Ocean Lizard Animal Zebras

And just like that, we almost have a 4 year old. 4. How.

The only thing you really need to know about an almost-4-year-old boy is how much of the day is spent in an alternate universe. There are about 12 seconds in a 24 hour period we are not living in the land of make-believe.

It’s fun, creative, cute…all of the above.

It’s also incredibly hard to play along. The plot lines in his make-believe world are super complex and ever-changing.

I can never quite keep up with which character he is in which moment, or what my role is, or what foods/activities/words he does and doesn’t eat/do/say as said character.

And just when you think you’ve figured out the plot for that moment, he enters the 12 second window where he’s a normal, human boy.

Like the other week when he was pushing some colored pencils with a tractor on a restaurant table and my mom said, “Is that tractor taking those logs away?” He looked at her condescendingly and said, “These aren’t logs. They’re colors.”

You really can never keep up. But, I WILL GO DOWN TRYING, DANGIT. (At the very least, I’ll follow the word-for-word script laid out for me.)

On any given day, this:

Me: Ready for breakfast, bud?

Him: I’m not “Bud”. I’m an ocean lizard. You have to call me Ocean Lizard.

Me: Sorry. Ready for breakfast, Ocean Lizard?

Him: I only eat bugs. You have to say, “Ready for bugs, Ocean Lizard?”

Me: Ok. Ready for bugs, Ocean Lizard?

Him: Yes. But not real bugs, pretend bugs.

Me: Ok. Ready for pretend bugs, Ocean Lizard? Let me go get your brother and we’ll eat.

Him: HE’S NOT MY BROTHER. He’s Swimming Zebra. You have to say, “Let me go get Swimming Zebra to eat pretend bugs with you, Ocean Lizard.”

Me: Noted.

*after breakfast*

Me: What should we do today, Ocean Lizard? Let’s go to the park.

Him: I’m not an ocean lizard, I’m a brand new animal and you’re Farmer #1.

Me: Ok. Grab your shoes and meet me in the garage, Brand New Animal.

Him: Do you mean, “Meet me by the animal truck, Brand New Animal?”

Me: Yes.

Him: You have to say, “Farmer #1 says, ‘Meet me by the animal truck.'”

Me: …just get your shoes.

Him: Make sure everyone at the park knows I’m a brand new animal.

Me: Ok.

*at the park*

Him: {audible, forced toot}

Me: Excuse me?

Him: I’m spreading my stinky smell to scare away the frogs who want to eat me.

Me: First off, I think you’re confusing a skunk with…whatever you are right now…second, we cannot spend the day cropdusting the state of Texas.

Him: {toots again} More frogs. Got ’em.

Me: Whatever. At least spread your stinky smell away from me. Your “deterrent” is making my eyes water.

*at home*

Me: Alright…animal. Let’s go to the…animal truck (?)…to take a nap.

Him: My name is Beckett.

Long story short, if anyone knows how to make an in-depth flow chart, we could really use your skills right about now. Our ability to relate to our firstborn is riding on it.