It’s probably getting really tiresome reading about my eleven year old son all the time. Unfortunately, the guy just won’t stop providing me with fodder…
Yesterday, I was helping him with an essay that he had to write summarizing what he has learned as part of the D.A.R.E. project, which helps educate kids about the evils of making bad choices regarding drugs and alcohol. In order to help him put his thoughts into words, I said, “Tell me what you have learned about making bad choices regarding drugs and alcohol?” He thought for only a split second before spitting out this little nugget of wisdom:
“Well, I know I won’t marry a hooker someday!”
“Reeeeaaallly” I replied, nodding in complete agreement. “That’s a good start. Shall we put that in the essay?” I asked. I began to type. I’m a fast typer.
“NO MOM! I just meant that, well, I don’t know what I meant! Nevermind, pretend I didn’t say that!”
“So you’re saying you WOULD consider marrying a hooker someday?” I said, laughing. I love tripping him up in his own words. Love it, love it, love it.
I hope he has lots of boy children someday (and three girls just for good measure).
Meanwhile, one of my lovely little ladies has adopted a new pet: my yoga mat. I do yoga in her bedroom because it is the only room with the perfect combo of VCR and floor space. She found the mat one day and proceeded to roll it up and carry it around the house off and on for a couple of days. I mostly ignored it, stopping occasionally to tell her and Yoga Buddy to pick up their sandals. It was her buddy. The last “buddy” she adopted was a 12-inch stick. It’s name was Stick Buddy. She whittled it to such a sharp point that it really should have been called “Shank Buddy,” so I confiscated it.
I didn’t think too much of Yoga Mat Buddy, though it did seem a little odd. Then again, I have known my daughter for all of her almost nine years, so it really wasn’t that strange. Fine, it was normal for her. Until a few nights ago. On my way to the laundry room, I walked past the bathroom at the same time the door opened. She had just emerged from the shower, clad in her robe and jammies, with the yoga mat rolled up under one arm. This one stopped me in my tracks.
“Um, you had the yoga mat in the bathroom with you?”
“Yes,” she said, in the most neutral voice I’ve ever heard come out of her mouth. In fact, it’s the only time I’ve ever heard Neutral Tone. I hear harsh, sassy, sad, even bored, but never neutral. I could tell by the look on her face that even she knew that this qualified as bizarre – even by her high standards.
We stared at each other for about five seconds. Then, I kept walking. I just kept walking.