That moment every mother dreams of…hearing that her son wants to be a Mime when he grows up. Because a clown would just be weird.
It was a proud moment when I picked up SB (small boy) from his last day of school today. After we finished loading the car full of ABC books, artwork, sprouted seeds and billions of teeny tiny plastic beads that are apparently crucial for summer craft fun and games (which amount to me prying them from the dog’s mouth), we began the drive home.
The last day of school!! Camp, barbecues, fireworks – all that good stuff that sounds SO great until you’re a week into it and realize there’s eight more weeks to go…
But back to the car ride home. I asked SB what he wanted to do this summer, and he said, “I want to invent a superhero who eats spaghetti and then shoots it out his butt so he can tie up bad guys”.
I’m going to go stick my head in the dogs mouth now. Eight more weeks.
By now I think it’s safe to say that we have enough Legos to start building our own theme park -roughly 900 at last count. All packaged in small boxes of 72 pieces, with incomprehensible instructions. What they should really say is. “The person with the largest and clumsiest fingers MUST assemble the most animals/windmills/spaceships, without blurting out profanity laced tirades in front of your child”.
To ensure a good time is had by all, wait until said child has a fit when someone’s teeny tiny head falls under the couch for the 37th time, calm him down, pull a few Legos out of the dogs mouth and then perform a lively interpretive dance when you step on all 900 pieces trying to tidy up.
Makes me long for the good old days of crayon wall art.
We’ve entered the age of Mutant Ninja Turtles, weird Rat Sensei’s, and weapons. After spending the last six months explaining that weapons are not good, that they hurt people, etc., I’m now just trying to get SB (Small Boy) to not make swords with Legos and shove them down his underwear so that he can fight the cat. This is harder than you might think..
Every night, SB (Small Boy) and I have a lively debate about getting into the tub and what time he goes to sleep. I’m pretty sure we’re the only ones who do this…
This evening’s argument included me yelling this gem: “If you want to get in my bed tonight, you need to take off your underwear RIGHT NOW!!”
I just spent five minutes arguing with SB about why we can’t barbecue spaghetti. And to ensure how ridiculous we are, he was wearing my snorkeling mask during the debate…