We are gathering everything up to head home tomorrow. There is a great weeping and gnashing of teeth. As Sloan told me tonight, “I hate when we have to go home.”
Sloan’s had a couple of great quotes this week. Real winners. For your reading enjoyment:
“Mom, you’re old like the dinosaurs.”
Sloan struck up a conversation with a group of people walking past our condo one day (who’s surprised?). This was his introduction:
“Hi. My name is Sloan, I’m five and a half. That’s my sister Tia and she’s three. There’s my brother Landon – he’s one. That’s my mom – she’s thirty, which is, like, pretty old. And that’s my dad – he’s thirty-five.” (I was slightly insulted at being identified as ‘pretty old,’ but Lee was more insulted given that he’s only thirty-four.)
At the beach a couple of nights ago, a young couple walked up with their two young kids. Sloan, of course, approached them with all the boldness and brass of a forty year old.
“Are you their mom?” he asked.
The girl nodded.
“Well, you can’t be their mom,” he said, “because you’re not old like my mom.”
In his, and my, defense, this girl literally looked like she was twelve. I doubted her maternity myself. Still, when did I become ancient? Is it because I’m thirty because from what I hear, thirty is the new twenty, which means I’m still in the prime of my youth. No? Yes?
So, I am now in search of the fountain of youth and if any of you know of its whereabouts, I would greatly appreciate your help. Or, I’ll take the number of the hottest plastic surgeon in town – whatever, I’m not picky. I’m just old.