Exercise Exhibitionism

I've been on my own the last few days while Joel is playing hooky attending a jazz workshop, so I've been finding ways to keep busy.  One of my "gifts to myself" during his absences is a Redbox movie, or two... or six.  So far I've limited myself to one, "The Social Network", which I stayed up late last night to watch over a big plate of kale chips-- my newest addiction.  Who would have thought that a curly leaf, when tossed in a little olive oil, could be so crispy and good?  I explained to Cael how I made them and even though he said they tasted yucky, he also suggested I try the same technique to make chips out of other things as well.  His palette must be as warped as his sense of humor, because he thought shoes, paper, carpet and batteries would all be tasty if given the same treatment.  I think I'll pass.

Since our little town thinks big but stays little, there is no Redbox machine nearby, warranting a trip into Cedar Rapids to return the disc.  On our way into town, we drove past a man who was out for a jog along the side of the road.  This is by no means an unusual sight during the summer, but Cael's curiosity coupled with his incessant need to question everything led to a rather verbose car ride.  When he launched into his interrogation, I hit "Record" on my phone's video camera to capture our conversation.  The actual video was unusable because I was driving and couldn't point the camera at him, but it did allow me to remember and relay our discussion.  After all, I shouldn't be the only one that has to listen to this. 

"Mommy, is that man running?"

"Yeah, it looks that way." 

"Why that man doesn't have a shirt on?"

"Because it's really hot out and he's exercising." 

"Why he's hot when he exercises?"

"Exercising makes you hot anyway, and the weather is hot today.  He took his shirt off to keep cool." 

"Why won't he be warm?"

"He IS warm... he's more than warm.  He's probably hot!" 

"But I want him to be WARM!"

"I don't know what you're talking about anymore, Cael." 

"Can he put his shirt back on?"

"I don't think he has the shirt with him, honey." 

"Why not?"

"Because he doesn't have a place to keep it while he's running." 

"Where is his shirt?"

"I don't know.  Maybe it's at his house." 

"Where is his house?

"I have no idea.  I don't know that man." 

"Why you don't know that man?"

"I just don't.  Mommy doesn't know everyone." 

"Can we go to that man's house?"

"No, Cael, because I don't know where he lives, remember?" 

"Does he live on our street?"

"I don't know." 

"You don't know?"

"I don't.  That's what I meant when I said, 'I don't know'." 

"Can we give him one of Daddy's shirts?"

"No, Daddy likes his shirts.  We need to keep them at our house." 

"What do we need to keep at our house?"

"Daddy's shirts!  Okay, Cael.  Mommy needs a break from the questions." 

"Why you need a break?"

"Because my ears hurt from all of the questions.  They need it to be quiet in here for a little while." 

"Who needs it to be quiet here for a little while?  Graham?"

"Yes, Graham, but mostly my ears!" 

"Why?"

"Enough, Cael!" 

"Okay."

Ahhhhhhhhhh.  Could it be possible that my son-- my cute-but-annoying son that just handed out almost 20 consecutive questions-- was going to be quiet?  I knew that it would be short-lived, but I wasn't going to ruin the silence by worrying about it.  After all, what more was there to say about that shirtless man?

"Mommy, when you run do you take your shirt off?"

Yikes.