I am laughing. Really, really laughing. It's not a nice thing, either. I'm laughing at my son's most recent blog.
My son, Nick, reports that his son, who is seven years old, believes his father is EVIL. *laughing, laughing, laughing* Apparently, they had conflicting ideas recently about clothing, ice cream and finishing a meal, all in one afternoon. I was not there to observe this series of events, but I can imagine it quite vividly.
Now, I hope that I wouldn't revel in the slightest unpleasantry for someone else, let alone any of my children. *bwa ha, ha, ha* But, I read Nick's description of how Damon skillfully eliminated food from his plate by recruiting the family dog's assistance, and launched into an uncontrollable, guttural laughing fit. I found this scenario to be quite amusing.
Anyone who reads Nick's blog knows that he lived on a farm when he was little. When we first moved there, furniture was a pretty scarce concept. Most of what we used had been donated by family members. Eventually, we inherited a table for the dining room that had been owned by Nick's great-grandmother. It was a heavy, sturdy object that seated up to twelve, and collapsed into itself so that extra leaves were smartly concealed underneath -- a veritable marvel of old-fashioned workmanship.
Although the table was expanded and re-collapsed several times for gatherings of family and friends during that first year at the farm house, it never occurred to me to crawl underneath the darn thing. So, in that slow space of time between the winter holidays and good, old-fashioned spring cleaning, the table remained in its usual small configuration for seating a family of four. Unknown to me, the concealed leaves formed a perfectly hidden shelf on the underside of the table.
Some traditions hang on hard in the mountains where we lived, and one of them is a ritual spring cleaning. Every wall, every baseboard -- every picture frame, heating vent, door knob -- is disassembled, scrubbed to a sparkle, and reassembled. It was during such a ritual that I, unable to budge this monstrosity of a table, decided to climb underneath and scrub it down. Much to my horror, on the concealed shelf at the end where Nick was seated, perfectly aligned rows of individual little vegetables were displayed. It was an exact study on the preservation of peas and carrots! Row after row of hardened little orange cubes, dehydrated peas, lima beans and corn were illuminated by a shaft of sunlight that crept through the windows. Simultaneously, I was illuminated. I now understood why it seemed Nick had been cheerily eating his meals for some months . . . why those nightly vegetable wars had subsided.
So, Nick, do not dismay. Like you, your son is a clever, clever little boy. Some traits, like peas and carrots, are worth preserving. He will be OK, and you will not always be evil. (But, it may take some time.)
My son, Nick, reports that his son, who is seven years old, believes his father is EVIL. *laughing, laughing, laughing* Apparently, they had conflicting ideas recently about clothing, ice cream and finishing a meal, all in one afternoon. I was not there to observe this series of events, but I can imagine it quite vividly.
Now, I hope that I wouldn't revel in the slightest unpleasantry for someone else, let alone any of my children. *bwa ha, ha, ha* But, I read Nick's description of how Damon skillfully eliminated food from his plate by recruiting the family dog's assistance, and launched into an uncontrollable, guttural laughing fit. I found this scenario to be quite amusing.
Anyone who reads Nick's blog knows that he lived on a farm when he was little. When we first moved there, furniture was a pretty scarce concept. Most of what we used had been donated by family members. Eventually, we inherited a table for the dining room that had been owned by Nick's great-grandmother. It was a heavy, sturdy object that seated up to twelve, and collapsed into itself so that extra leaves were smartly concealed underneath -- a veritable marvel of old-fashioned workmanship.
Although the table was expanded and re-collapsed several times for gatherings of family and friends during that first year at the farm house, it never occurred to me to crawl underneath the darn thing. So, in that slow space of time between the winter holidays and good, old-fashioned spring cleaning, the table remained in its usual small configuration for seating a family of four. Unknown to me, the concealed leaves formed a perfectly hidden shelf on the underside of the table.
Some traditions hang on hard in the mountains where we lived, and one of them is a ritual spring cleaning. Every wall, every baseboard -- every picture frame, heating vent, door knob -- is disassembled, scrubbed to a sparkle, and reassembled. It was during such a ritual that I, unable to budge this monstrosity of a table, decided to climb underneath and scrub it down. Much to my horror, on the concealed shelf at the end where Nick was seated, perfectly aligned rows of individual little vegetables were displayed. It was an exact study on the preservation of peas and carrots! Row after row of hardened little orange cubes, dehydrated peas, lima beans and corn were illuminated by a shaft of sunlight that crept through the windows. Simultaneously, I was illuminated. I now understood why it seemed Nick had been cheerily eating his meals for some months . . . why those nightly vegetable wars had subsided.
So, Nick, do not dismay. Like you, your son is a clever, clever little boy. Some traits, like peas and carrots, are worth preserving. He will be OK, and you will not always be evil. (But, it may take some time.)
*laughing, laughing, laughing*
4 comments:
I love it! :)
I've been known to say to Nick (quite often, I might add), when he's beyond frustrated with his stubborn son, that I'll BET Damon isn't much different than he was as a boy...
Nick and I were both cracking up through this one. *laughing, laughing, laughing*
*grin*
It is amusing, isn't it?
Thanks for reading...and for commenting!
This will be fun...
Just part way into the story I was able to picture that old dark wooden table and more than likely lots of asparagas burried up under that old thing. Very funny and by the way I have let Damon pick one veggie that he doesn't have to eat. He picked baked beans. I had a big grin while reading this.
LOL! I've always loved vegetables so I can't relate so much to that. Before we had kids Brad warned me that he'd been an awful kid and it was sure to come back on him ten-fold. I said that would not be fair at all to me, because I was always a really good kid, and I should get that back ten-fold too, should I not? It's still to early to tell, but so far they're slightly mischievous good kids. :P
Post a Comment