The other day I glanced up to discover a Jonathan stampede in the living room. He was on his tiptoes, running in place with all his might.
He stopped suddenly, hunched over, and bent his knees. Then he made his way across the carpet as slowly as the elderly neighbor we often see on our block.
But like a spring he straightened up and turned to me, running in place again.
He hollered, "I'mgoingswiftly!"
Then hunching over once more, he explained in his most warped, drawn-out voice, "N-o-o-w-w I'm go-o-o-ing slu-u-u-ggishly."
Since that day, there is no longer any such thing as fast. Things are not fast. They are swift. And nothing is slow either. It is sluggish. All things are done either swiftly or sluggishly:
"Jonathan, pick up your toys."
"But Mom, I'm just going sluggishly."
"Jonathan, no running in the house."
"But Mom, I'm just going swiftly."
So now it's like this.
Me, swiftly: "Jonathan, when I tell you to do something, I want you to say, swiftly, 'Okay, Mom.'"
Jonathan, sluggishly: "Oka-a-a-y, Mo-o-o-m."
Today on the way to school, James asked me, "Mom, did you know that Psalty the Singing Songbook has a workshop?"
Peering through the cobwebs in my brain, I responded, "Yes, actually, I did know that."
"Mom! Really?! How did you know that?" James responded with awe.
"Well, I used to listen to Psalty when I was a little girl. He has a worship workshop. There's even a song about it."
Then I sang for James:
Come in to the workshop
Come in to the workshop
Come in to Psalty's worship workshop
And we'll praise the Lord!
He laughed, "Grandma has that video!" Then after a moment of thought, "Mom, did you listen to Psalty on a CD?"
Knowing it wasn't a CD back in the day, I said, "No, actually, I listened to it on a cassette tape." But thinking further, I realized it was even before that. I amended, "No, wait. It wasn't a cassette tape. It was a record."
Innocently, James asked, "What's a record?"
I usually don't feel very old. I usually feel young. This was a definite exception.
I went for the simple answer. "That's just what we used to use to listen to music when I was a kid."
He didn't require further explanation. But he did ask a moment later, "Mom, what do you use to listen to music now?"
"Oh. Okay. Whew!"
And all is right with the world.
Until I have to explain mp3s.
Actually, come to think of it, I probably won't have to explain them. He'll probably refer to them as a thing of the past in a few years.
While he's programming my iPhone for me.