In my quest to prevent oldest son, a 19-year old college freshman, from plummeting into a non-industrious summer routine, I give him a jingle when the daily noon hour rolls around to make sure he’s actually perpendicular to the floor.
Sometimes he is.
And sometimes he just pretends he’s been awake for … ohmygosh, a very long time. And further, he was doing something mightily productive when I called.
I am Mom. I know the truth.
But. The one thing I love about that kid (young man) is his priceless, ever-dry sense of humor. The conversation went something like this …
MOM: Are you up?
OLDEST SON: Yeesh.
MOM: You know you have to mow the lawn today, right?
OLDEST SON: Yeah. I will.
MOM: (picks up on subtle groaning in son’s voice not quite audible in the normal spectrum of hearing) Dude, it doesn’t take that long. Just get it done.
OLDEST SON: Mom. It takes 5 hours.
MOM: (furrows brow and responds in most incredulous tone of voice) Five hours?! At the most, it takes me an hour to mow the whole yard. And you’re a whole lot younger than I am!? FIVE HOURS?!!
OLDEST SON: Yeah. One hour to mow the lawn, and four hours to procrastinate about doing it.
OLDEST MOM: (against better judgement proceeds to chuckle which encourages bad behavior) Just get it done, please? I gotta run.
OLDEST SON: I will. Mom?
MOM: Yeah honey?
SON: Wanna talk to Max?
Let the record reflect … MAX IS OUR DOG.