Friday, November 13, 2009

A devoted son

This is the actual transcript from a text conversation between me and my 17 year old son, Thing 1 on a Friday night:

You'll need a hankie or two, it's THAT touching. Oh, and for that extra special touch, try and imagine the voices of Howard and Ma Wolowitz from "Big Bang Theory."

Thing 1: I'm staying at Wyatt's tonight (Note: Wyatt's house is Thing 1's 2nd home. He has his own bedroom there fercryinoutloud).

Me: But I'll miss you! (Note: I always say this when he leaves the house, even if he's going out to the garage because I know it bugs the crap outta him. And it's a mother's duty to annoy her teenage son.)

T1: Call of Duty is more important.

Me: Of course. I know where I fit in the scheme of things in your life: the bottom.

T1: Luey (Note: this is an all-purpose answer he gives. And "Luey" is what everyone calls Lucy, our Lab. If Lucy/Luey had a voice, she'd sound like Forrest Gump. This has nothing to do with anything but I thought I'd toss that bit of info in).

Me: I think she rates higher than me.

T1: Nope, she's fat. (Note: Yeah, she is. But she's a Good Girl!)

Me: But according to Jake (One of Thing 1's cronies. He's a hoot.) I'm a Ginger and I don't have a soul (Note: anyone get the South Park reference?)

T1: Well I'm playing Call of Duty and I can't multi-task.

Me: Fine. Don't worry about your poor soulless mother. I'll be fine, just fine.

T1: Ok.

Me: No, really. You don't have to worry or be concerned about me. It'll be hard, I know but you'll just have to try.

T1: Ok.

Me: Ok now you're just getting out of hand with concern. I'm touched, really I am.

T1: Ok.

Me: That's so sweet of you to think of your mommy. You're such a caring son. Your friends should be jealous of what a good son you are.

T1: I know.

Me: My heart is filled with joy that you want to come home and keep me company but I insist you hang out with your friends.

T1: Ok.

Me: No, no; don't argue.

T1: Ok, I won't.

Me: Please, my son. I'm getting all teary-eyed at your devotion to your mommy.

T1: I bet.

Me: No, really. I need a tissue.

T1: My phone's dying and I'm playing Call of Duty (I think he's lying but has to save face in front of his friends. SUCH a giver my son is).

Me: Love you bye.

T1: Loveyoutoobye.

Think he'll need therapy in the future? Yeah, me too.

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