Two weeks ago, I was in tears over spilled apple juice. Tonight, I’m in stitches because THIS:
Suffice it to say that it took everything in me to not die laughing. When I walked into the living room, he had his arms on his knees, head hanging, knowing damn well he’d done something he shouldn’t have. The minute he saw me, the tears – they came a-flowin’. I snort-laughed all the way to the bathtub.
But I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t upset. I was amused.
It started with me discovering an Ink Master marathon on TV. Anyone who knows me knows I love tattoos. And Chris Nunez, because OBVIOUSLY. We ate dinner, I puttered around cleaning and came back to the TV to watch the drama and the art unfold.
Then F mentioned that he sure wished that he had a tattoo, so we talked about Mommy’s tattoos and how – when he’s an adult – he can choose to get one if he’d like. We talked about how tattoos are forever, and why kids don’t have tattoos. He said he’d like to get Lightning McQueen and my point was proven.
Then I got up to go get phone and my laptop. On the walk down the hall, I decided it was as good a time as any to pee. I was in the vicinity, after all. I brushed my teeth and proceeded to collect my stuff. Total time gone: about 4 minutes.
“But I wanted to look like the guys on TV,” he wailed. “Mama, now I look like you!”
Like mother, like son I guess.