Monday, October 22, 2007

Another Day in Stepford

Yesterday was another day for ridiculous questions... one from each of my children. Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE the fact that my children feel like they can talk to me. Having my children feel this way is very near the top of my “Things I want to do differently from my Mother” list. However, as with most things in life, anything worthwhile is often a challenge. So, yesterday I was challenged, once in the morning while waiting in the carpool line, and once last night at bath time.

Act I – Carpool

My Daughter: “Mom, is celebrating Halloween worshiping the devil?”

Me (adjusting the rear view mirror so I can make eye contact while trying to not drive up onto the curb because I’m suddenly really irritated): “WHO told you THAT?”

(I need to know this information way more than I need to answer the question. This mother is someone I want to avoid at all costs. I never EVER want to find my two-martini self at a dinner party with her. It will not go well.)

Her: “Kevin”

Me (dreading the answer to this): “Is he in your class?”

Her (to my dismay): “Yes.”

(CRAP! Now I have to see this mother at class parties and open houses. Just super. Ok, now to answer the question without disclosing the age inappropriate information, that I do not believe in a personified devil, so I don’t see how it could be possible that celebrating Halloween could be worshiping something that does not exist.)

Me: “Well, what do you think?”

Her: “Well, I don’t know.”

(To my son’s credit, he is doing his best eye roll in the seat beside her—thank you God that he already gets this.)

Me: “Well, do you have fun on Halloween spending time with your family and your friends?”

Her: “Yes.”

Me: “Do we do anything bad on Halloween? Do we hurt people’s feelings or say bad things or do any of the things you know God doesn’t want us to do?”

Her: “No.”

Me: “Do you think God likes for us to have fun and enjoy ourselves?”

Her: “Yes.”

Me: “Well, then I don’t see anyway possible that celebrating Halloween could be worshiping the devil.”

Her: “Good. I like Halloween.”

Me: “Me too. Let’s REALLY decorate our yard a lot this year so ALL your friends from school can see it!”

Act II - Bath time

So last night we had TWO 6 pm soccer games at fields on the opposite ends of town. Not a doubt in my mind that Kevin’s mom somehow has control of my children’s soccer schedule. I mean, for the love of Pete, how is a working mom with a forty-five minute commute supposed to get two kids anywhere by 5:45 pm? Much less, dressed in soccer uniforms complete with the ridiculously difficult shin guards and cleats. Oh, and don’t forget they each also need their soccer balls and water bottles. The only thing that could have made it any better would have been if it had been my night for snacks.

Anyway, we all survive this drama... each of them get where they need to be on time, thank you very much to my son’s friend’s mother who got my son to his game, my boss for saying “ok” to me leaving at 4:15, and my husband who also left work early. We get home, get some food and get the kids in the bath. My daughter—downstairs in my bathroom so she can use the jetted tub and bath pillow I’ve yet to use—my son upstairs in the bathroom that connects his and his sister’s bedrooms. Then this:

Me (walking into where my son is taking his bath to make sure he is washing his hair and not just playing with the twelve action figures that are lined up for battle all around the tub): “You need to stop playing and wash your hair. If you need help getting all the shampoo out, just let me know.”

Him: “Mom, is it true that if you only have one ball in your ball sack that you can’t get married?”

(Father in Heaven, please let me get through this with a straight face.)

Me: “WHO told you THAT?”

Him: “Michael”

Me: “Why????”

Him: “Because he thinks it’s true.”

(Ok, at this point I’m going to let this line of questioning go. I really do not want or need to know if Michael or someone in his family has experience with a uniball. It does not help my straight face that my mind keeps picturing Michael’s dad, who looks a little like Lyle Lovett, naked with only one ball.)

Me: “No, it’s not true.”

Him: “How do you know?”

Me: “I’m married and I don’t have any balls OR a ball sack.”

(Ok, I know this was a stupid thing to say, but honestly, what you have done in my shoes?)

Him: “That’s different. You’re a girl.”

Me: “Ok, that’s fair. I do not BELIEVE there is any reason that a boy only having one ball couldn’t get married.”

Him: “Can you confirm that with Dad?”

Me: “Ok.”

I cruise downstairs and pose this question to my husband, who is blissfully car shopping on the internet. He won’t read my blog but can spend hours looking at the same three cars. Well, he couldn’t confirm or deny for laughing his butt off, so I took that as confirmation, climbed back up the stairs and found my son getting dressed for bed.

I say, “Dad agrees with me. Besides, you have two balls, aren’t getting married anytime soon and don’t need to worry about this anymore tonight. I love you. Good night.”

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