Friday, April 28, 2006

Pants On Fire

It's like an alarm clock has gone off, only I don't remember setting it. At some point in the past couple of years, my kid has gone from my cherubic and innocent angel to a lying, odoriferous tenant who fails to pay rent.

The smelly part comes from his insistence on wearing a pair of tennis shoes with patent leather accents. I'm willing to overlook the fact that these are the ugliest pair of shoes I've ever seen. I'm not so willing to overlook the fact that patent leather shoes are not meant to be worn every day for one particular reason: they retain odor like a mofo. I've literally been making him air them out on the porch overnight if he wants to wear them two days in a row.

The lying part comes because my son has suddenly decided to assert his own agenda. Just yesterday, he arrived home over an hour late with a paper thin excuse and that owly eyed look of a liar. He thinks I was born yesterday. Is it possible I thought my parents were that stupid?

If only it were appropriate to share with him the antics of a teenaged MzMannerz. He would realize I know the game. But there really is no appropriate time to discuss how you skipped school in eleventh grade and ended up making out with a boy who was the cousin of a school mate that you had just met two hours before. You simply can't guffaw about the fact that your child's grandparents thought you were spending the night at Jackie's house when in fact, you were at an all night party with Michael with other college kids whose parents did not live forty five minutes from the school and therefore did not live at home. And I absolutely cannot sit him down and chuckle over how I choked the first time I tried weed, despite the fact that I literally and honestly did not inhale. Much.

(I feel the need to point out that my use of the word 'first' in reference to the times I've tried weed do not constitute my being a pothead. Kissing whore, however... yes. That I was. I kissed everyone. I kissed on first dates. I kissed BEFORE first dates. I kissed my husband the day I met him. But I digress).

So now this flimsy excuse is between us. He's walking around school right now, thinking he's gotten one over. And I'm sitting at work, thinking of the many varied ways I can make his life miserable. Not only is he wrong for being somewhere he wasn't supposed to be, and wrong for lying, but he was unfortunately born to a control freak. I am less mad over the lie than of the fact that I cannot control where he goes anymore. This has been a problem since he started walking. This is why I prefer babies. They stay where you put them. Whenever I hear the mother of a baby complaining, I think to myself, "The baby stays where you put him. How can you be having problems?"

In a year, my child will be eligible to receive a driver's license. More mobility. More 'going to the store' via a detour by some harlot's house whose parents let her have male company because they apparently want to be young grandparents. More loss of control for me.

I think I know how I will make his life miserable for yesterday's lie. Yes. When my darling, handsome child approaches me for a driver's license, I will smile.

And hand him a bus pass. Don't mess with mama.

1 comment:

DCSportsChick said...

LMAO! Can't wait till you stick it to him good- isn't that one of the joys of motherhood? :-)