My imagination.

I should be more disturbed by what I found behind my son's bed. Actually, I should be more bothered that I ventured to go there in the first place because I know what I am getting into. Among the detrius were three rotting apple cores... and one was quite furry. The bright side is that he eats apples! Great for health and all that. Another added bonus was that I used a Pokemon card also in the debris to scoop them up and I threw the whole lot away. That felt great. I know, I know. Pokemon cards, to the ill-informed, multiply like fruit flies. However, it just seemed like such a great act of mom-rebellion that I tossed that bad boy in the garbage knowing full well that 12 more will likely come home tomorrow.

But no. The rotting apple cores didn't really bother me. I know my son. I know that after we say good-night, he will attempt his covert missions into the kitchen and begin an after-hours private life that amuses him and shuts us out. I get it and don't really care as long as I am not bothered. Judgey parents judge all you want...the boy has his life.

At any rate, what bothered me were the clean pairs of underwear scattered around the perimiter of his room. I picked up five pairs and I could only imagine the scenario. Dressing, if you have read this blog at all, can be challenging for Thing 2, and underwear is a battle that I have chosen not to take on. But he knows how I feel so I can only guess about his dilemma every morning. "I am getting dressed, I am getting dressed. Here I go, I think I will make mom really happy and even put on my underwear. Oh...but I don't really like them. But it will make her so happy. But...,but..., but...." So, the evidence is clear in what wins for this internal battle. Or at least this is what I think. Maybe he just gets distracted, which is just as likely.

And that is what bothers me. I can't really know. I can't ask him because attention drawn will thwart any minor progress, if it is indeed progress, made.

I do realize how weird I am. I am a junk yard dog looking for any little scrap I can find. I need some evidence that this kid hears me and even it's not really there, isn't it ok that I imagine it?

1 comment:

  1. This is hilarious, and I can only imagine how this will go as he gets older and older. The elusiveness of boys. I am already experiencing "I don't want to talk about it, Mommy," from a 3-year-old.


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