Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Supermom senses... tinglingLast night, I'm making dinner (pizza with homemade dough, homemade sauce, provolone cheese and the cutest little mini meatballs) and The Kid sprints in from the back door.
He runs over to the bookshelf, scans it for a second, yanks out a dictionary and heads for the door.
I tug out my iPod earphones. "Hold it, Mister!"
He stops and spins around, wearing the look of feigned innocence he wears when I ask him if he's put away his clean laundry before he starts a video game.
"Where are you going with that?"
The image of him, a couple days ago, dragging the rickety ladder over to his equally rickety basketball hoop so he could practice dunking flashes through my mind. But I can't, for anything in the world, imagine how the Webster's can be used as a piece of athletic equipment. "And just what are you going to do with it?"
"Um... look up words. I'm doing my homework."
"... Okay, then."
so... maybe after eleven years, I'm still getting used to the parenting thing. Or maybe I've watched too much "Malcolm in the Middle".