Or perhaps you, much like me, suffer from delusions of grandeur and think your life is so ridiculously funny, so entertaining, sometimes so downright tragic, you should have your own reality show.
Welcome to the 7th Fly on the Wall sponsored by my Fairy Blogmother, Karen from Baking in a Tornado. Today, 13 bloggers will invite our readers to be a fly on the wall of our homes.
So. Moving day. Remember when I put the majority of my belongings into storage? We're in the midst of all of this and The Tester and I, we decide to stop at the grocery store not only for drinks, but for all the items needed to have one last grill out, blow out, party with the neighbors. So we park. I look at him, run my hand through his hair. "Yes?" he asks. "Your hair is unacceptable," I respond. Me, who has been bitching all day because I do not have my make-up on. My eyeliner is like a lifeline folks. He smiles. He's
getting my sense of humor. Finally. And he laughs, "Well, put make-up on!" he gasps. OMG He wins.From the backseat I hear Tiny Bard, "Why do I have to live in a house full of retards?"
(being that I live two hours away...Is he referring to his dad and brother? His dad's roommates? His dad's girlfriend?) When asked to be more specific, Tiny Bard retracted his comment and stated, "Just my little brother. Everyone else is smart." Which is what I had figured he meant.
"You need to stop, we are in public. I will not have this argument with you out here." From a nine year old to his older brother.
I've told you folks before about my bad luck? Well on my birthday after dinner, The Mustang wouldn't start. I've already told you about the spiders. My phone broke that week, too. Again. Shut the fuck up, do not judge.
So we're at a car show. That The Tester is racing in. Some clown behind us in the stands has some asinine comments to make. But he's so dumb he doesn't know it's a Mustang he's insulting. So, my oldest son turns around, smirks, and says, "It's a Mustang. Being that you're at a car show you should probably know that."
Me and my little dude have this thing. He says, "Mommies" and I say his name, in plural form. We go back and forth and hug, kiss and giggle until he gets bored. Then he'll throw his cat's name at me, and I'll respond with my cat's name. It's an association game. With hugs. I win.
The Tester and I took Tiny Artist to Cracker Barrel for his birthday dinner. (If you don't know wtf I am talking about, Google. Now.) When we walked in, "Mommy, this isn't a restaurant, this is a store!"
So, in passing, I may have told The Tester that I had a conversation with his mother in which she exclaimed, "You write erotica!? I love erotica! Especially vampires."
"That's what I write, " I said. With a smile. (Because fuck me, Vampires are hot.)
The Tester closed his eyes. He shuddered. He looked at me and said, "I did not need to know that. You ruined my life."
I referred to The Tester as "The Tester". Both of my boys giggled. "You do know that I call y'all The Tinys? Your Daddy, 'The Artist'? I sort of refer to all of you by your 'blogger names', " I said.
My youngest looked at me with big eyes. "We have all become our fictional selves," he said. So serious. Then he giggled. And said, "Hey, Mommy? Can I call you Sleepy Bard?"
My kids rock!
I leave you today with quotes from Tiny Artist. This kid. Nine years old. He's figured out life better than most adults have.
"If a Mommy has to be told her son died, wouldn't it be easier to tell her in the morning? Cause if you tell her at night she'll be so sad and probably cry herself to sleep. If you tell her in the morning she has all day to cry and be sad. Maybe she can sleep at night."
"Mommy, you're 25 right?"
"Mommy, you were around for WWII weren't you? Wait . . .No. That was like a billion years ago."
"Mommy, we can leave whenever you want. My phone is charged enough to survive a car ride."
"Mommy," in a convenience store, "Do you have any spare change?" (What the fuck dude, you a homeless person?)
"Mom? I have a plan. For my life. My plan for life is to stay single. That way no one ever breaks up with me and I never have to deal with heart break. "
(I may have cried. Who in the hell needs to have that revelation at nine years old? Yes, I cried.)
"Mommy? Did you know there is snotty people out there that will marry someone just for their money?"
"Mommy? People go crazy sometimes. They kill each other. Sometimes, they kill themselves. I looked it up online."
Oh Jesus Fuck. Protect my baby from all the evil in the world. He's NINE.
Why in the good fuck does he know about death, murder, heart break?