Naughty, Nice or Bored...


Winter break had not officially begun when Christopher was already “bored” and asking, “What do you want to do with me today mom?” I have this freelance writing assignment that is hanging over my head and I just want to get it done. I won’t allow myself to do any other fun writing until I have a grasp on it. Obviously I have a grasp on it now.  Writing about insurance (my old stomping grounds) is like writing a paper for school. It gives me a sour, curled up lip expression. It is something I am very capable of doing for “money” or a “grade” but I’ll never love it. I’ve returned to the keyboard several times hoping my fingers would just peck out the first sentence and then I would be on a roll. So when Christopher asked, “What do you want to do?” I respond, “Uh, I really want to get this work done.” He sulks away; I assume it is still fresh on his memory how many times I said, “I can’t right now I have a paper to write”, and I feel bad.

Never mind that I really DO feel bad. We are all sick. Christopher started out with his cold, my husband got it midweek, and I ended with it.  So my husband can shut down – because he’s not the mom. Christopher acts as if my husband is invisible. He drags out last years Transformer for me to help put it back into a car. He brings me the pencil sharpener that has a pencil stuck in it, and he lays at my feet, while I am working, just to sigh in my presence. When he calls, "MOM!?", I yell, “WHAAAAT!” It’s a not nice “what” and I can’t understand why he is not deterred by it.  When he asks me how to spell Jackie Chan, I ask him why he didn’t ask his dad.  As I am pulled away again from my brain in a vice insurance research I asked, “Why do you ask me everything, and not daddy?” He responds, “I like to. You are the wise one.” I’m thinking he’s gonna have the girls wrapped around his finger. I spent the rest of the day doing what he wanted to do. He’s good.  

Here’s the thing…Santa's checklist should include "bored" to encourage the believers NOT to say it the week before Christmas! 

Sporadically Yours,

Kenya G. Johnson