'd like to say that this afternoon was weird. But to be honest, it was just a typical day in my mixed up world. I took my big five year old to the pediatrician this afternoon for his 5 year old well visit. This is the same doctor who overheard me explaining why we don't say "poop" to a stuffed sheep a few years ago. You can read about that embarrassing moment here. Today I sat in a chair in the exam room answering questions about my son's eating habits and sleeping patterns while my big five year old sat quietly in the chair next to me. The questions then turned to television and video game habits. I sat there trying to add up how much TV my son watches a day and how many minutes he plays video games, finally coming up with what I thought sounded like a number that wouldn't make me look bad while still being somewhat accurate. As soon as the magic number was out of my mouth my son sat straight up in his chair, looked the doctor in the eye, and said "Man, that was some sick air!" He then immediately looked back down at his lap, where his handheld game was resting. Oh yes, I sat there and told my son's doctor that he rarely played video games, with a straight face, while my son sat next to me playing a video game. But it gets better.
A few minutes later the doctor comments on the amount of energy my big five year old was displaying. Nervous energy, I think. He knew he would be getting a handful of shots and he was sort of a mess. If he were an adult he might have sought out a nice glass of wine to calm his nerves but as a big five year old his outlet of choice for his angst was pure adrenalin. He was literally bouncing all over the tiny exam room. So I just get done basically telling the doctor a slightly white lie about the amount of TV time my child has when suddenly my big five year old hears the word "energy" and starts reciting, word for word, the Five Hour Energy commercial. Word for word. When he's done with that one he moves on to the AT&T commercial, where there is a world of possibilities. Clearly my son watches more TV than I let on. The doctor is now eyeing me suspisciously. Sigh.
After the epic fail at the pediatrician's office my big five year old and I drove to pick up the tiny toddler. On the way home the older one was feeding the younger one apple slices and this is what I hear happening behind me:
Big Five Year Old: "Here's your apple, Alex. Little bites! Nyet Alex, LITTLE BITES!" (he is repeating my favorite dinner time phrase in an attempt to have a meal where the tiny toddler doesn't choke, for a change.)
Tiny Toddler: "Xie, xie, Zhao!"
Big Five Year Old: "Bukeqi for the pinguo, Alex."
Are my kids having a conversation in Chinese in the backseat? (With a little Russian thrown in?) My Chinese son is speaking Russian and my Russian son is speaking Chinese. My fear was confirmed. One day, probably sooner rather than later, my two boys will be able to talk about me right in front of me, in a language I can't understand. Like I said, it was a weird day.