When I first starting blogging, or journaling as those of us on AOL at the time called it, my kids were small and saying funny things faster than I could type them up. Over time, the funny stuff started to wane as they either:
A. Realized I was writing everything for the whole world (read: the seven people that read) to see.
B. Developed hormones and lost the funny.
More than likely, it was secret option C. All the above.
They are still funny. But it comes in spits and spells, and usually so far apart in occurance that the mere shock causes me to forget immediately.
I am driving down the road. The twelve-year-old says out of the blue, "I wish I could get a job. I need money."
It never occured to me to ask him what his monetary needs were. Instead, I pulled the old don't-wish-your-life-away standard parental lecture that was given to me some twenty-five years prior.
That was the end of the converstation regarding money. Although, he was concerned over the cost of my monthly prescription when I picked it up.
I took the boys with me to my writers' group. Afterwards, we pulled into McDonald's. We are sitting in the drive-thru line. As I contemplated shining my high beams on the car that was cutting the line, Nicholas (the twelve-year-old) says, "At the rate I am getting money, if I ever get a girlfriend, we will have to eat off the dollar menu." This occurred about three hours from the last comment regarding money.
I. Cracked. Up.
I couldn't get home fast enough in order to tweet and facebook that statement. (No texting and driving for this chick.)
Then, if that wasn't enough, about an hour later, he comes sauntering through the living room carrying the dog. Our seven- pound Chihuahua mix. And then told me, " The I-feel-rich-so-I-feel-the-need-to-carry-a-toy-dog-around effect."
Apparently he must have come into some money in the dining room.
Why can't every day be like this?