On second thought, don’t.
Better idea: start off your weekend with a laugh as I wrap up the good, bad, and downright ludicrous of what’s been going on in this house the past week.
After our fabulous conversation two weeks ago, during which the Maiden declared that kissing boys on the lips was gross and to avoid the cooties she was never going to get married, ever, she seems to have had a change of heart. Among her homework pages I found pictures of her and one of her male friends on a date at the beach. The caption on his picture: “Please be my mate.”
The Man is polishing his gun.
Meanwhile, this puts a wrench in my plans. I had been told that she was going to be living with us forever and ever sob weep sob hug snuffle I never want to leave your house, Mommy, so I had my future as a babysitter for my grandkids all planned out (by her).
Turns out that instead the Man and I are destined for an elderly home as soon as she’s grown up. So we were told with all the matter-of-factness of a 5-year-old. But don’t worry, she’ll come visit.
When she’s not too busy, that is. To her growing list of future occupations the Maiden has passionately added Egyptologist. It nicely blends her obsession with archaeology and/or digging holes all over the backyard with her obsession with mummies and cadavers and dead stuff. She’s talking about having an Egyptology party for her 6th birthday this year.
Complete with a backyard dig, of course. I hope the Man appreciates that he’ll get the lawn aerated for free.
At least Egyptology will keep her out of trouble. Like car trouble. Overheard during one of our drives to school: “I hope we get into an accident and smash our car but don’t get hurt. That way we can drive around in a smashed-up car. How cool would that be?”
Meanwhile, on the spouse front, the Man actually noticed what I was wearing.
Him: “I see you have on your German worker hat again.”
Me: “It’s supposed to be urban.”
Him: “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that same hat in World War II movies.”
Me: “You mean I look like a Nazi?”
Him: “Well, maybe a Nazi mechanic . . .”
So great. My kid’s going to willingly smash my car and send me to an old age home when I turn 50, and the love of my life thinks I resemble a Nazi mechanic. Also? The house is a mess and I have bronchitis.