Best. Boy Child Story. Ever.

Boy and Girl Child brought home mid-year reports. Which are like report cards, except they are not written on the actual card. Why they were not just written on the actual card, I have no idea. Who am I to judge? There is probably some school law regarding it.

Anyway. They brought them home. And being siblings and all, they compared them.

As I've mentioned before, Boy Child has struggled since his early entrance into this world. He's been shorter and slower and a little behind, whereas Girl Child has legs up to her neck and reads at a sixth grade level.

Lately, though, Boy Child has gotten taller. He's still a skinny thing, but he's solid. He's always had excellent deductive reasoning skills and he's always been a thoughtful little soul, but lately, he can do math in his head. And lately? His reading scores have dramatically improved. And by dramatically I mean I went to visit his teacher and she said he was reading on grade level and I began to cry, right in the classroom, with sheer pride.

To overachievers this sounds weird. I know. I'm an overachiever.

But to me, as a mother, who had to see this little child lying in an incubator, fighting to be alive? This is nothing short of an absolute miracle.

Boy Child, however, was concerned by his report and came to me and said, "Are you sad that Girl Child did better in reading than I did?"

I said, "Boy Child! Oh my Lord! NO! You did AWESOME! You are AVERAGE! Boy Child! Average! Being average ROCKS! When you were born you weren't supposed to LIVE! Then the doctor said you would be profoundly retarded! The fact that you are average is amazing!"

Boy Child paused, "The doctor said I would be profoundly retarded?!?!?!"

I said, "Yeah! What did he know, right?"

Boy Child said, "Mom? I want to take my report and fax it to the doctor and then call him up on the phone and be all like, 'Hey Doctor! SUCK IT! I'M AVERAGE!'"



I wonder. I wonder if I can ever make him see how very far above average he really is.

You wish you were my husband.

Jason: What do you want for Christmas?

Chick: I dunno. Pajamas?

Jason: Chick, how many pair of pajamas do you OWN?

Chick, thinking: Eleven hundred?

Jason: Do you really want more pajamas or are you just saying that because it's easy?

Chick: I just like saying the word "pajamas", I think. It's such a happy, happy word. It's all like, "Sleep! I'm coming to see you! Yay!"

Jason, frustrated: Well, what do you really want?

Chick: I have no idea. NOT car parts.

Jason: Why do you say that?

Chick: Because for the first several major gift-giving occasions? You gave me car parts.

Jason, thinking: Did I?

Chick: Yes. You gave me windshield wiper blades and then? Hubcaps. And after that? One time? You called up my dad and invited everyone over and I was so freaking sure you were going to propose and you brought me into the dining room and everyone gathered around and you told me to close my eyes? And when I opened them instead of the diamond ring I was totally expecting? You gave me a t.v.

Jason, howling with laughter.

Chick, continuing: And I was all like, "MOTHER OF ASS!"

Jason: What does that have to do with car parts?

Chick: Nothing. I'm just saying.

Jason, continuing to howl with laughter.

Chick, pretending to be hurt: Oh sure! Mock my pain!

Minutes pass. Laughter subsides.

Jason: But...you LOVE t.v.

Chick: That's not the point! When you think it's a diamond ring and it's a t.v.? NOT SO MUCH.

Minutes pass.

Jason: I was a really bad boyfriend, wasn't I?

Chick: You know that's right.

You can't make this stuff up.

Boy Child, to Girl Child: Why is Snoopy so popular?

(They were watching, "A Charlie Brown Christmas". I know Snoopy is not Hannah Montana or anything)

Girl Child, thinking: It's his magical dancing.

Boy Child: Ohhhh.

Girl Child: Because his dancing? Amazing. I've never seen such a talented dog, in all my years.




Me, to Ginger: Who loves you? WHO LOVES YOU? Who thinks you are the best dog in the world?

Jason, to Ginger: Aww! Look at the puppy!

Me, to Jason: She's the best dog ever.

Jason, to Ginger: Look at the puppy! Such nice clean lines and good symmetry!

Me, to Jason: It's a really good thing we're married now. You totally couldn't pick up chicks with lines like that.

Jason: What?

Me: Can't you just say the dog is pretty?!!?!




Boy Child, to me: Mom? Are you sure you are my real mom?

Me: Positive. Why do you ask?

Boy Child: Well, this kid? I know? He said that you looked really young.

Me: Aww!

Boy Child, continuing: But I told him, "No! My mom is really, really, really old."

Me: Yeah, I'm going to need you to go read a book now.




Boy Child, to me: Mom? When I'm a grown adult can I live in your basement?

Me: Number one, we don't have a basement. Number two, no.

Boy Child: Well can I live in the house with you then?

Me: No. You'll need to have your own house with your own wife and your own children.

Boy Child: But mom, we can all just live here with YOU.

Girl Child, exasperated: Brother! For the love of God! You cannot live with mom!

Me: Thank you Girl Chi-

Girl Child: There are spiders in basements! Do you want to get bitten by a spider? SHEESH!

Me: I'll take it.