I've realized that I don't write very much about my second oldest child, Gavin. Gavin is a blender--he is far my most low maintenance, "easy" child. He's always happy and pretty much always smiling, and thus tends to blend in to the crowd. We ADORE Gavin and love having him in our family.
But as he's generally quieter than the other kids, what he does say is usually pretty important (or really, really funny). Lately, his comments have revealed what he's really thinking about:
this
and this
and this
or this.Today, I got a very somber, "Mom, is there any way a bomb could stick to you? Like if someone threw one at you, could it stick to you and never leave you alone?" (This, while we were driving by Camp Pendleton's Marine base.)
An hour later when passing the San Onofre Power Plant on the way home: "Mom, if those big things exploded, is there any chance we'd be okay." (We could discuss that in heaven, dear.)
Last week: "Mom, is there any way you could get really, really close to a volcano and not have the lava or magma kill you?" (wonder where that came from)
A few weeks ago: "Mom, is there any way an earthquake could totally destroy the whole entire San Clemente?" (right after a major earthquake in Mexico had minor effects here)
And several months ago, when O.C. had the first tornado warning I can remember, visions (or nightmares) of Dorothy and Toto filled his mind for weeks, followed with questions about all the different strategies one could employ to avoid being sucked into the sky.
The poor kid's ulcers have caused me to randomly spew out facts that surely sound bizarre to whatever child's friend is in the car/kitchen/backyard with us:
"It's time for dinner, kids. And by the way, we would never be visited by a UFO/tornado/tsunami here. Okay, go wash your hands!"
Oh, I love my Gavin, who is very safely asleep in his bed.
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