Teenagers. Well, ALMOST.
What do you think is happening in this picture between my son and me?
Typical angsty pre-teen stuff, right?
The dialogue maybe goes something like:
Me: Son. Why did you jump off the couch and break your wrist?
Him: Why are you my mom?
ACTUALLY… what really went down while we were sitting in the radiologists office waiting to get a second set of x-rays for his broken wrist was this:
Me: Dude. Act like a teenager.
Me: *snaps picture*
Me: Dude. Look. *shows pic* WE’RE HILARIOUS! Can I post this?
We: CRACK UP AT HOW HILARIOUS WE ARE.
Hi. I’m the tree. My son… he is the apple that didn’t fall far.
And you want to know the WHOLE broken wrist story?
Friends came over. He greeted them with one of those orthopedic boots on. Said he broke his foot.
Later that evening he decided to play another trick. His plan was to jump off the back of the couch (the HIGH part of the couch) and pretend he broke his arm.
EXCEPT HE REALLY DID.
When he went to school and told his friends how it happened, a couple of them whacked him in the head.
BECAUSE THAT DESERVES A WHACK IN THE HEAD FROM A GOOD BUDDY OR TWO.
On our way home from the first set of x-rays a week earlier his response to his diagnosis was, “Mom. What if the zombie apocalypse happens in the next 4 weeks?! I won’t be able to use an assault rifle!”
I adore this one so much it makes me ache.
Use the Form Below to Leave a Reply