They are GONNA need it. No doubt. And more than likely I’ll have no idea why.
But I have some ideas. Some early indicators that may come back to bite me in the ass and pocketbook later on.
1. I had jury duty this week. In addition to getting my Princess Leia outfit down from the attic and crafting myself a tin foil helmet I also rehearsed a scenario with my son where he asked to be breastfed.
Yes, it’s wrong. But hey it’s San Francisco and honestly I know there’s a lot of weirder shit that goes on.
2. On mornings where they will not get out of bed I
a) Throw a guinea pig under the covers.
b) Blast Batwitdaba in their ears.
(For the time bombs tickin’ an’ the heads that hang
All the gangs gettin’ money an’ the heads that bang bang
Wild mustangs, the porno flicks
All my homies in the county, in cell block six) – what’s not to wake up to?
3. Since they are too young to have Facebook accounts it is more than likely I will forget their birthday.
Right? Who are we kidding. If you don’t post your birthday on Facebook I don’t think I’m legally obligated to remember it.
4. This conversation:
Hubby, ” I need to get some more wine.”
Seven year-old, “Mom likes the Louis Martini cabernet.”
Hubby, “Wow, I’m surprised and scared that you know that.”
Seven year-old, “Yeah, and you better get the 2009 instead of the 2011 or she runs around the house like a crazy person.”
Hubby,” Looks like they are out of the 2009.”
Seven year-old, “Then you go the manager and you make him open up all the boxes in the back until they find one.”
Son of a wine-oholic or future somalier?
P.S.. I don’t give a shit what your answer is.
4. This blog.