{ Trapped Inside with Humor-Rich Teenagers }

I live with 4.75 teenagers. These were once my babies and now are unique creatures who often resemble fragrant, helpful allies and other days pose as smelly, ungrateful strangers.

Like dependent joeys, they once hovered around me for transportation, food and internet passwords. Now some of them drive cars, buy their own chips and stop whispering when I walk into a room. 

“What did you say? Who’s doing what?” I plead like a pitiful toddler. Life has cruelly circled around — I am now the one who craves to be let in on secrets and it is I who must take naps.

One of my teenagers currently displays an unusual, robotic sense of humor — like when he greets me at breakfast by pointing sharply at me and saying:

Target Acquired.

We discussed respect / disrespect today. Sometimes I ask him to complete a chore and he jokingly answers:

Yes, I will not do that.

When I was finished with my mini respect lecture, he offered me a rigid handshake, peered at me with a robotic stare and stated in a monotone:

Thank you for your candor. 

Minutes later, he offered me another stiff hand and droned:

Congratulations. You have been reinstated as our mother for another five years. 

We had some other options, but this worked for us right now.

After eating the lunch I prepared for him, he approached me again with: 

Congratulations. Your term as mother has now been extended for the next TEN years.

Unless you perish.

Time for a nap.

Photos:

Franck V.

Rock’n Roll Monkey

{ Covid-19 Clothing Style }

Part One: Style Problems?

Sheltering at home may be having an effect on me.

My oldest daughter and I were in the kitchen yesterday and she looked me up and down with concern.

“Umm..I was just wondering why you dress with such a mix of patterns lately?”

I looked down at my flowered skirt and buffalo checked shirt. “What’s wrong with this?” I asked. “They both have blue.”

This daughter has been professionally trained to assess cognitive loss in the elderly population.

So, I second-guessed myself.

• Am I losing it? 
• Is the fact that I seldom leave the house starting to affect me?
• Am I just getting old?

But I’m of Scandinavian descent — I like bright colors. 

I’m an artistic type — I don’t mind a little mixing of patterns here and there. 

Perhaps this is how I see myself:

 

But maybe this is how she sees me?

Part 2: My Morning Trip to Walmart

One day later, I got to Walmart as the doors opened; as the masked shoppers rolled past the greeters who now double as patron counters.

I was wearing a flowered skirt (again), athletic shirt (matching color), baseball cap (hair needs coloring), barn jacket and black boots.

Halfway through the dairy section, I noticed an elderly, well-dressed woman. She was a petite, classy grandma type, with snowy white hair, wearing a flashy red dress, fitted black wool coat, nylons and dress shoes, gold earrings, and red lipstick.

Remember, this is Walmart. The sight of her really stood out.

We finally crossed paths near the empty toilet paper aisle, eye to eye and cart to cart, though still six feet apart.

“I like your skirt,” she said to me.

“Thanks. I was noticing you, too — all dressed up here at Walmart.”

She leaned in and quipped, “We need to class this place up a bit, don’t we?”

I laughed and rolled away, smiling. (Also rare at Walmart these days.)