Monday, November 23, 2009

Snapshots

As usual, my words, his shots. (Here are some past posts if you have a hard time believing a five-/six-/seven-year old can consistently take these kinds of shots. I know I'm still amazed, and I see him do it.)

Except for the total homemaker FAIL to come. (You'll see.) I took those. He just laughed.

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During our last car trip my son played with his seat belt and read the latest novel he's tackling (a good three years above his level, at least -- I read it to "screen" it, but also because I liked it, at 28). As an afterthought he asked, "Mom? When did religion start?"

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"What's first base?" he asked one evening, at least partly to put me off my game during the usual can-I-have-pizza-for-dinner debate (which he wins more often than I care to admit).

"Uh, first base?" I fumbled. "It's a base, in baseball. The first one." (Well, I was hoping, anyway.)

"I know THAT. I mean, first BASE. Like not in baseball. What does it mean if some guy says he got to first base?"

"Well, he's usually talking about a girl he likes, and it's a silly way to say 'holding hands' or 'kissing.' And as long as that's all they do, it's fine, if they're older -- say, 54 -- and if they're nice to each other."

"Oh. I want to get to first base with YOU, Mom! Also, I've only had pizza once this week."

He got pizza.

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He has been practicing the drums on Guitar Hero, and I just had to encourage it. He asked me to sing accompaniment to all his performances. Do you know anyone, with no musical inclination whatsoever, who knows all the words to "Beat It" (seriously, there are lyrics besides "Just beat it." Who knew?), "Eye of the Tiger," "Hotel California," "Heart Breaker" and "Are You Gonna Go My Way" by heart? Well, now you do. According to the game and my son (who regularly aces the drum part), I rock. According to anyone else in possession of ears, not so much.

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My mom called me on impulse while bringing in her groceries. We'd spoken just a few hours ago; she called this time just to tell me I'm a good mom. We spent the next fifteen minutes talking mom stuff, at which point I had to let her go because her freezer stuff was thawing. I smiled for the next half hour, at least.

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I preheated the oven to bake some cookies. Five minutes later, I smelled a molten plastic scent, almost exactly like the scent to which I became accustomed during my illustrious career as an injection mold operator. Huh, I thought, and went about making the dough. (Because I'm stupid, that's why.) I got the first tray of cookies ready, opened the oven, and found this:



Yeah. Turns out, if you're hiding a couple of straggler dirty dishes as unexpected visitors drop by, it's a great idea, as long as you take them out before heating the oven to 350 degrees. Especially if you're hiding your plastic dishes.

My son loved the new artwork.

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We have a roadrunner that's been visiting our neighborhood recently. I spent a good half hour the one evening getting close to it, earning its trust. It clacked its beak and ran away each time passers-by came into view, but eventually seemed to accept me, even let me take a few shots. I figured now it would be safe to let my son come out and see it, at least before it fled. I was sure he wouldn't be able to stay as still or get as close as I had. He came out, looking like a clown in my husband's shoes. He walked smoothly (but much too quickly, I thought) up to the roadrunner. He stood at most two feet from it. The bird raised its crest a millimeter, then smoothed it back down, turned its head sideways and regarded my son with one eye. It never fled. Never clacked. They stared at each other until black enveloped us.

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"What's Playboy?" he asked on the way home from school.

"Wh... Why?" I stammered.

"Well, can I ever have one?"

After calming my internal freak-out impulse, I calmly explained that Playboy is a "magazine you would find either gross or boring, and it's definitely not for kids."

"Oh, never mind. I thought it was like a PlayStation or Game Boy. I guess I don't want a Playboy for Christmas, then."

14 comments:

EdenSky said... Best Blogger Tips

The playboy for Christmas cracked me up and I've always thought your photography was amazing, but it takes some special talent to make an oven full of melted plastic look beautiful, well done!

Kim Hosey said... Best Blogger Tips

The Playboy one cracked me up too. And thanks. I was trying to document my mind-boggling stupidity more than make pretty photos with those shots, but I'll take it!

FireMom said... Best Blogger Tips

I had to read the Playboy story out loud for my husband. That's a classic.

Rita alias alatvian said... Best Blogger Tips

Ha-ha-ha!

Thank you so very much for sharing!

Jessica said... Best Blogger Tips

Can I just say, I love love LOVE your writing! My daughter is similar to your son, and you just make me smile every time I read... And I love your (and your son's) photography, to boot!!!!!!!

Diane AZ said... Best Blogger Tips

Awesome images and cute story! I especially like the parts about the roadrunner and the hidden plastic dishes. I once found a melted teenage mutant ninja turtle in my oven.

Manic Motherhood said... Best Blogger Tips

I loved the plastic dishes. I have been guilty of the same thing (altho, thank goodness no plastic). My husband always says, "I think it has a window for people like you." Is it seriously my fault that the oven is used more for storage than actual cooking? I think not ;)

Mary said... Best Blogger Tips

AAAAH Kim, that is so funny. I mean, the first base thing and the molten plastic and everything. You always crack me up.

Maggie May said... Best Blogger Tips

I came here through GGC and love your blog...and Seven Nation Army (from below) rocks..White Stripes are one of my favorite bands ever.

kirsten said... Best Blogger Tips

Bahahahahahaah! the boy cracks me up! Thanks again for sharing - you guys make my day!

laurie l. goodman said... Best Blogger Tips

great post! made me smile several times amidst the beautiful and sometimes surprising images :) i too have learned the hard way, always check what's inside the oven before turning it on! thanx for sharing!

Darlene said... Best Blogger Tips

This was just way too funny! I don't know how many times I burst out laughing. I love your writing style and your son's photography is amazing! I look forward to reading more :)

Kristen said... Best Blogger Tips

Kim that reminds me of my sister Katy when she was a little one.
She wrote a poem for mom using the letters of the word MOTHER. She decides to gather the family in the family room and read her poem.
M means you are marvelous
O is ORGASMIC!!!!.....UH WHAT WAS THAT YOU SAY?
We all had a tough time keeping a straight face for the rest of the poem. My mother thanks her for the poem and gingerly asks "Katy where did you hear the word ORGASMIC?" " I heard it on the movie THE CUTTING EDGE it means love!" she answers. "Well......yea I guess it does" we said. Anyway Katy is probably going to kill me for blogging this. Of course David when he gets older won't be happy either. OH WELL it happens to all of us. LOL

GeoWulf said... Best Blogger Tips

Way to hold your cool on the Playboy question. Panic and vocal disgust would probably not go over as well.