Part of me is going “whee!! Dedicated writing time!”
Part of me is saying, “He’s so little — how is he going to manage with all those big kids at that big school?”
Then, “When did he turn five? When did I become the mother of a five year old?”
Then, because if you knew him you’d see this is a viable possibility: “What if he’s organizing a prison riot during recess?”
The Legend of The Boy.
My son is a character. I am told this is not surprising: he comes by it honestly. He’s the one who came up with “Fatten down the hatches!” (He’s since learned it’s really “Batten.”) He makes me laugh, and as much as I love the free time, there’s definitely a slightly poignant shift as I rattle around my empty house, wondering what, exactly, is amiss.
So for those of you not on my Facebook page (and because frankly I am scattered today), here are some of The Boy’s greatest hits from the past few months.
The Boy’s random quote of the day: “When I date… I’m gonna look FANCY.”
The Boy & I, thumb wrestling. “You’re not allowed to count faster!” he says. “Only I’M allowed to!” I ask him why that is. “Medical reasons,” he replies.
The Boy: “Mom, I’m hungry!” Me: “So have a carrot.” The Boy: “I’m not *that* hungry.”
The Boy and I have made a newspaper. He wants to sell it door to door. “You start the sale,” he says, “then I’ll go in for the kill.” And yes… he’s five. #soproud
My Boy is a fishing god, apparently. Caught 18 — count ’em — EIGHTEEN fish today. “You know,” he mused, “I should do this more often.”
The Boy has constructed a castle of cardboard boxes — I’m to report there, with a secret password to enter. “How about ‘lollipop’?” I suggest. He wrinkles his nose. “How about something more sophisticated,” he replies. “Like… ‘fighterjets.'”
I have accidentally run over The Boy’s Green Lantern sticker with my office chair, mangling it. He now says I have broken his heart in two, that he doesn’t even know me any more, and that I am not invited to his birthday party. Am now eyeing the multitude of packing boxes and wondering what postage would be to send a 44 pound boy to Australia.
I said: “Please play for a bit while Mommy works.” The Boy heard: “Please turn the house into the inside of a goat’s stomach while my back is turned.”
The Boy: “if I were a superhero for real, I could fight bad guys every day… with my laser vision! BOOYAH!” He is so my kid.
The Boy is officially enrolled in Kindergarten. We drove up to drop off paperwork, and I told him “this is where you’re going to be going to school.” He looked, curious, and said, “so this is college?”
The Boy and I at the park, watching a pair of Huskies out on a walk. Then, one mounts the other. I try to ignore it, say “oh, look at the trees” and he blinks, looks at me, and whispers in a faux British voice, “Shocking.”
The Boy makes up his own karate moves. “This is a combination of a duck and a kick!” Big, feral smile. “It’s a DICK!” I could not keep a straight face.
The Boy’s new favorite song: “Bad” by Michael Jackson. I am being punished for something. He also thinks Pearl Jam should change their name to something catchier: “The Pearl Jams.”
Got lost on the way home with The Boy. Guy cuts me off, then proceeds to go 7 mph and turn on blinker randomly. “I see you’re lost, ” I mutter, already at the end of my rope. The Boy then yells out: “So are we, woman!”
“You see that tree? That’s really a man in a tree suit,” The Boy says, pointing. “I’M ONTO YOU, TREE!”