Funny Sh*t My Son Says

How did Oscar Wilde’s parents discipline him? How much time did Dorothy Parker spend in time-out? Perhaps it is a little presumptuous and even a little egotistical to compare myself to the parents of two of most witty writers to ever live. Perhaps my child isn't the next Oscar Wilde but he is exceptionally witty and clever. Simply put: He is the funniest person that I ever met.
So to commemorate my first son's thirteenth birthday. Here are some of his witticisms:

• I got an idea. Let me do your taxes and you can let me keep all the money I save you.
• If college doesn’t work out, I can be the guy who makes guacamole at Chipotle. I make delicious guacamole.
• I could never be rock star because I could not wear skinny jeans.
• Mom, are all your friends cooler than you?
• “About 90-percent of the people I meet are dumbasses,” he said, which triggers a disapproving look from his mother. “Have you never been to middle school? If I didn’t cuss, they would think I was a freak.’
• The difference between Madonna and Prince is that Madonna is a woman and Prince just acts like one.
• The only thing, Mom, that could make this Prince song worse is your dancing.
• We don’t entertain. We go to other people’s houses for entertainment.
• I cannot be funny on spot. I need to mock others and feed off their stupidity to truly be hilarious.
• I don’t debate for fun. I debate because other people are stupid and I need to let them know that.
• You just say that you are supporter of the arts to make yourself look better and smarter. No one really gives a crap about the arts.
• Mom, I sounded so smart in science class…No, mom that was sarcasm. I was talking about cabbage. No one sounds smart talking about cabbage.
• I don't really enjoy writing and even work that hard at it. I am just good at it with no effort all.

Happy Birthday to my dear son who has the perfect combination of smarts, wit, good looks and charm to become a great man and inspiring leader since he already is a great son and brother.

Engagement Revisited: Our Love Is a Purple Dented Volvo

“Boring” was the one word response that I got from my husband when I emailed him the story of our engagement.

“Boring! This story could be a metaphor for our entire relationship as it foreshadows all the future collisions that we will survive,” I typed and hit sent.

“I didn’t know our relationship was a purple Volvo with a dent in it,” he replied.

Yes, our love is a dented purple Volvo and today on fourteen year wedding anniversary, I recall the day of our Engagement (A rewrite from the boring version that I originally sent my husband.)

Six month dating anniversary, March 23, 1996. She was joyful. He was nervous. Harsh Texas winds. A canceled picnic lunch and a defunct stroll in the park left him struggling for a romantic back-up plan in a rather grim, culturally barren city. Window shopping at the mall followed by a lunch at a Thai restaurant was the best he could, or so she thought.

After brushing her hair one last time, she heard Van Morrison’s Crazy Love and walked into the living room to discover her boyfriend on bended knee with an open ring box and a slight quiver in his hand. Before he could ask, she said, “Yes.”

Giggles, hugs and kisses followed until they finally left for lunch. Excitement got the better of him as he failed to check the rearview mirror and backed into a moving purple Volvo. The perfect beginning to a collision filled relationship…

Happy Anniversary, my brilliant and gorgeous husband who truly is a saint for putting up with my histrionics and bad cooking. You’re stuck with me forever.

NST or No Speak Text

No one would ever accuse me of being a particularly ethical person, so when my twelve-year son was lazy enough to leave his Facebook account open on his computer, I had no choice. I had to snoop through his messages.

Since snooping truly is one of the great perks of motherhood, I was rushing with adrenaline to get a peek into my son’s life since he tells me nothing other than “whatever” and “yeah.” But my spying quickly halted when I got to something that looked like HGFGD WFTYKPL BHLT. Not a vowel or a mark of punctuation anywhere in sight.

Now I know that my son goes to one of the best middle schools in town, and they tell me he is gifted and talented. So, one would think that the boy could write polysyllabic words and use fancy things like colons and semi-colons, but his time is too valuable to write in complete sentences. What I call articulation and competent literacy he calls "uncoolness." He tells me all the time that I am lame for sending him text messages with capital letters and periods.

So as I stare at the wall of capital consonants, I would be better off reading Braille or Russian since the extent of texting knowledge is any Prince song from the 1980s and WTF. I soon give up and hope that my child isn’t selling pot out of our basement or making plans to lose his virginity to an $8.00 whore on Colfax. But these are the things that I will never know until a police officer comes knocking on our door because I NST.

The Pep Talk

Our knuckles slam into each other as we both reach for the volume button on the car radio when Pumped Up Kicks comes on with its catchy melody and clever homicidal chorus.

“Mom, you are too old to like that song,” said the twelve-year-old middle schooler who has never experienced social alienation a day in his life.

“I like it. It sums up high school for me,” said his kindhearted, gentle mother with a delicate smile.

“Psycho! My mom is a psycho. That song is about killing people. Did you want to kill people?”

“Of course not. No. Absolutely not. Well, not exactly….probably not. At least not in real life…maybe in my head. You know what… it is complicated. Fantasies of homicide and suicide fill the teenage experience. Then you grow up and those sick fantasies fade away and are replaced by a whole another slew of dreams and hopes that ultimately go unfilled until you eventually die unpublished, broke and alone.”

“You are a terrible mother. Do you ever listen to yourself? That is not something a good mother would say.”

“Son, you are a bright kid with a bright future ahead of you. Do not kill yourself or others. Better?”

“See you are the reason, I never have friends come over. You have serious problems.”