Category Archives: Crazy Mom

Love, Love, Love

L: “Mom, I love you.” (Long, plaintive stare. He’s practicing his come hither look.)

Pause.

M: I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.

L: “No, that’s gross. I don’t say that to all of the girls. I’ve never said that to any other girl. Because if I said it to all the girls, I’d be sorta skeevy and everyone would think I was trying to get attention and I’m not. Besides if I said that to everyone, all the time, I don’t think it would mean as much. In fact, it might not mean anything if I said it to everyone.”

Pause.

M: I love you, too.

 

Bending

We have a mandate in our house: Always tell the truth. You will not be punished for telling the truth. There may be consequences, but telling the truth is paramount.

Okay, got that outta the way.

How about bending the truth?

I’m not proud about this, but these things that may occur in the near future:

–L’s Nerf gun may “go missing.” (A pox on them… Yeah, I’m a chick, I don’t get it.)

–L’s Hoodie, (which I wisely purchased in white and is now stained, soiled, disgusting no matter how many times I wash it) may get “lost” on laundry day.

–L’s newest pet, Tofu the Tadpole, may end up going through his metamorphosis “outside.” In a bucket. (He seems so cute now. In a few weeks he’ll be a giant, loud, jumping all over the place bullfrog. Not gonna happen.)

–The ‘Captain Underpants’ Opus may be “donated.” (They’re past tense at this point. Why not share the love?)

Walk the talk takes a pause.

 

Cute now. Check back in a few weeks.

Cute now. Check back in a few weeks.

Imprisoned

Or, riding in the car with me.

After reading several reports on the state of education and feeling dismayed, I thought, I’ll go straight to the source: L.

(Okay, so I don’t think L really wants to talk about education at the end of a long school day. Then again, he’s buckled into the back seat. He’s all mine.)

M: How was school?

L: “It was good. Overall, a good day.”

M: Did anything stand out for you?

L: “I got to read with my kindergarten reading buddy. That was awesome.”

(I have a specific question in mind. I’m gonna cut to the chase.)

M: How do you know you’re doing well in school?

L: “Because I know the answers.”

M: (ACK) If you have to choose between knowing the answer, or how you got the answer, which one?

L: How. Definitely how. Because then I can figure out other stuff.

The state (of education) rests.

Because

L and I walked to school today. We were discussing games we would invent. I rambled on about my Greek Myth-based adventure wherein the player meets each of the gods and must answer riddles, solve problems, and, sure we can throw in a duel (not really), to move ahead. I ginned up some poorly disguised multiplication word problem and L said:

“WAIT. That’s a math game. You’re trying to sell me on this idea when it’s really about math?”

(Yup.)

“That’s not exactly action/adventure.”

(Nope.)

“Why do you want your game to be about math?”

M: Because.

“That’s a ridiculous answer. That makes no sense.”

M: ‘Because’ is a good answer. As in why did you climb the mountain? Because it was there.

“Again, a ridiculous answer. You climb the mountain because you WANT to climb the mountain. That’s the answer.”

And therein lies our existential crisis of the day.

Curse of the Hoodie

Preface: I’m biased. I think L is the bees’ knees. That his eyes are dreamy pools of love. That his lips look like a rose. That his nose is perfection. That he should SHOW THAT LOVELY MUG AND NOT HIDE INSIDE A HOODIE all day long.

Picked him up yesterday from school. It’s boiling hot, stifling, uncomfortable. Like me, L does not do heat well. In fact, we’re straight up heat averse. We fall apart when the mercury goes above 80 (70 for me, but who’s counting?).

L is wearing his hoodie. With hood up (must be down during the school day). He’s fussy and says, “I’m stressed.” I look at his heated cheeks and say, “if you take off your jacket, I’m pretty sure you’ll be much less stressed.”

L: “Mom, my hoodie is part of my identity. It’s who I am.”

M: (Here we go again.)

IMG_2413

Cleanliness

L spent the latter half of his spring break solo with dad in a cabin. Here’s something that I think is basically true (with exceptions, of course). When the fellas are hanging out with other fellas, they ingest only cured meat products, their mouths clamp shut if faced with a vegetable or a fruit, and they forgo bathing at all costs.

I suppose a mother should expect such things. I can only hope we’ve averted scurvy.

To that, soapy, warm, clean L.

floating head