First of all I need to let you all know that Max is changing his name to Charles. In reality he is not changing, his name, I am, which is not a big deal because Max isn’t his real name anyway, just his blog name, and I made it up to begin with. So I will be referring to him as Charles or Charlie and when you read outloud to yourself, or to your friends or family, which is what I’m sure all my readers do, please try to say it with a very droll, aristocratic, lock-jawed accent…that’s how it’s meant to be pronounced. Don’t ask, just go with it.
Speaking of Charles, I am getting a bit anxious about him being my only child next year, after Bianca leaves for college. While he’s never had my undivided attention, I always planned on making it up to him later. Except Charles has recently told me in no uncertain terms that he is not looking forward to living alone with us, and contrary to popular belief he has never had a desire to be an only child. As it is, he can barely stand to spend a Saturday night with Maverick and me, whether we include him in our plans of dinner and a movie, a simple night at home, or when I am feeling really generous and guilty, playing a board game. The look on his face is usually one of pain and disappointment. I am telling you, the kid is complex.
He didn’t believe me when I told him all his friends with younger siblings were going to be jealous. So my latest tactic is telling him that life as he knows it is going to drastically change, and he can’t even comprehend the fun that I am about to unleash on him. I think this might be peaking his interest, even though he rolls his eyes. I have no idea what he might be imagining, but I wish I had a clue because I am flying by the seat of my pants and making this up as I go along. As long as it’s not a plan that involves me adopting one of his friends, I’m open to discussion.
You might be wondering why I am so worried, seeing as I did a bang up job raising Miles and Bianca, models of excellence for all society as they are. I suppose you could say I ran out of steam the third time around, and left a lot of parenting up to the older siblings and to Charles himself. For example, Miles and Charlie both tasted potato chips for the first time on the same occasion: Miles was eight years old and Charlie was seven months. I can still feel the glaring eyes of the other mothers in the waiting area of the ballet studio where Bianca was dancing, as they tsked, and shook their heads while I bribed my baby with potato chips to shut him up. Poor Miles looked at me in astonishment, and it was then I realized that I could no longer insist that “Potato chips are not good for you, Miles!” If I was going to feed them to is baby brother, I was going to have to let him have some too. Things kind of went downhill from there, if you know what I mean. And I can only hope that beer, dope and sex, have not gone the way of the potato chip.
Last week Charles came home from school with someone else’s gym shorts. Claimed he found them in them in the locker room, and as his are getting small, he figured he could “use” them. Okay, so first of all, he goes to a very small school where everyone knows each other. Saying you “found” something in the locker room is like Bianca staking claims on my hair gel because I left it on my bathroom counter. Second of all, college tuition is expensive, but I can still afford to clothe my children, they needn’t resort to theft. Had he been telling me he needed new gym shorts? I don’t remember him saying so, but then again I have been accused of not always listening, and the way he mumbles, he could have told me he was dropping out of junior high and I might have said, “That’s great honey, I always knew you would like tomatoes if you just tried them!”
But I shouldn’t make him sound like such a bad seed, I mean the kid is definitely going places. If his plan of being recruited by the Major Leagues doesn’t work out, his fall-back plan is to pursue a career as a stand-up comic. Sure, show business can be tough to break into, but Charles is confident that he can sleep his way to the top. I’m not certain that he fully comprehends what “sleeping his way to the top” would entail…more than likely he’s imagining that obeying my pleas to get to bed before 10pm, and finally being well rested, will make his wildest dreams come true. Mother does know best after all.
But I’ve relaxed a lot since my first two kids approached the teenage years, and you might say I’ve even lowered my expectations. At this point I feel that as long as I can keep him from becoming a porn star, a drug addict, and out of the big house, I’ve done my job. So far he’s demonstrated that he’s a smooth operator and can usually talk his way into or out of any situation, so maybe I shouldn’t worry? Except that he can turn those same skills on around the house. So if a year from now I tell you that I’ve adopted two wayward thirteen-year-old boys, another dog and we’re running an after-hours comedy club in my basement, don’t be surprised. Just bring me a bottle of bubbly and I’ll see if I can get you in for free.
Ok, reminder to self, go to the bathroom before I read one of your blogs. I am too old to try to hold it and laugh at the same time! Wait till Charlie gets to the center of attention, he is going out on the street with a sign saying “please help me, my mom won’t stop playing scrabble”
Oh, it’s good to be back after a long winter’s nap. The nap advantage is that I have a lot of your very entertaining material to read! Thanks for the fun and your wit!
I like the idea of changing your son’s name. I think I’m going to try it here at home. They don’t answer me now anyway when I call. Might get me some attention. I better not try it w/ hubby…he tends to be the jealous type.
Your humor cheered up this dreary morning, DParker! Charlie doesn’t know how lucky he is!
Another good one, Mondays have never been so good