Beyond the point of rationalizing

Turner woke up from his nap hungry. He wanted like Corn Flakes (see previous blog if that doesn't resonate with you). Since I was sick--think coma on the couch kind of sick--for four days in a row Turner had his share of cereal this week. So, I bargain with him. If he'll eat two vegetables and a protein then he can have some cereal. He agrees. We search for vegetables and are forced to settle on whole grain rice (I know...) and carrots (hard, not soft, pealed, in long strips not in circles or triangles). We add two vegetarian Chicken nuggets to the mix, and he gladly pushes the button on the microwave. Before I can get the carrots made to order, he asks for two more nuggets. I offer all the bounty to him and seat myself at assessment theory (I have other plans for dinner that don't happen at 4:30 pm).

"Turner, please don't put your fingers in your cereal."
"Why?" He continues to dip his middle finger in and out of the milk in his specially requested blue bowl.
I look up from my book. "Because it is bad table manners. It is not polite. You must use your spoon."
"No it's not."
"Yes it is."
"No it's not."
"Turner." Talking back is HUGE problem as of late. I'm not really sure how to deal with it.
"Moooom." He smiles. I must smile in return; it is impossible to not do so.
"Turner. Please don't talk back to me. I asked you to stop putting your fingers in your cereal. We use our utensils. It is bad manners."
"I'm just tryin' to get all the like corn flakes dunked."
"You can use your spoon for that."
"No I can't. It doesn't work the same." He probably has a point here, but...
"Nevertheless, it is bad manners to put your fingers in your food."
"No it's not."
"How do you know table etiquette better than I?"
"Cuz I do."
"But I'm older. Don't you think I would know the rules more than you do? Isn't my job to teach you the rules that were taught to me?"
"No. I'm older. I know. I know the rules. There are none about fingers in like corn flakes."
"How are you older than I? You grew into a little baby in my belly."
"No I didn't." He is coy this time, not defensive. The smile sneaks across his face.
"Yes you did." I mimick his tone. "You were just a little spot that came from love that grew and grew and grew into a great big baby that kicked a bunch. You made mommy's belly super big and round, and Daddy and I talked to you, and Daddy kissed my belly because you were on the other side, and you kicked him sometimes. We smiled a lot. I rubbed my belly all the time wondering what you looked like and never in my mind did you put your fingers in your cereal. I just knew you were going to have good table manners."
"Oh." He quietly peers into his cereal bowl. After a few moments - I pick up my book and watch him - he picks up his spoon and takes a big bite. He chews thoughtfully. He bites again. He chews again. Something comes to him and he starts to speak. Milk drips down his chin and I remind him to speak when he doesn't have food in his mouth...back to the table manners thing.
"You know Mom," he doesn't really give me much room to respond, "I member when you grew in my belly. I had all the stuff inside to grow a baby [An aside: Earlier today I asked if Turner's make believe dinosaurs were girls or boys and he said boys with babies like Dumbo and I said that only girls could carry babies in their bellies because they had special stuff to do that]. And, you kicked lots and lots. And, Daddy kissed you through my belly and he loooved you Mommy. You growed in my belly and kicked a lot. Daddy rubbed my belly and it was super big and round [he demonstrates] and I loved you. We were all smiles."
"Oh." I'm surprised, of course, that he listens to me so well.
"Yep. So see Mommy." He stuffs cereal into his mouth with his specially chosen spoon. "I'm older."
"You know what Turner, there might come a day when you really are older than Mommy."
"It's Friday."
"Oh is that when it will be?"
"Yep. And then I won't need spoons."
"Hmmm. We'll see about that."
"Are we ready to see peace?"
"What?"
"It's getting dark outside. Will we beat it to the music?" We are going to a anti-war peace rally/fundraiser in the basement of the Christian Church down the street. They are having all-you-can-eat vegetarian spaghetti (which was actually really, really good with all sorts of vegetables in the sauce and it was HOT) for $5 and blues music.
"Well the music starts at 6 and Mommy needs to change clothes. The music happens inside so it doesn't matter that it is dark outside."
"Oh. Are you ready?"
"Are you ready to go?"
"I'm ready to hear the music."
"Okay."

As we are leaving the church Turner clutches my hand (he ate caramel corn while I stuffed two helpings of spaghetti in my face, oh and the homemade bread was yum). "Mom?"
"Yes?"
"Is there peace now?"
"Do you feel peace in your heart?"
"Yeah. Like a baby."
"Well," I want to cry a little, "that is the greatest peace we can probably ever find in our lives Turner."
"I thought so."