Who didn’t hear that growing up?
The Tall Kid, he is a procrastinator. He hasn’t quite taken it to my highly refined level yet, but he’s working on it. Yesterday afternoon I found him diligently working away on a written project, with what appeared to be a project syllabus half hidden under his folder.
Me: Whatcha doin’?
TK: A project on the plant kingdom. I have to write a script now.
Me: A script for what?
TK: Anything. TV show, radio broadcast, game show, drama, whatever. It just has to include all these facts about plants. Hey, you’re a writer…
Me: Dude, I write romance. Unless your daddy plant falls in love with the mommy plant and they have little sprouts in the epilogue, I’m not your girl. Hey! I wonder, if the daddy plant was a Venus Flytrap, if that would be a paranormal plant romance. He’d be almost like a vampire, wouldn’t he?
TK: You are SO weird. Oh, and I have to build a 3-D model of a plant out of household materials.
Me: :eyebrow: By when?
TK: It’s due tomorrow.
Me: Tomorrow? And when did you get this assignment?
So I spent the late afternoon and early evening crafting a rather odd-looking Playdough plant. (I consider household materials to mean any material in my household. It was either Playdough or the tattered scraps of construction paper left over from making a 3-D cell the night before it was due.) Unfortunately, I didn’t get a picture, but let’s just say I’m not so handy with Playdough and toothpicks. This morning, amidst the usual before-school chaos, I had to superglue the tiny little roots back on and cut up a water bottle to drop the thing into for protection. Then we hit a frost heave and one of the leaves fell off. He’s going to tell his teacher it’s a dying plant.
Numerous attempts have failed to beat into his head that if he told me about the project the day it’s assigned, the most practical items for building the project could miraculously appear in our household, instead of everything looking like it was hurriedly crafted by a crack-addicted monkey.
(Huh. I’d be the crack-addicted monkey, I guess.)
Yes, Mom. Someday arrived, and I have a kid just like me.
(Note: I realize there might be a teacher or parent having an “OMG, you did his project for him?” moment. I only did the Playdough part. I didn’t write his script—he didn’t like my amnesiac Venus Flytrap secret baby idea. The Tall Kid works his ass off every day maintaining high academic honors, and I could give a shit less if he can make a piece of construction paper look like a nucleaus. If someday his life is ruined by his inability to craft a Playdough plant, I’ll feel bad then.)