Sunday, November 14, 2010

A Minor Miscommunication

I am in the kitchen, cleaning up dishes. My husband is out taking care of his mother. Zane is in the living room, playing. I can't see him, but I can hear him talking to himself, as well as the cats.

"Are these my balls, Mama?"

I froze. "I'm not ready for my child to be asking these questions! Why doesn't he ever ask his father this stuff??? Why isn't that man here right now to answer this question????" Only in my mind there was a LOT of cursing thrown in there for good measure. I am also thinking, "Wow! Five words strung together as a complete sentence! And I understood every word! I'm not hearing impaired after all! Yay!"

Zane came walking around the corner, carrying a plastic bag full of those soft, squishy balls that they sometimes throw to the crowd at sporting events. These in particular were decorated with the San Antonio Spurs logo. Someone had given my husband a bag of them, and I guess he had left it on the couch.

I exhaled heavily. Zane looked at me.

"Okay, Mama?" My son asked.

"Okay now, Son," I responded.


  1. Too funny. I'm still dreading the day of the "Talk" with either of my kids. Planning on faking a coma when it comes up.

  2. The other day Child 2 asked me to tickle his penis. I've been showering ever since and I still don't feel right.


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