The Coke's On You
Being a mother has so many rewards. One reward came today in the form of a little ceramic-something-or-other that my eight-year-old son made. It's painted in colorful strokes, it's about the size of a shot glass, and it has all the wonderful imperfections that come from little fingers and thumbs squishing it into shape. "It's for you, Mommy. Merry Christmas." He flashed me a toothy grin.
"I love it! It's beautiful. I love the colors."
He went on to explain all of its many uses. "You can put candy in it, or stuff in it, or just look at it, or other things. But I don't know if you can drink out of it because it has paint."
"It's great. And I know just where I'm going to put it. Right on the kitchen window sill where I can see it all the time."
There were more rewards to come. "Now Mommy, here's a joke. What happens if somebody throws a porcupine at you?"
"A porcupine? Ouch. I don't know. What happens?"
"The poke's on you."
"Ohhhh, I see. Funny."
"Mom? What happens if somebody throws an egg at you?"
"I have no idea."
"The yolk's on you."
"Good one. Now here's one for you," I said. "What do you say to somebody who offers to buy you a soda?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"The Coke's on you."
He smiled.
"Now what happens if somebody gives you a piece of meat that's too big to chew?"
He looked at me, squinting.
"The choke's on you."
"Funny, mom."
"And what happens if some guy in an English pub falls on top of you?"
"I don't know."
"The bloke's on you."
He stared at me for a while, with the same raised eyebrow a psychiatrist gives his patient. And then he simply said, "Mommy, I love you. Merry Christmas." He reached out his arms to give me a hug.
"Merry Christmas, honey. I love you, too."
"I love it! It's beautiful. I love the colors."
He went on to explain all of its many uses. "You can put candy in it, or stuff in it, or just look at it, or other things. But I don't know if you can drink out of it because it has paint."
"It's great. And I know just where I'm going to put it. Right on the kitchen window sill where I can see it all the time."
There were more rewards to come. "Now Mommy, here's a joke. What happens if somebody throws a porcupine at you?"
"A porcupine? Ouch. I don't know. What happens?"
"The poke's on you."
"Ohhhh, I see. Funny."
"Mom? What happens if somebody throws an egg at you?"
"I have no idea."
"The yolk's on you."
"Good one. Now here's one for you," I said. "What do you say to somebody who offers to buy you a soda?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"The Coke's on you."
He smiled.
"Now what happens if somebody gives you a piece of meat that's too big to chew?"
He looked at me, squinting.
"The choke's on you."
"Funny, mom."
"And what happens if some guy in an English pub falls on top of you?"
"I don't know."
"The bloke's on you."
He stared at me for a while, with the same raised eyebrow a psychiatrist gives his patient. And then he simply said, "Mommy, I love you. Merry Christmas." He reached out his arms to give me a hug.
"Merry Christmas, honey. I love you, too."
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