Every time I admonish myself for being surprised about something, the next day I continue to be surprised about something. The Ninja personifies everything, which is not an unusual thing for kids to do. What IS unusual is his out of nowhere friendship last week with a can of corn. You read that right. He drew a face on a can of corn and now it’s his friend and we can never use it. It took me back to the day last summer that brought us Cop Melon.
When I looked at the under ripened piece of produce on our counter, I saw a watermelon. Ninja looked at it and saw a friend, apparently. The vine of the watermelon was cut prematurely in an unfortunate weed whacking oversite, and so continued growth of the fruit was impossible. Nevertheless, we brought it inside and set in on the counter to cut into, on the slightest chance that the inside showed any signs of pink. I got tired of it taking up space after a few days, and so I made an incision through its rind just to be sure it was unsalvageable and ok to throw out. My suspicions were confirmed.
Fully intending to walk the ill-fated fruit out to the compost pile (in an effort to keep the trash can liner from being unnecessarily heavy), I turned my attention to finishing the tacos that had been requested. While I was distracted by ground beef browning too slowly, Ninja curiously jabbed one of his police badge pins into the rind and delighted when it stayed put. So naturally he set about drawing it a face with pen and placing his police uniform hat atop its sad stem. He then wrote Funny across the top (forehead?) and Oficer Meleon on the bottom, and viola, instant friend. He was quite pleased with himself and his new partner, whom he deemed Cop Melon.
As any heartless shrew would do, I informed him that Cop Melons journey was to be cut short and he was destined for the compost pile after dinner, on account of the fact that I had already sliced into him and he was already bleeding out (not the exact verbiage I used, but it paints a picture, no?). This news devastated the Ninja. Like, legit tears. I pointed out that the relentless ant problem in our kitchen that he had been complaining about for days would get so much worse if we let leaking produce stick around. At this point in our journey I know that logic does not compute with him, but I always stubbornly try anyway, to my own undoing. I was accused of murdering Cop Melon and informed that I was the worst for killing him. I have to be honest, I’m not sure how we went from zero to 60 and tacos to manslaughter so quickly, but that is life with our Ninja.
I came to my senses and tried to see Cop Melon as a legitimate crime-fighting partner (assigned to a desk no doubt, on account of his lack of limbs), and sympathize with this incredibly unexpected situation. When he asked if he could accompany me to the compost pile and lay a flower over his fallen comrade, I acquiesced and we walked across the yard in somber silence. When the brief but beautiful farewell concluded, he excused himself to the bathroom to cry in private.
When he emerged some minutes later I held him in my lap and told him it was okay to be sad, because that seems like the kind of thing one should say in this unprecedented circumstance. He snuggled up and requested that when our dog dies (a one year old puppy, but that’s not the point) we invite everyone we know over for a funeral and make her a headstone that says RIP. I told him of course we would do that.
None of the many parenting books I have read covered this, so I’m really just flying blind over here. Some days I forget to remind myself to fully embrace the unexpected. Lean into the chaos. Just lean in.
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