Growing Up Is Hard To Do

For as much as Cael talks, sometimes getting him to actually say anything is like pulling teeth.  Even last night as we rode in the car, approaching the grocery store, Cael decided to offer up his own commentary on the state of affairs in his life, but refused to elaborate. 

"I don't want to grow up."

"Mmm.  Okay."  I have grown too accustomed to dismissing some of his banter, so it was Joel who drew it out of him.

"Why don't you want to grow up?"

"I just don't want to."

"Oh.  Alright."  There I go again.

"But there are so many great parts about growing up," Joel offered.  "And don't you want to go hunting with me when you're big?"

"Don't you want to drive a car someday?  Your own car?" I added, reminding myself to teach him to always use his parking brake in case he slips it into neutral then, too.

A smile slowly grew on his face, more than likely from the prospect of shooting a defenseless animal and not from driving around a pre-owned economy sedan.  But his smile quickly faded.

"I still don't want to grow up."  We should be getting royalties from Toys 'R Us.

"Why, buddy?"

"BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO HAVE A BABY IN MY TUMMY!"

In that case, I don't want him to grow up, either.