It is becoming increasingly difficult to get good prictures of my nine-year-old. Despite that for the first five years of his life, I collected more images of Sally than my other two put together. Good thing. I guess I should keep this in mind with Zip and Fidge as I guess there will come a time when they, too, become less cooperative…

Anyways, now, he’s either hamming it up, a total spazz… making for just downright unattractive photos, or he’s a sullen mope… again not condusive to images that I want to keep for a lifetime. Oh, yes. I still take them… with the intent to use them strategically at opportune times in the future.

Few and far between but I get ‘em where I can…

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We head to town this morning. Bank. Library. Groceries. Pick up papers.

Meet with our liason with School District. The nice lady who ensures we are, in fact, teaching our kid something at home. The meetings always make me nervous. I find myself overcome with feelings of highschool inadequacy as I anticipate having to admit we haven’t completed our homework. I will have to present unfinished little workbooks confirming we haven’t been working diligently away on our ‘modules’… but likely she already knows this. I’ll feel compelled to list the things we are in fact getting formally (read: academically) accomplished, even though it might be a short list… but likely she has already determined that we aren’t a particularly structured bunch and already knows this.

Sally will confirm what lady already knows by stating casually, ‘nothing’, when she asks what we’ve been doing. I will flush, and kick him frantically under the table give him a look, silently reminding him of what we have been doing over these past two months and in my eyes he will read, ‘tell her about:

the garden… the camera… chess… camping… your first triathlon… baking… cleaning up after baking… how, after so many years HATING it, how much you absolutely LOVE reading… THE READING!’

And he will not understand my pleading stare, no matter how hard I will him from the depths of my corneas, and he will sit, his feet casually kicking the legs of his chair, as we all hang on the word, ‘nothing’.

And then I will begin to babble… as though negotiating frantically for our lives.

But, as with meetings past, she will finish by saying, we’re doing great, give us a few ideas and bid farewell. I will breathe a huge sigh of relief and as we walk out to the van, I will ask, incredulous, “how can you tell her we do nothing?”

He’ll look up at me with a mischievious grin, and as it grows into a downright evil smile, reply so very knowingly, “I dunno….”

Little shit.

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Having one child at home overnight…. easy, peasy. Fucking lemon squeezy!
My eldest child chose karate and staying home with mum over camping in sub-zero weather, no propane for propane heater (”Jesus Christ, woman, we’re just gone for one night.”), carcinogenic weinies, and a porta-pottie. Oh, and again, no propane for the heater. In temps that dropped below freezing.

The kid’s nine. He knows from stooo-pid!!

So I had some good company with my frozen pizza and AI. One nine year old boy, given he has a little time in front of one screen or another, is fun to be around. Downright helpful, in fact. Without any drama.

We picked out groceries together. We cooked together (yes, I said frozen pizza- it still needs to be cooked!). We made some lovely strawberries and whipped cream for dessert together. We CLEANED UP together. We got all cozy and settled in and read a chapter of The Golden Compass together. We muddled and stumbled over big, long, ridiculously unfamiliar words together. And, finally, we got all cozy and settled in for an evening of TOOB together.

It wasn’t my night alone. I’d have liked that.

This was better.

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Sally, “I’m gonna make some money.”

Dad, “Oh, yeah? How?!?”

“Lemme show ya.”

Into our local grocery store. Sally sidles up to the till, “Can I have a Lucky 7’s, please?”

Cashier, “Is your mum or dad here?”

“Yup.” Points to dad.

Dad approaches. “What are you doing?”

“Makin’ some big money. It’s pretty easy.”

Dad shrugs, daring the angelic new gambler and allows the purchase of the scratch ‘n win.

They head out to the van. A coin for scratching somehow materializes in Sally’s hand.

Nuttin’. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero.

“Rats!”

“Hmmm-mmmmmm…..”

He won two bucks on Monday when I bought him his first one…. OOPS!

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