“That’s because boys’ brains are bigger than girls’ brains.”
And there it is.
The sentence that almost started World War III in our family last week.
Let’s just say my seven-year-old son, the light of my life, is lucky his mother doesn’t possess nuclear weapons.
(Although, I admit, I was seriously eyeing his NERF gun, secretly calculating its range and wondering if I could attach live ammunition to it. ...Yeah. It’s do-able.)
However, in his defense, I started it.
After he remarked the new stocking cap I purchased for him seemed a little small, I merely pointed out that, yes, I should have ordered a larger size.
You know. Taking into account his freakishly large head.
I followed my observation with a not-so-ladylike snort of derision.
But as the woman who gave birth to him - AND his freakishly large head - after 24 hours of gut-wrenching labor, I think I’m in a fair position to judge.
Been there. Done that. Got the T-shirt...and miles of stretch marks.
Then I took it a step further and added, “Your head is bigger than mine!”
And that’s when he dropped his little word bomb regarding the correlation of head size to brain power.
Look out, world. Here he comes.
Education is the key to success.
Unless you’re 7 feet tall with a nice hook shot, then it’s professional basketball.
Or marry one of the Kardashians.
Since that seems unlikely for our little guy, we have to concentrate on the ABCs instead.
It’s amazing what he picks up....
“Hey, Mom,” he called out from the back seat of the car after I picked him up from school, “did you know people used to think the earth was flat?” He paused then added, “Seriously. How stupid. Didn’t they wonder why all the water wasn’t draining off the sides?”
Oh, my little thinker. I was so proud.
And it lasted all of 10 minutes.
After sending my son into the home office to do one page - ONE PAGE - of homework that should have taken all of 60 seconds, I hear what I believed to be a second grader’s rendition of the legendary drum solo in “Moby Dick” by John Bonham of Led Zeppelin.
“Hey, are you doing your homework in there or are you playing the drums?” I hollered from the kitchen.
Without missing a beat, he yelled back, “I’m trying to do both.”
I guess it’s time to hope he grows another three feet and learns to dribble something other than his food.
So, yes, just when I thought all was lost on the intellectual front, the little bugger jumped up and shocked me again.
“You’re going down with a frown, Clown,” I said, pushing him out of the way just as the video game tournament challenge was issued. Sure, it’s rather lame trash talk. But considering I’m barred from using anything related to the four-letter variety, I have to use what I can.
“Oh, it’s on,” my son asserted, meeting my challenge.
(See? His trash talk isn’t much better.)
But my victory was short lived. After getting pounded at ping pong, he then plastered me at basketball (The dream is still alive!).
Then we proceeded to sword play. This was new territory for me, so what I lacked in skill, I made up in enthusiasm.
I figured speed was the issue here, so I swung and stabbed and twirled and twisted at a ferocious pace.
I was so wrapped up in my awesomeness, that I failed to notice my son had yet to make a move.
I stopped, turned to look at him and simply asked, “What?!”
He shook his head and said with all the wisdom of his seven years, “Don’t just whack it around, Mom. Try to use a little finesse.”
That’s a mighty fancy word for a such a little guy.
Apparently the drum solos are working.
Who am I to mess with genius?