I am, admittedly, freaking out a little bit. I have become much calmer in my old age and less prone to overly dramatic fits (except about vacuuming. HUGE fits about vacuuming.). As a result of senile decline and the forced patience that teaching hormonally unbalanced teenagers has wrought upon me, I do not lose my cool easily. At least in front of others....HOWEVER, today, I am rattled and rattled with a vengeance.
The disturbance in my force began when Drew came home from school today. No, he's not the disturbance (at least, not today)! However, the first run-on sentence out of his mouth was.
Drew: Mom, I wanna go to Ally's house and she gave me her address and its reeeaaaalllllllllyyyyy close so can I go over there?
Me: Um, what?
I was arm deep in making soup and rolling out the rolls for dinner and sometimes, only sometimes, I don't multitask so well and thus cannot be distracted unless we want to eat burned soup. I said, ONLY SOMETIMES! You people laughing right now, ooooooohhhhh! Knock it off!
Anyway...
Drew: Can...I....go...to....Ally's.....house? (He's resorted to the slow and measured speech we use when Mommy's IQ has plunged again.)
Me: Who....is.....Ally?
Drew: Moooommmm! (Evidently this style of speech is only acceptable for him to use on his nonfunctional parents.)
Me: Okay! Sorry! Who is Ally?
Drew: She's in my class.
Me: Where's the paper with her address?
Drew: (Hands me a ragged edge of fuchsia paper with second grade style printed numbers cramped into the triangle.) Here!
Me: Okkkaaayy. Um, I see a phone number. Where's the address?
Drew: MOOOOMMMMM! She lives on Jack Creek Road! (Because the scribbled numbers accompanied with the hieroglyphics were supposed to make sense)
Me: Did she invite anyone else?
Drew: Nope. Just me.
Me: (slowly as the parental warning/paranoia alarm in my brain begins to wail) Just you?
Drew: (nonchalantly) Yep. Just me.
Me: Do you play with her at recess?
Drew: (the cool of only the young oozing from him) I play with LOTS of people. But, MOM, she really wants me to come over.
Mini-siren has escalated into a full blown tornado siren, designed for towns with populaces of 300,000. I'm looking at this slip of pink paper with the kind of horror reserved for small nonvenomous snakes slithering under the door or showing up in class via a student's backpack. (Ask not as BOTH have happened to me.) He's SEVEN! Seeeevvvvveeeeennnnnn. Aren't we a little young (I mostly mean me by this statement) to have to start worrying about the girls throwing themselves at him?
Brandon is snickering. No. Laughing outright at my changing tones and disappears into the den to watch television, leaving me alone with the madness. (Silly Gaylene! Let him buy a television for his man-cave and be surprised when I catch him chatting up contractors for mini-bathrooms installable in closets.)
Me: Well, I'll call her mom and see if she can come over later?
Drew: But I wanted to go to her house.
Me: (Clamping down on the siren and the yet unleashed Gaylene crazy) She can come over here first for a playdate, (voice drops to a mutter) a supervised playdate.
I'm sure it's completely innocent. I'm sure she's a lovely girl and I'll just adore her. However, I cannot blot out of my eyes the moment when I entered Drew's room six months ago and his unnamed friend convinced him to strip so they could play in their make-shift fort naked 'cause it was sooooo hot. (It was 77 in the house, people and Drew's room was on the cool side of the house.) Innocent. Probably. Weird. Definitely. Desire to ever have repeated. Negative four billion and seven.
Later, Drew informed me that CHASE, his friend who also lives near us, goes over and plays with Ally all the time.
Evidently, Mom is overreacting. Good thing that happens so infrequently.
(Do not even breathe the word "zombies".)
No comments:
Post a Comment