I have been packing fresh berries as a school snack for Little Boy, since he now enjoys berries — blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries (yes, I did get that trivia email that strawberries are not botanically berries, but the more I know, the less I care).
And one day, because I was feeling uber-mommy, I sketched a picture of a lion on the tin foil that I wrap over the Tupperware (because if I can barely open the Tupperware, there’s little hope for him).
My lousy drawings on the fruit container were a hit with Little Boy, so they persist: Snakes, spiders, a campfire, Misty May-Treanor. Today I tried a cow. I got the face alright, but botched the body, so I turned it into a cow on the moon:
Since Little Boy can no longer wait until school to see my artistic efforts, he asked to see it before we left home.
“Oooo,” he said. “Cow.”
“An alien cow,” I clarified. “See? He’s on the moon.”
“Oooo, alien cow! I love alien cow!” he said happily.
Then, “Mommy, tomorrow I want you to draw a lion eating a … a… a…”
“Pizza?” I suggested.
“No, a zebra!” Little Boy got that faraway look in his eyes. “A big lion eating a little baby zebra, and… and… he just eats that little baby zebra up!”
Okay, I know that Little Boy watches too many nature documentaries, but, well, he watches too many nature documentaries. I can just imagine him whipping out his fruit cup, smiling at Mommy’s picture of a lion devouring a baby zebra, and then happily eating his raspberries.
Question that runs through my mind a lot these days: Is it cute, or is it a harbinger of psychopathy?