thebeckybug

We’re walking to the school to collect the kids as we call them (the younger siblings.) I turn to J6 (let’s call him Jacob) and say, “Mmmm, smell this,” as I offer up a handful of a mountain laurel bloom from the tree. It smells like purple fun-dip or grape gum and brings back fond memories of being a kid. I wave him over, pretty certain it will trigger some kinda of sensory connection for him, as well.

Jacob was cautious, wary of what I was trying to torture his nose with. He sniffed it in, and reeled back with a scrunched-up face. He’s at the stage where everything that tastes or smells nice to most people will revolt him to no end. I call this the punk-teenager stage, except he’s only 6. This yummy grape-smelling flower was one of those things. I was still a bit surprised with the scrunch face.

I inquire, “What does it smell like?”

His answer, very definite. “It smells … Jurassic.”

“Jurassic?” I attempt to clarify, “like dinosaurs.”

“Yeah. Jurassic.”