Don’t Tell Women They’re Crabby, Brains Work Better Upside Down, and Chocolate For Every Meal

Boy9 likes to wake up hours before the rest of the household, and gets bored easily.  A bad combination.  So, Darling Husband has recently introduced Boy9 to podcasts.  Boy9 begins each day by sitting on his head on the chair in the playroom for an hour or so, listening to his favorite podcast: The Ramen Noodle.

This evening, I was out until about 10:00 p.m. and hadn’t even started thinking about what I’d blog about tonight.  But while I was gone, Darling Husband and Boy9 guest-wrote the blog tonight, in the manner of a podcast.  Here it is:

Me:  Tonight’s guest blog is brought to you by DarlingHusband44 (you can call me DH for short) and DS9…

DS9:  Hey, who is DS9?

Me:  What?

DS9:  I’m Boy9 not DS9!

Me:  Whatever.  OK.   Tonight’s guest blog is brought to you by DarlingHusband44 (hereafter referred to as DH) and Boy9 (and NOT DS9).  This is DS9:

…who looks nothing like Boy9…

Now that that is sorted out, here’s the idea:  It is tough for Darling Wife to write these blogs (and let’s be honest, it’s tough on me, too).  After all, she’s sits here for HOURS writing each night.

Me:   “Are you coming to bed soon?’

DW:  “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute”

Me:  One hour later in a message sent through facebook messages, “Are you coming to bed soon?”

DW:  “Yeah I’ll be there in a minute”

Boy9:  Yeah I know, and she wonders why she’s crabby in the morning.

Me:  Shhhh.  I am not finished with the setup yet and I really don’t think it’s a good idea to say mom is crabby in the morning (man lesson).

So, anyway, she writes for hours each night.  I don’t begrudge her though.  She’s good at it and it would be unfair of me not to share her talents with the world.  I am one of her biggest fans after all.

Boy9:  (laughing)

Me:  Not that kind of fan….cut it out!

ANYWAY, there are some nights when you can tell she just wishes someone else as talented as she is (well as close as one can get that is) would come to her rescue with a stirringly eloquent missive filled with witticisms.  See, I can use a thesaurus too.

Boy9:  Dad, what kind of name is Bramble Cottage?

Me: What?!

Boy9:  The name of our house.

Me:  It’s the  Why do you want to know? …  They can’t see you rolling your eyes in the blog.  Oh wait!  We can take a picture!

Me:  So why did you ask about Bramble Cottage?

Boy9:  I was thinking the true writer could just write about that tonight.

Me:  The true writer needs to go to bed early.  Have I ever finished explaining what this is all about yet?

Boy9:  No.

Me:  What were we going to write about anyway?

Boy9:  Why don’t you scroll up the page and find out?

Me:  ‘Cause I didn’t write it yet, duh!   OK, the idea here is to give you a little perspective on what it is like living in this house from Boy9’s point of view.  However, since this is his current position:

This is pretty much his point of view.

Me:  Doesn’t that give you a headache?

Boy9:  All the blood rushing to my brain makes it work faster and gives me better special abilities.

Me:  (aside – just remember I am only responsible for ½ of his genes)

Boy9:  Do you think mom will let me be the co-host again?

Me:  I don’t know.  Let’s just see how this little experiment turns out, shall we?  What are some of your favorite things about growing up in this house?

Boy9:  I get free meals all the time.  What could be better?  I like the ones with chocolate chips in them.  Right now I am eating an Italian Ice, but the red and the blue ones both taste kind of the same.

Me:  OK.  Italian Ice is one highlight.  Anything else?  Do you like living in a small town?

Boy9:  It’s so small that barely anyone else can fit.  It’s a nice place to be.  Most of the time there is something to do.

Me:  Do you have a favorite memory in this house?

Boy9:  Not exactly but I have a funny one if you want me to share it.  Actually I have two.  Should I do the bathroom one or the tape one?

Me:  I don’t know.  Why don’t you start telling them and we will see.

Boy9:  Well the tape one is that I was listening to a tape and I fell asleep.  Then I woke up and restarted it because I missed it all and I fell back asleep and it happened three times.

Me:  That’s just riveting.  What’s the bathroom story?

Boy9:  It’s just that once when I went to the bathroom, I fell asleep.  I could tell because it was darker than when I closed the door.  What does ribbeting mean?

Me:  Not ribbeting, riveting.

Me:  So both of your fond memories revolve around sleeping?  (You see we are about building memories that last a lifetime in this house, folks.)  We are going to have to be a little more interesting here or you will definitely not be allowed to co-host again.

Boy9:  Hey dad, I think you should give some emphasis to the word definitely and do not type what I am saying.  Really.  Stop it!  Stop typing!

Me: (tee hee hee.  Paybacks…)  So, do you have a favorite TV show?

Boy9: my turn to tipe!

Me:  Why don’t you let me do that?

Boy9:  I like to watch Get Smart, Dr. who, Star Wars, Twylight Zone, Babilon 5

Me:  All fine unprompted choices there, son.  I’m so proud of you.  Hey, why don’t you let me take over the typing for a bit?  So, tell us what you think about your mom’s picture taking.


Me:  Evil?  Why would you say that?

Boy9:  Posing every three seconds and messing it up and having to do it again and messing it up again and having to do it again.  Stuff like that.

Me:  But is that merely an expression of evil itself or do you see it is an actual incarnation of evil?

Boy9:  What’s incarnation mean?

Me:  Something to do with a flower.  Anyway, I think we’d better stay away from talking about photography and blogging, probably sore subjects.

Boy9:  Yeah…

Me:  And he licks his wounds.  Maybe he’s just licking the Italian Ice from his fingers.

Boy9:  I want to take pictures of some of the good and bad things in my life.

Me:  Like what?

Boy9:  Like hugging and spilling my milk on the floor.  We should take a picture of me spilling my milk on the floor!

Me:  Uh….no.  Maybe another time.

Boy9:  You have written 1000 words.  That’s a lot of words.

Me:  Yep.  And like your mom says,  I didn’t even have anything to write about tonight.