One of the fears I’ve tucked long in my subconscious is that my kids, who are too smart for their own good, would begin school and progressively become smarter than me. Six months before Tyler enters kindergarten, it’s already started to happen.
“Look, Mama, the Bean is an omnivore!” he exclaimed as he watched our dog lap the remnants of his dinner off the kitchen floor.
“A who?”
“An omnivore. She just ate one of my carrots. Omnivores eat both meat and vegetables,” he said.
It occurred to me that I’d heard the term before, but I wasn’t completely sold that he had it right.
“Well, then, what do you call an animal that just eats meat?” I quizzed.
“A carnivore,” was his instant reply.
That one I knew. There was one category left, but he beat me to it.
“…and herbivores only eat vegetables,” he added.
“Well, they eat more than just vegetables,” I lectured, determined to hold my ground as The Omnipotent. (Yes, I just threw in that word on purpose.) “They eat fruits and regular plants, and algae, too.” (At least, I hoped they did. I’d never heard that word before in my life.)
I know the day will come that my kids will discover I don’t have all the answers. I’m just not ready for it to happen any time soon. Tyler can talk all he wants about omnivores and precipitation and chrysalis and the esophagus’s role in our digestive tract, but as of today, I still know more than my kids. I’m holding onto it by the skin of my teeth.
Teeth don’t really have skin, by the way. The outer layer is the enamel, which protects the dentin and pulp. Herbivores have a mouth full of molars to grind and chew plants, while carnivores’ teeth are designed to kill prey and rip flesh. Humans are omnivores, so we have a little of both.
I don’t know who Cha-Cha is, but I’d like to shake her hand. Without her, my cover would be blown.