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I’ve been filling out the insanely detailed liability/permission forms for L’s summer camps.

(Seriously, folks, this isn’t a college application. He’s in SECOND GRADE. It’s SUMMER CAMP.)

There are questions about likes, dislikes, personality traits, is he an all-in kid, toe-first… I’m to answer these questions, then he’s to answer these questions, then I guess we should seek an impartial party to answer the questions, as well.

We’re nearing the finish line and there’s a section where the camp asks him to “draw or write about some of his favorite activities, hobbies, friends.” I keep checking to make sure this isn’t a dating site (“sunsets, long walks, coffee in bed”).

I sit him down and say, “okay, let’s get her done. Will you draw an activity that you like?”

Mister Sly comes up with this: (It’s L drawing L drawing… Heh heh heh.)

LincDrawingLinc

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.

Eight or 18?

Some ramblings from last night:

L: “I think L and I broke up. I think we’re better as friends.”

M: “You broke up? Broke up from what? What do you mean?”

L: “Well, she was crushing pretty hard on me and I really like her, but in the end, I think we’ll be friends.”

M: (Aghast.)

L: “So now, I’m thinking about C only I think she likes V and I’m not sure I’ll get anywhere with that.”

M: “Where is ‘anywhere?'”

L: “You know, when you like someone. LIKE like.”

M: “I think you and dad are going to have that talk sooner rather than later.”

L: “Oh, gross. Do we have to?”

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

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.)