Friday, February 22, 2013


I got my first-ever letter from my son, 7, yesterday, after I asked him in my nice voice to review his sight words. It said:

Why are you so bossy right now Mommy?
P.S.  Send a note back.

My son's first letter, everything spelled correctly! And with a post script! I'm kvelling, clutching the letter to my breast. My son, my son!

My artistic genius! On the note he had scribbled a portrait in blue crayon of someone with angry hair, and fang-like teeth (one assumes this person is me), picking a booger, wearing sweatpants and all I can think is, that little genius! A skewering satirist! My son! I want to knuckle his hair, he's like some kind of trickster god Loki. Genius communicator! Like Mercury, of messages. My son!

 Out of this blue, sweatpants-wearing person's head is coming the thought bubble: "Boss."

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