Yo Momma

My mom retired earlier this month. We have been enjoying our vacation. All of the pent up projects are bursting forth. The basement has been our first target. It is going well.  As we work in the basement, Henry has been cramming as much Wii time in as he thinks we won’t notice. When it is time to take off the numchuk or to change the game or to read the missive from Mario, Henry yells “Mom!” When he needs milk, he yells “Mom!” When he wants to share a rambling story involing ninjas, cats or hamsters, he yells “Mom!” Both of the older kids will call my mom “Mom” and me “Grandma.” It happens. It isn’t a big deal. Just like I was horribly embarrassed when I called my 3rd grade and 5th grade teachers Mom without thinking. We just answer.

Henry has decided that just answering is not OK. When he yells “Mom!” he wants his real mom, the one who had the fat belly, the one who gave birth to Arabella. He has been touching the mole on my face when he goes on and on about Mario so I would suspect that will be part of my description soon. His real mom is the only one who should answer. It takes everything not to laugh. His real mom was busy, but if you’re patient, she’ll get to it.

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The other day Henry said

“___tges are silly”

Me: witches?

H:  bridges! Bridges are silly.

Me: What? Why?

H: We don’t need bridges. You can swim across the water.

Me: What about cars?

H: Well, maybe not those bridges. But rope bridges. Those are silly.