We take the expressway to school every morning. Right before our final turn is a corner construction site.
Search: Why are they still building there? Are they done?
Me: They’re working on it.
Search: I think the builders to work when we’re at school.
Me: Right! Just like Mommy goes to work while you’re at school.
Search: I want to go to work with you!
Last time we experienced a slight sick day, Search got dragged to my office. There he met several of my colleagues.
- One invited him into his office to bang on a full drum set.
- One plied him with all-you-can-carry stress balls designed to look like baseballs.
- One offered a wide variety of chocolates.
- One sweetly showed off hockey pictures and accompanied the conversation with two indoor pucks.
I can image why Search thinks Mommy’s office is the place to be.
Me: What kind of work do you want to do when you grow up?
Search: I want to work with you, Mommy!
This is quite an astute answer, as when I was young, I wanted to be a cement truck. (Not the driver, I was going to be the actual vehicle with spinning concrete drum.) A tad alarming that at the tender age of four he’s already aspiring to a career in a polyester office cube, although I do remember thinking how exiting “meetings” must be back in the days of my youth. (They are not.)
Me: But when you’re all grown up like Mommy and Daddy – what kind of work do you want to do then?
Destroy: <nonchalantly> Black Ops.
Destroy: <with an exasperated sigh> Black Ops. I’m gonna do black work.
I swear I have no idea where this came from or where he picked up such a turn of phrase. I readied myself for the story behind the adorable bon mot, prepared to share with you what he was *actually* talking about.
Me: And what does Black Ops do?
Destroy: Fight bad guys.
Clearly I need to start paying more attention to the careers portrayed in the “When I Grow Up” sections of our local library’s books and puzzles.