When to stop

On the way home from school the past two days, Big Dog has asked some interesting questions. Yesterday, out of the blue he asks, "Mama, are lawnmowers real?"

"Sure!" I answer quickly, "Why?"

"I'm wondering how they work."

"Well, they have a motor that spins a blade around that cuts the grass when it gets too long," I explain, hoping he doesn't ask for more details because that's about all I know.

"I'd like to see a lawnmower some day," he says, still sounding a bit skeptical about their existence.

"You know we have one, right?" and then it dawns on me. He's probably never seen it used, or at least not in the part of his life he remembers. We're not great at yard maintenance and with the foundation project going on, it isn't like we've had much lawn to mow.

"No," he says, perking up.

"Sure we do. You can ask papa about it when we get home," I say, imagining Mr. Dog's face when the topic comes up.

And that was more or less the end of that.

Tonight it was telephones. Or rather, "Mama, how does the sound in the telephone get heard by both of us when we are on the phone?"

Now this is a topic I understand. I start explaining sound waves, then I go on to explain the workings of his inner ear, and then back to sound waves being converted into electrical current that get carried along wires or over the air and all of a sudden it dawns on me, he's being very quiet. Too quiet. I peek at him in the rear view mirror and he's gazing out his window. Clearly no longer paying attention to anything I'm saying.

"That was too much detail, wasn't it big guy?" I ask.

"Mama, no more ok?" he says, then looks at me. "But I still love you."

And though he didn't say it, I almost heard the implied "Geek" at the end of the sentence.