ince we are now settling into our new home and our new lives, we are trying to spend some quality time together as a family. For the last couple of weeks, we have been treating ourselves to dinner on Sunday night and sampling some of the local restaurants in the new neighborhood.
Me: What is his last name?
Me: What is your last name?
S: My mother is a pain… (That’s what it sounded like when he said the last names)
Me: Are they the same? No? Then that’s why he has one and you don’t.
S: But Mooooooommmmm….
Since I don’t like such generalizations, I asked him what he was talking about. “I asked for a dog and you also said NO.” Ah, the DOG conversation. I reminded Skywalker about his failed attempt on being a pet owner, which ended with us having to give away his guinea pig… less than a year ago. “Oh,” he said, “but you won’t let me have a cell phone either! I have to wait until I’m 13!” I reminded him that I had promised to THINK about it when he was 13 not that he was going to get one then. And then, my son pouted. Sunshine and I just started laughing at his reaction. We were once again the “meanest” ever (so if any of you thought you had the title this week, we have usurped it). As I paid for the delicious dinner that I had just provided my son, including the dessert that HE wanted, I told him that once he could have a dirt bike, a dog, AND a cell phone – “Yeah, I know, when I can pay for it myself, in my own home,” he said. (Have I said this THAT many times?)
As we walked home from the restaurant, my NINE YEAR OLD SON turned around and said, “You know, when I move out, I AM going to have a dog, AND a cell phone, AND a dirt bike… I will have a nice pad, where I can entertain the SWEET LADIESSS…” Sunshine caught me as I simultaneously tripped, choked on my own spit, had heartburn and had this image of my son:
“Let it go. Don’t worry,” said Sunshine, “with that repertoire, the line of ladies will probably be a bunch of posters taped to the wall.”