Tag Archives: gas mask

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

Spelling and Other Life Matters

L: “I think I aced my spelling test today.”

M: Why’s that?

L: “I studied really hard and I have a system.”

M: (He has a lot of systems). How’s it work?

L: “I use my brain like a computer. I scan the words and then store them in my memory. Then when I need to spell them, I see them in my mind and I just copy them down. Just like that.”

M: Wish I had that.

L: “Maybe if you practice a bit more…”

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

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.