I don’t blog much in the summer… it being all gorgeous outside and whatnot. Also, I have a July birthday to commemorate with unnecessary shopping and enthusiastic drinking which leaves little time to assemble (coherent) thoughts into silly paragraphs. Also, I have Stevie to pick up the slack with his smartypants hilarity and thoughtful musings. But now that we’ve waved good-bye to visiting family and re-claimed the house to the quieter, lazier place we’re accustomed, I’m drawn to the computer to waste your time with ridiculous stories.
This week, shuttling the boys from the pool to a playdate, an unfamiliar 12 year old was assigned to my car during the divving of children. This is the kind of kid you love instantly: his humor is generous, his charm effortless, and his kind attention to your maybe-sort-of-dorky kids a blessing. His parents certainly could take a fair share of the credit for the likability of their kid, but they wouldn’t. Some things are just God-given.
Do any of you share a family affliction for singing in the car that cannot be cured? The Lees know no shame… nor, on occasion, the correct lyrics. Nonetheless, the situation found us subjecting the unfamiliar 12 year old to booties needing no explanations because that’s what we do. We sing in the car. Them’s the rules.
The tweenager beside me was initially surprised, then happy to sing along, and then this:
“You’re like one of those cool, Capri Sun moms, aren’t you?”
Giggles from the backseat, and then upon dismounting the SUV, my oldest dropped his voice an octave and said,
“Thanks for the lift, mom.”
Less kind friends have since forwarded me the juice pouch commercial wherein I am now likened to a dowdy mom in Capri cargo pants one-upping another for having provided chemical-riddled sugar drinks to a busload of children. (Thanks, STEVE.)
But this is one of those moments where I passed muster as a parent, and because it may never happen again, I knew it was worthy of a few paragraphs, or a tweet, or status update, or whatever.
Been around the world, don’t speak the language… but your booty don’t need explainin’!
Sing loud and often, friends… it’s never wrong. xoxo
Haha! Spectacular! I didn’t know a blog from my butt until last year, so instead we used to that kind of thing in a little journal. Now, all four are teenagers ranging from 14 to 19 and now, occasionally (annually?) one of them will ask us to read out some of those stories. Makes for the best family date nights. Love yer shiz, Britt, write on, I say, write on!
That was supposed to say “write” that kind of thing…stupid phone!
I get you, Red. I think we’re kindred spirits a half planet apart. My friend, Ran over at Quod Ero Spero recently starting writing exactly these sort of journal stories. I read them aloud to my kiddos.
They don’t disappoint.
Yes, kindred spirits, do your kids ask you to tell them a story, like Ran? Mine used to. They’re becoming more involved in their own lives these days but the stories still find a way out.
Like Ran’s kids, mine like to hear the old, goodies over and over and over. I hope they never stop asking.
We are unabashed car singers too…. though my complete inability to learn and/or remember lyrics makes my kids crazy.
Embarrassing and exasperating the children is just good parenting.
ha ha … just providing them with a rich and authentic childhood 😉
Pingback: Bessa Can’t Dance | litadoolan
Pingback: We’ll Ride Together, Australia | Ramisa the Authoress