Better late then never

"Mom, how do you get to Heaven?"

"Why was Madan born first?"

"What's a late bloomer?"

Christ. Why can't it ever be something simple like "Why did Tiger cheat?" or "Will Sandra leave Jesse?" To which I would answer, "He's an asshole hiding behind the laughable excuse of sex addiction. Aren't all men born addicted to sex?" and "I hope so. She's so much better than his tatted-up, butter-face mistress."

My ability to define words and concepts has decreased with age which is incredibly frustrating for me -- and the kids. Nonetheless, I took a stab at the late bloomer thing. It could have been so easy, too. The answer was sitting right in front of me, coloring. Kaila, my cute little delayed up-and-comer crawled at one, walked at 18 months, talked late and still didn't know the difference between a "3" and an "E." I take full responsibility for the last one. My bad. And, the other day, she tried to give herself a perm by sticking a fork in a socket. Luckily, Mike intervened before she went frizzy, but he and I exchanged WTF? looks. What almost-5 year old sticks objects in outlets? A late bloomer, of course. I'm now taking away all her art supplies for fear that she's going to start writing on the walls, cutting her hair and gluing stuff to the floor. Am I overreacting? Perhaps. But, when I was young, I used Q-tips to detail the cabinet pulls in my parents' bathroom with Crest toothpaste. What if Kaila's full artistic tendencies have laid dormant all these years and decide to emerge now? Sacré bleu, late bloomer! MELT ALL THE CRAYONS! I'm not taking any chances.

I bit my tongue so I wouldn't sell Kaila out and tried to explain, "It's someone who does things a little later..." I stopped myself. I have a rule. You can't define a word using the same word. That's, like, cheating and so not fair. I tried again.

"Well, Madan, a late bloomer is when you don't necessarily do things when expected to. Does that make ..."

I turned around and he was gone. All that was left were a few napkins floating in the air from when he sped out of the kitchen. So typical. Madan asks a question, loses interest and races away before I can answer. Meanwhile, Kaila was still sitting at the table, putting some finishing touches on her masterpiece.

"He never waits for the answer, does he, Mom? How is he going to learn anything?"

She may be trailing on the milestone calendar, but my girl's definitely a quick wit.