Why are boys again?

So, got a lot accomplished this weekend–but oi! So much to do!

*  ZoomBoy’s hair has been looking a little… weird over the last week. He had this section on his forehead that stuck straight up–remember the spooge-mousse scene in Something About Mary?  Yes. It was doing that. 


Anyway, ZB and I went to get our hair cut, because his was obviously out of hand, and it wasn’t until we were in line at Great Clips that I realized…

“Oh my God. Did you cut your hair?”

“Yup.”

“Why…”  I flailed here. “Why just that little chunk.“

ZoomBoy shrugged. “It was in my way.”

So, picture this. A 14 YO boy who wishes to attract other 14 YO people for various mating rituals A. Cannot seem to remember to brush his teeth or put on deodorant, and B. Just randomly cuts off chunks of his hair because it’s in his eyes.

“Why didn’t you ask for a haircut?” I demanded.

Another shrug. “Why?”

Ladies and gentleman, my ZoomBoy. He will never kiss another human in a romantic way at this point, and now you know why.

*  Also a ZoomBoy story–

He told us tonight that Let it Go was actually the story of how boys and girls break wind differently.

With girls it’s “Conceal don’t feel, don’t let it show…”

With boys it’s, “Let it go! Let it go!”

And that song’s popularity makes sense now, right?

*  Squish fell down on the soccer field and sprained her ankle. She’s so stoic. She just goes and goes and goes and is fine and suddenly she’s crying.  

It was like, “Honey! You should have told us it still hurt, we would have wrapped it this morning!”

*  One of Squish’s teammates has a little brother, and we had the following conversation.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m knitting a sock.”

“That’s neat. Can you make mittens?”

“Uh, yes. Want to see my mittens?”  (I pull out fingerless mitts)

“They’re too big.”

“Yes, well, they were made for me.”

“Can you make some my size?”

“Yes.”

“Can you make them green?”

“Yes–but I have my green yarn at home.”

“What do you have with you?”

“Uh, this kind and this kind…”

“I like this kind. Can you make me mittens out of this kind of yarn?”

“Sure you don’t want to wait until I can get home and get some green?”

“No, this kind is good.”

I take the yarn– a fine sock yarn–and begin to cast on.

“When will my mittens be done?” he asked.

“Not nearly as soon as you think they should be,” I told him, and his mother laughed hysterically.

“You really don’t have to make him a pair!” she told me.

“Oh no,” I told her. “It’s not often that you’re commanded to knit, and knit now, and knit faster. I’m gonna enjoy this!”

For the record? They’re almost done.