Overheard at my house. . .
Boy Wonder: “Mom, could you get Picasso ice cream?”
Me: “Picasso ice cream?”
Boy Wonder: “Yeah, you know, it has chocolate and cherries. . . ”
Me: “The one with pistachios? I’m thinking you mean Spumoni.”
Boy Wonder: “Oh, right. Spumoni. That’s what I meant.”
It’s Valentine’s Day. Somehow, between numerous medical appointments this week, I managed to find a bit of time to secure a lovely bottle of Port for IZ and some small chocolate tokens for the boy. What I didn’t do, is remember to parent.
My child, bright and ridiculously advanced for his age in things like physics and computer science, has a little trouble with the time-space continuum. He is notorious for not knowing what day it is, or what month for that matter. And while he has a general grasp on seasons and holidays, I think that has more to do with his watching television than any sense of time. Don’t ask him which direction north is either–despite the fact we live on a river that gives our geographic location away–he still can’t point to Washington State. And the child gives his father a run for his money in the time slippage department. In Boy Wonder speak, 1 minute has to the potential to turn into an hour and be followed with the exclamation, “I have not been in the shower for 35 minutes!”
He gets this from his father. They are both completely clueless in the navigation department, unless they’re in Disneyland. Otherwise, neither one of them should be in charge of where we are. Or what time it is. Or be the keeper of the agenda, calender, or schedule.
His father has learned to write things down. After forgetting to attend my surprise 18th birthday party, he’s vowed to never get caught in this position again. But for Boy Wonder to be so organized, he’d have to come up with some sort of reminder gizmo–and then keep up with it. I’ve seen the kid’s room. It’s not going to happen.
So, it falls on me to remember to remind. To gently coax, “Hey, it’s almost Christmas, do you have something planned for your dad?” Or, “You know, you should really write a card to your Aunt, it’s her birthday next week.”
And usually, I excel at this process. But somewhere in the midst of numerous medical appointments this week I forgot my number one priority as a parent, “Keep your budding astro-physicist grounded.” Even when I had the chance last night, while hanging out in Safeway finding words to keep the shock value of gastroenterology at a minimum, I missed my opportunity to avoid an emotional crisis. I kept saying, “You’re the kid, you don’t have to give us anything, ” and “Really, it’s our job at Valentine’s Day, not yours.” In all the chaos of the week, I failed to anticipate that he would feel terrible this morning not having something for us. I forgot that my child, just like his mother, suffers from an overdeveloped guilt complex. Instead, I quipped, “If you really want to get me something, you could clean that bathroom of yours.”
Clearly, I’m not the Rocket Scientist in this family.
So, it’s Valentine’s Day. And with a stiff upper lip and a spray-bottle of Clorox, my child cleaned his bathroom this morning. But not before he handed his father and me this poem.
Sad Valentines:
At last the say has come, but I have nothing to give.
Loudly my soul cries, but tears never reach
my Eyes.
Never have I failed you before,
Today marks a first.
I hope to compensate, I hope
it Never happens again.
inst Ead I give you two hugs, smiles, and kisses, and I will be sure to
Soap my bathroom.
My mother’s heart is breaking. But as his Language Arts teacher, I have to admit, I’m pretty impressed.
Look who was hiding beneath all that hair.
I meant to take a “before” photo… but you can kinda get the feeling for just how long his hair was in the photo on the post below.
After his cut, I said, “Wow… I can finally see your face!”
His response, “Wow! I can finally SEE!”
Boy Wonder was asked by his father, the Science teacher, to write out everything he wanted to learn this year. He compiled the following list:
Tomorrow his mother, the Language Arts teacher, will be adding SPELLING to that list and fire proofing her home.
This child walked up, waved his hand in front of me, and said, “You will bake something yummy. Thank you.”
You know, it’s the strangest thing. . . but I kinda have an urge to bake something yummy.
Yesterday, I got it into my head to bake Morning Glory Muffins. You remember these? They were all the rage in the 90’s. It seems like they’ve fallen out of fashion—or maybe it’s just where I live, but I don’t see them in bakeries quite as often as back in the day.
So two trips to the grocery store (there are a LOT of ingredients to forget!), several near misses during the mixing process (there are a LOT of ingredients to remember!), and one half empty can of crushed pineapple splattered across the floor and behind the refrigerator later (Sticky!) we ate some Morning Glory. Remarkably, it was still morning.
Speaking of eating. This child, this child won’t stop. He’s always hungry and I can’t keep up with his food demands. Where is he putting it all? Evidently, in inches UP! I just ordered jeans for the third time this year. Three sizes in 10 months, he’s now wearing a 14 slim and is showing no sign of slowing down.
It’s not just his jeans, though. I also got the shock of my life when trying to buy shoes for him to wear to the wedding (OMG!! two weeks, MARIE, are you freaking out??). Scrounging around in the kid’s department, we were striking out when it occurred to me if his jean size has exponentially grown, perhaps his feet were following suit.
Can we say heart-attack? This child wears a men’s 7. And that means, he has the same sized feet as me. He’s 11 and has already out-paced me. He’s running hard to catch up with his father. I don’t think he’s going to need the assist from age and gravity.
It’s a battle of wills, really. I keep willing him to slow down. But suggesting this to him gets no traction. He just looks at me with that twinkle in his eye—the same twinkle, for the record, that won me over when his father proposed—that screams, “Make me, lady!”
Give me back that muffin, kid!
I probably don’t have to tell you that I’m so not ready for this. It’s a glory to behold. Or it would be, if I could step back to watch it.
We’re home. Home with memories and impressions and cameras full of color. Boy Wonder put it best when he said today, “I’m not going to be sad about leaving; I’m going to be happy I was here and focus on the fact that we’ll come back soon. I’m going to stay positive.”
So, we’re home. And we’re going to stay positive about that.
