So the other morning, Mate’s dad called to update us on his health (a little skeery, but okay for the moment) and Zoomboy came into the kitchen. Mate’s dad hasn’t seen Zoomboy since… well… four years ago? Five. No, it was five. We’ve got the picture to prove it.
Anyway, I asked him if he wanted to talk to Zoomboy–because, yanno, a seven year old can almost converse like a real human being. The conversation–which I could only hear part of–went something like this.
“Dad’s dad. Okay.”
“Yes. My dad coaches.”
“Okay. Mom, he says bye.”
And I thought to myself, “And that right there ladies and gentlemen is three generations of minimalist communications at work. It’s a thing of fuckin’ beauty.”
This morning, after making lunches (and have I told you all that this makes me a hero? Seriously. Had no frickin’ idea.) I went in to see Squish putting on her socks. She was still wearing her nightgown and was lying back with her feet in the air, putting one on, then the other, and looking at them with sort of a dreamy admiration.
I hadn’t picked out these socks, nor had I picked out her outfit for the day, but there she was, in a pair of mismatched–and I mean COMPLETELY mismatched, one was ankle length, one went to mid-calf, one was purple and snowmen, one was pink and black checkerboard–socks, and her nightgown, looking at me with her little freckled cheeks all scrunched up.
“I got my socks on, mom.”
“Yeah you do.”
“Aren’t they pretty?”
Of course they were:-)
Also this morning, I walked by Chicken’s room. Chicken was rooting on her dresser for something, her back (and backside) to her bed. She was wearing her corduroy pants, and her cat was making sweet, heavenly, tender check&whisker lurve to her ass.
I stopped, and watched as that cat kept rubbing up against her back pockets like she was catnip with a tuna chaser, and said, “Uhm, that cat REALLY loves you.”
“Oh God–is Gordie kissing my ass again?” She turned around and scritched him behind the ears. “Yeah, he’s my bitch.”
When she goes away to school, that cat is never going to leave us alone. Bank on that. I’ll be wearing him like a needy gray “where’s my human?” necklace. Mark my words.
And Big T gets a ride to the bus stop for school twice a week, when I’m on my way to aqua aerobics. This morning, I almost forgot to drop him off. I had to kick him out of the car when we sat at the intersection. He looked at me reprovingly and I said, “Hey, you’re eighteen, at least I stopped the car!”
Well, we can’t all be sunshine and lollipops, can we?
Oh yeah– Talker’s Graduation is out on October 12th. In case that means anything to anybody:-)