A Bad Day at Basketball…

…is hilarious.

#5 had a basketball game on a Saturday when his Dad and I were both at work. I texted him at intermission to see how it went.

Me: How was basketball?

#5: I was fouled by a violent kid every play but it was never called and i never got the ball because of that then i couldnt play defence on him because he hurt me and grabed his way throughthen i was knocked down by him three times and the third time i hit my head and sat out for 8 minutes and we also lost by like twenty points so it really wasnt that fun until i got to cover someone else for 4 minutes at the end.

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Usually when I ask this question– whether in person, on the phone, or via text– I get a “fine” in response.

Me: Man, that sucks, bud. Sorry. At least you know you don’t play  like a jerk like that kid does. How is your head?

#5: Fine.

Me: You’re still handsome.

#5: …..

Me: Unless that kid beat you with an ugly stick.

#5: ……

Me: He didn’t, did he?

#5: No they wood count that as a foul on me because i came in contact with it.

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For more adventures with #5 and his amazing powers of observation, here’s a link to my post on Family Circle’s Momster blog, Doing the Dirty Work. It may or may not also have something to do with my mad housekeeping skillz.

I am Totally Paying Attention to You.

#5 was looming.

I don’t mean he was sulking and brooding in the corner; I mean he had the Rainbow Loom and assorted bands spread out all across the dining room table.

His sudden reinterest in the Loom was, unsurprisingly, spurred by an argument. A little girl came to visit: our babysitter’s niece, age 3. She spent most of Saturday at our house and as it turns out is just as inquisitive and stubborn as #5. At the babysitter’s suggestion, they played with the Loom and found themselves at odds over many things: namely, the right way to do it, and whether maroon should be referred to as “red”, “pink”, or “purple”. He rehashed so many of their arguments for me that I could tell he is smitten. I fully expect them to marry.

Sunday morning all the supplies were still out on the table. #5 ran in through the door after Sunday school and went right to it.

There is an internal law in a kid’s mind that says unless someone witnesses every step of what they are doing, it didn’t happen. I am often called to witness. At times this witnessing is a mutually enjoyable experience; this was not one of those times.

This was one of those times where I didn’t care about the damn Rainbow Loom and I could tell he wasn’t listening to me anyway and would have been just as happy with the dog as a witness. All morning he kept dragging me away from what I was trying to finish, making me watch something that to my eye looked exactly like what he had shown me five minutes before, and would then run right over anything I attempted to say in response with his own internal, out-loud monologue. This is when I would walk away, invariably to be pulled back several minutes later.

I did, finally, get his attention.

#5: Look! Look!

Me: What.

#5: I’m inventing a new weave!

Me: Cool.

#5: Do you know what this design is going to be?

Me: What.

#5: Awesome, that’s what.

Me: Nice.

#5: Man, I hope this holds together when I pull it off the loom.

Me: Man, me too. Otherwise you’re just a complete and utter, abject failure.

#5 looked up with his mouth open to find me smiling. I could see him working through how to respond, first thinking you’re not allowed to say that! followed by an immediate realization of who he was actually talking to. He and the two sisters in the room all laughed at the same time.

#5: Oh my God. I can’t believe you said that.

Me: I can’t believe you finally listened to me.

He carried on looming.

Me: Hey, let me know how that works out for you, okay?

Despite all that, I would like to report I am now the proud owner of two new bracelets (of a traditional weave).

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How do you get your kids’ attention?

 

The Last Time This Will Ever Happen

We were watching the Miss America pageant last month and #5 was waiting for his turn in the shower, dividing his attention between the television screen and spinning around in circles.

He spends an awful lot of time spinning in circles. He also has abs of steel. I do not believe these two things are coincidental. I’m working on him to make his own exercise video, but I need someone else to do the camera work because I get dizzy just watching him.

I heard his sister leave the bathroom while I was in the kitchen and called out to him that he could go in.

No response.

I walked out to find him standing completely still, transfixed, staring at the screen. Bikini-clad Miss America contestants with their million-dollar-smiles, and other assets, paraded across the stage and down the runway, one after the other. Hot American chicks as far as the camera could see.

Me: Hey bud, the shower’s open.

#5: {silence}

Me: Yo. Shower?

#5: {silence}

Me, stepping in front of him: Do you want to stay and watch all the pretty girls in bikinis?

#5: {looks at me, then back at the TV, coming out of his trance} Eww! No!

He ran out of the room. Another beautiful moment of boyhood, never to be repeated again.

Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I met #5’s friend’s parents because of a pickaxe accident? Yeah, that happened. You can read about in my new post over on Family Circle’s Momster blog: Meet the Parents…the Awkward Version.

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Now THAT’S a sandwich!