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1月15日 I've resorted to transcribing phone calls for your reading enjoyment.Well, not phone calls, exactly. Text messaging. It used to make me crazy(er) to watch my sons' fingers flying over the keypads of their cell phones.
"It's a cell phone," I would remind them in my mommest voice. "You talk on phones. If you want to write someone, get some paper and a pencil!"
Then -- as the young people are saying these days -- I got hip. I got groovy. I got with it.
I began to text. Now I text like a maniac. There's something semi-addicting about it. I love it.
But, like any good mom, I cannot bring myself to throw away (delete? whatever. it's all the same, just different technology) some of the most entertaining ones. Much like the little glitter-and-macaroni-decorated Christmas ornaments I have collected over the years, these are sweet. Or sarcastic and funny, which is just a different kind of "sweet" in our family.
Here are some of my favorites:
#1 Son: How's this for some irony: In my evolution lab of 25 people, there's a midget. (not politically correct, I know, but he meant no harm)
Me: If it were real irony, there would be a monkey in your lab.
#1 Son: Touche.
#1 Son: I'm such a fag i just got chills when the captain sang the sound of music with his kids. (I've already covered his woeful misuse of punctuation and capitalization in a previous post. And his political incorrectness in the above example.)
Me: Wow. Merry Christmas to you, too.
#4 Son, upon expecting my arrival at a rural location: Please tell when approaching. If you would be a dear.
Me: Look outside, Knucklehead. I'm in the driveway.
#4 Son: So, I gather you're here?
Me: So, do your turkey friends like thunderstorms? Or do they get scared? (posed to #1 Son during his employment at a local turkey farm)
#1 Son: They like the rain, but they like the heat more.
Me: Doesn't the thunder scare them? Do they have ears? (always a quest for education. always.)
#1 Son: Not ears, exactly. More like holes.
Me: So, could you plug them if you wanted? Stick your fingers in them?
#1 Son: You're gay. Now no more questions until my work is done. (political incorrectness AND impatience. shameful.)
Me: Guess what's in my house right now?!?
#2 Son: I give up. (not even a guess; how rude!)
Me: Guess!
#2 Son: I have no time to guess i'm working you nutcase. (again with the poor grammar and impatience!)
Me: A tiny baby! He's staying all weekend!
#2 Son: What child is this who laid to rest in TinyTown is sleeping? (he's clever, isn't he?)
Me: Alex! (a friend's baby. I tell you, people just hand their kids over to me! It's nuts.) You should come hold him!
#2 Son: I just told you i'm working.
Me: You're mean to babies!
#2 Son: Nutcase.
#4 Son (after wrestling certification the first day of the season): Weighing in at 124 pounds, with a height of 5 feet seven inches, reaching up to 7 feet 3 inches! Jaaaaaaaack Fate!
Me: Sooooooo big!
#4 Son: {stretches arms up over head}
Me: That's why you're my favorite. You do marvelous things like that!
#3 Son (after walking to the bus stop): Dead crow on road. You should go see it. (our freak-show family is intrigued by dead animals. we often stop to look at them. and occasionally, poke them with a stick. is that weird? never mind. it is.)
Me: Where? Any apparent COD?
#3 Son: Corner of second and elm. What's COD?
Me: Cause of death. Rookie.
#3 Son: Oh. I don't know. It isn't flat, though.
Me: Sweet.
#3 Son: My back is fricking killing me!
Me: Why? What'd you do to it? (medical-diagnoses-r-mom)
#3 Son: I don't know. It just hurts.
Me: You should go sit in the hot tub. (medical-treatments-r-mom, too)
#3 Son: It's called a spa, you peasant.
Me: I hope your legs fall off tomorrow.
And some of my favorite one-liners:
#3 Son: Ah, ist es ein mini-giraffe? (guessing the identity of his Albuquerque Zoo souvenir. he was right)
#4 Son: You should see my mighty mouse drawing. It's beautiful. (it was)
#4 Son: From now on, I'd like to be referred to as The Honorable Sir Doctor General Jackson Haines Fate Esquire the Great.
Who have YOU been talking to lately?
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