In my cast of characters otherwise known as my kids, Boy (age 10) is delightful (and by "delightful" I mean that if you listen long enough something beyond hysterical is bound to come out of his mouth). For what's left of your weekend pleasure, I leave you with these gems.
1. Boy: Mom, how do they make the actual records for the Genius Book of World Records?
Me: Do you mean the Guinness Book of World Records?
Boy: Yeah, I guess..........Wait.............No, the GENIUS Book of World Records..............Wait...........So, it's NOT called the GENIUS Book of World Records?
Me: No. It's actually called the Guinness Book of World Records.
Boy: Are you sure?
Me: Um, yeah. Pretty much.
Boy: Wait. Let me go get the book.
Boy (with the book in hand): Oh my gosh. You're right! It is the Guinness book of World Records. (Pause.) Well, that's dumb. It should be the Genius Book of World Records because all the people in this book are clearly geniuses.
Point well taken, grasshoppa.
2. Boy: Mom (as I am washing dishes, supervising the Mischievous Girl 3, and watching my dinner so that it doesn't burn), what word is this 'taemaule?' Wait. That might be 'taemalaw?' No. I think 'taemale.' What word is that. Taemale?
Me: Hmm. Spell it for me because that is not a word I know.
Me (incredulously): Tamale?
Boy: Oh, yeah. Tamale! Because it says they ate them. So, yeah! That works.
No bother that we are Hispanic born and raised and eat tamales on Christmas, New Year's, Cinco de Mayo and Diez y Seis de Septiembre. Oh, and he loves them. My Mayan/Aztec/Inca ancestors *might* be rolling over in their graves.
3. Boy had gone to practice baseball with a friend of his. Upon returning, Boy and his dad were talking about it.
Dad: So, how was it?
Boy: Good. We had fun.
Dad: You don't have a mitt, do you? We probably need to get you one.
Boy: Well, it was okay. I borrowed one of theirs.
Dad: Ah. That was really kind of them to let you borrow it.
Boy: Yeah, well, it didn't really matter. I only caught one ball in the whole two hours. Turns out baseball's hard.
4. Boy child has a school issued recorder that he has been diligent about practicing every day (usually multiple times a day to the delight of his parents). I am really proud of the way he has progressed and practiced all on his own without any prompting from me (although I must say some days I want to poke my eyes out with sharp sticks due to the fact that I hear the same song 15,000 times). So, after about four months of playing the recorder (and four and a half years of playing the piano - reading music accomplished) Boy child and I have this conversation:
Boy child flies down the stairs and says: OH MY GOSH, mom. GUESS WHAT.
Boy: I CAN PLAY ODE TO JOY ON THE RECORDER AND MS. J. HASN'T EVEN GIVEN ME THE MUSIC YET!
Me: Wow. That's great. Did you just figure it out?
Boy: No. I found it in one of my piano books and played it from there. Did you know that you can do that? You can use piano music to play a recorder???
Me: Wow. You should tell Ms. J. that tomorrow. I think she would be fascinated.
Boy: Yeah. I think I will.
Tell me again. We have paid for four and half years of piano lessons from a pristine teacher, with an amazing resume, and Boy Child has excelled at piano and he just now figured this out? This kinda made me want someone to shoot me.
I love that boy with all my heart. He gives me some good laughs.