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“MMMMOOOOOOOMMMM!!!” My son dragged out the name I’ve grown to love and disdain simultaneously. He flopped down on my bed next to me. I was sitting on the bed, legs crossed, laptop on my lap, and Pinterest (my newest obsession) pulled up on the screen.
“Yes, son?” I replied, not looking up from the computer. In fact I don’t really even remember saying it….but I’m sure I did. It’s just sort of like Pavlov’s dog. I’m trained to respond to the sound of my child’s voice even if I don’t want to.
“When are you going to make us diiiiinnnnnnner?” he said with a whine that would have normally sent chills down my spine and sent me into a psychotic monologue about children in Africa being grateful for rocks and how the Amish get up at 3:00am to get their breakfast milk for their Lucky Charms straight from a cow and then I’d throw in something about the pain of childbirth just to REALLY throw him off. But I was too absorbed in what I was reading to go into my rage.
“Probably around 6:00,” I said while my eyeballs were glued to the screen.
“Well…that’s interesting,” he said matter-of-factly, “because it’s 7:57 right now.”
(silence)
“MOM!” he exclaimed.
I turned the laptop towards him, “What do you think about this DIY table and bench set? Do you think I could build it?”
“DIY means….?”
“Do it yourself.”
“Which means YOU…build it yourself?”
“Yes.”
“So you would probably need to use a saw?”
“Hmmmm….probably”
“Then…..I’m gonna go with “No.’”
I sighed. His eyes glazed over and I knew I was losing him fast. I was either going to have to pull myself away from the computer or he was going to call 911 on me. Even worse….he’d call his Dad.
“Alright, alright,” I finally said in a defeated tone. “Eat a fiber bar to hold you over for just a minute…you need some fiber in your diet anyway. First, I want to see how they made this water feature with a screen. (Curse you Lowe’s and your “Build It” Pinterest board.)
“I can’t” he said. “Abby ate all the fiber bars yesterday.”
“All?” I looked at him with my eyebrows raised. “There was a whole box!”
“Yeah well, remember how yesterday she kept coming in here saying she was hungry?”
“Yeah”
“And you just kept telling her to grab a snack?”
(My mind traveled back to yesterday….Curse you Travel Channel and your Travel Bucket List Pinterest Board)
“Well…..” he paused for dramatic effect, “I guess she just wanted fiber bars. AND……” (another pause for dramatic effect) “I’m guessing that’s why she’s been in the bathroom all day.
“Is she OKAY?” I asked wide-eyed.
“Well….I haven’t gone by there to check because the DOG won’t even get close to the bathroom! And, I’m not the Dog Whisperer, but…..I think……that’s probably NOT a good sign.”
“Hmmmmm….” I said as my eyes looked around the room as my brain analyzed the situation. “I thought it has been rather quiet today.”
“Yeah,” Marcus agreed as he pulled himself up off the bed. “It’s been pretty nice. I’m thinking we should give her 278% of her daily fiber intake EVERYDAY!”
I responded, “A….If you figured that percentage up correctly then we are going to start your applications to med school, Doogie Howser. And B…..why do you smell so BAD?” my face contorted with disgust. “When was the last time you put on deodorant?”
I’ve loved raising a son…no drama….no BFF breakups….no Justin Bieber. Give the boy a rubber band, a stick, and a bottle of Gatorade (full or empty) and he’s happy for 12 hours. But the one thing I’m not loving….the “boy stench.” Moms are suppose to inherently have those “genes” where you can smell gross smells from your child and NOT feel the need to gag…..but I didn’t get those genes. When my tiny 4 year old kids were vomiting in the bathroom with the stomach flu I was on the other side of the house screaming stupid things at them like they were birthing a child into the world… “IT’S OKAY, HUNNY, YOU’RE DOING GREAT!!” (gag, gag) “JUST BREATHE!” (cough) “MOMMY’S RIGHT HERE!” (cough, gag) “YOU CAN DO IT, BABY!” (Yeah, so take guess at who WASN’T up for the “Best Supporting Mommy” award that year?)
“I put on deodorant the last time I took a shower,” he said in his ‘DUH’ voice.
“And that was when?”
“Tuesday.”
“Dude, it’s Sunday.”
“Maybe I meant to say Friday then.”
“Marcus you are 10 1/2 years old. You need to take a shower every day. Kids that will be in 5th grade take showers every day.”
“I’m not going to make it to the 5th grade.”
“Why”
“Because you haven’t FED me since I turned 9.”
Touche.
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