Awkward or Dear?

L had a buddy hang out for a few days during his spring break. I had to leave early and drove his buddy home from our Spring Break casa. Hugs were exchanged by all.

L hugged his buddy and said, “I love you.”

Buddy: Hmmm… mmmkay.

L: “I, uh, love you like a brother. You know, I like/love you.”

Buddy: Yup.

L: “Or, you know, I think you’re great and thank you for coming.”

Buddy: Me, too.

PAUSE

L: “Awkward?”

 

Change Is Hard

Dad is transitioning to a new job. That and a hard drive failure (#@$##@!!), equals plenty of change (and silence).

L to Dad: “Why are you leaving your company?”

D: Because someone else thinks I’ll be great.

[SIDEBAR: This work move does not entail a physical move for L. It means Dad will work closer to home. Better commute. Better benefits. Exponentially better life.]

L: But what about your old company? What will they do?

D: They’ll be fine.

L: Dad, sometimes work isn’t about the money or fame or power. It’s about love and family and friends. Please don’t turn your back on them.

D: (silence)

L: Dad, do you understand the implications of what you’re doing?

D: Yes, I do. And sometimes when your teacher or your friend or your boss doesn’t think you’re doing a great job, you need to find another situation.

L: I hope you’re making a good decision.

D: I think I’m making a great decision. And I’ll keep everything you said in mind.

Early Onset Teenager (EOT) Averted

Just as L began talking about his many conquests (the holding hands, pulling hair variety), this morning he asked where all of his stuffies had gone.

L: “Do we still have Stingy and Sharky and Woofy?”

M: “I think we do.”

Pan to the bed where Sammy the ice-cream sandwich, Bully the bulldog, Ali the albino alligator, and the above are now resting.

There is a reason we don’t throw everything away. The purple blanket he’s slept with from his first breath is still accessible in a heartbeat. Especially because I have it in triplicate.

Can never be too prepared for age eight or eighteen.

Stuffies

Past Tense, or “She’s So Fine”

Had a flashback this morning.

The Setting: Oscar broadcast, 2005 (I think).

The Presenter: Salma Hayek. I believe L is on the verge of walking, is still sporting diapers, and is quite mobile.

He crawls/scootches/drags himself to the television set, hoists himself up and plants a giant, wet, all-in kiss on Miss Hayek while she’s trilling about “Best….”

STOP

Did my unsullied, innocent cherub just French Salma Hayek?

Why, yes. Yes he did. (Good taste.)

or_c46fd6ee11976503722909

Doubts

There are moments, okay, hours, if not weeks, when I wonder if L wasn’t switched at birth.

Case-in-point:

M: “Did you make your bed?”

L: “Yup.”

M: “Brush your teeth?”

L: “Yup.”

M: “Sing Rihanna’s new song really loudly without knowing any of the words?”

L: “Nope.”

That last one makes me wonder. Because the order in which I would do my chores would definitely start with singing. And, if I ever made my bed when I was a kid, it bore no resemblance to this tidy bit of work.

(Are the stripes of the blankets actually ALIGNING?!)

YourBed

You Just Can’t Undo Some Things

Insight:

I grew up in the Midwest. One of my parents was raised in the Deep South; the other grew up all over the place and escaped a fairly dark childhood because he is, well, he’s brilliant. College at 16. PhD at 20. Particle physicist/musician/poet/programmer/humorist. All of that probably came to be because he was so dang smart and because he absolutely, desperately needed to get away.

That said, brains aren’t equivalent to common sense. The first movie we saw in the theater was “Soylent Green.” (Yes, it’s people. For a small child, NOT GOOD.) The first movie I saw on television? “The Birds.” Yes, THOSE birds. Terrifying, squawking, ubiquitous, horrifying, not-melodious birds. To this day, a bird that’s too close is, dagnabbit, just plain scary to me. Lovely songbirds? Charming from a distance. Hummingbirds? Cute, but aren’t they a bit like killer bees?

This weekend, I set out to conquer that fear. What better place than a beach filled with seagulls and a loaf of stale bread? Seagulls are goofy, right? Pixar and Disney depict them that way. Sure, they can be a bit bossy. So can I.

Bread chunks in hand, I began my quest. Gulls are not shy. In fact they’re downright aggressive. (And, yes, of course I should know this, but we must remember the Midwestern roots.) The second they sensed “sucker with bread” they swarmed. I shrieked. They stepped back and squawked at me. With great trepidation, I held out my hand, with giant 72,000 foot long bread scrap (give or take), and they swarmed again.

Shriek.
Squawk.
Shriek.
Squawk.

I stopped my lunacy long enough to take a good look at the leader of the bird pack and what I saw looked downright human.

“Just pipe down and hand me the bread and we’ll all go on with our day.”

Did that. Lost my voice in the process. Gained a little less fear of birds. And a son who laughed so hard, he fell to the ground and said, “my mom is crazy.”

Laughter. As much and as often as possible.

birdsEDIT

Samson!

As a serious baseball fan, I’m prone to superstitions, as in wearing the same pair of socks to certain events, making sure my lucky bracelet is facing upward, and anything else that might help determine the future (or a World Series win). Yeah, one person’s OCD is another person’s baseball.

That said, I admit I’m a bit nervous that L’s hair has zapped him of his strength. Hearty and strong, he was felled…

RIGHT AFTER HIS HAIR WAS SHORN!

Not feeling well on Sunday.

Came home sick from school on Monday.

Stayed home on Tuesday.

His malady? No fever, no sniffles, no cough, yet lethargic and without appetite.

WAS HIS HAIR HIS STRENGTH?

Guess I’ll go procure some of that hair growing concoction and find out. (Kidding on that.)