I offered El Guille a bean bag for his room. He was all, “What the hell is that?” except he didn’t say hell, he said "heck," which was, in itself, truly embarrassing in every way for me. I tried to explain what a bean bag was, and how he could put it anywhere in his room to look at books, or have a comfy place to sit, and then be the coolest kid in the neighborhood because he had a bean bag. He was not impressed. Nor should he have been, bean bags haven't been the standard of cool since 1987.
Do you even know how much I wanted a bean bag when I was a kid, I nearly asked him. No, he doesn't know, nor does he really care. What is it with us trying to give our kids what we never had? It's as if giving them what we didn't have might fix us. (My mom never had a doll when she was a child, that's why we three girls each got a beautiful porcelain doll each Christmas morning.)
I was delighted to received these amazing prints (you know who you are) in the mail yesterday to go into E.G.'s room:
Whereupon he FREAKEDOUT and insisted that they were NOT going on the wall of his room. First of all, yes they are, and second of all, this causes me to seriously question his level of taste.
Also causing me to question his level of taste? This conversation:
"Mom, I just really like the way my boogers taste. And I just keep making more of them! I'm like a volcano."
Not even the World's Pithiest Statement could follow those observations.
We were driving in the car when E.G. insisted that he hates his 8pm bedtime because, "8 o'clock is the BORINGEST."
"How about we change your bedtime to 8:01?" I suggested.
"Is that bigger or smaller than 8?"
"How much bigger?"
"Sixty seconds bigger."
"OH BOY! SIXTY SECONDS? I LOVE MY NEW BEDTIME! Can I use the extra time to play? Can I can I can I?"
Oh, I'm in for it, don't I know it.
Thank goodness time with him isn't boring.
Or the BORINGEST.