Week of the Boy

I think my son is so fantastic. He hangs out in his underwear all day and snores like a freight train at night. He loves bald people and he wants to be a speed-racing Fireman when he grows up–plus have 5 baby guls (girls) that his wife is apparently going to take care of all by herself since he is planning on being out of town, like all the time. He plays make-believe 24/7, not unlike Mia at his age, and it’s freaking funny. He’s dirty and snotty and imaginative and animated and brilliant. He’s my guy, and hanging out with him during the day is pretty much the coolest way to spend my time.

So I told him so.

Me: Merrick, you are so cool.

Merrick: I know. Thanks.

Me: Am I cool, too? (Prompting, yes. I’m teaching social etiquette, y’all.)

Merrick: No, Mom. You’re a girl. (This was said with a hint of “duh”.)

What the heck.

 

I get a shower. I make the mistake of trusting him in the living room for more than 5 minutes by himself. I come out and check for any amount of things to be broken and any number of drinks to be poured out God-knows-where. But I can find nothing. Says Merrick: “Want to see what I did for you, Mom?”

“Uh…sure?” Oh crap.

He leads me to Caleb’s office where I discover about 50 stickers all over the door and the wall. It takes me forever to get them off, during which time Merrick finds the tape.

Awesome.

 

Later on, I’m getting dressed. Merrick comes sauntering into my room like he owns the place. “So, Mom–did you lose your pounds?”

Ung.

 

I am folding clothes and I hear him snorting away back in his room. “What are you doing son?” I call. “Oh, just blowing my nose Mom!” he says. “Good for you!” I marvel, because my kid is taking initiative where his boogers are concerned.

I was wrong.

“Mom! Can you come help me wipe my nose?”

“Yes, I can, but don’t you have kleenex back there?”

“No!”

“Well, then, how were you blowing your…?” And I enter the room and he’s been sitting in his chair the whole time, blowing his nose into THIN AIR; snot is all over his face, all over his shirt, all over the chair and his hands and the carpet–he sits there, beaming, because he is so darn proud of himself.

 

Me: “Merrick, did you throw your corndog crumbs away like I asked you too?”

Merrick: “No.”

Me: “Well then, where did you put them?”

Merrick: “On Mia’s Bible.” (Again with the duh-tone.)

This Bible is in no way, shape, or form anywhere near the kitchen where he was having lunch. The trash can was less than 3 feet away–instead, he takes the crumbs back to his room and puts them on Mia’s Bible, which is in a drawer?

Can someone please explain males to me?

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About Toni

Mom. Wife. Artist. I take care of the kids and pretend to clean sometimes. I can cook spagetti and I have never been arrested. View all posts by Toni

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