Saturday, my youngest and I decided to run some errands together and do some mother/son bonding.
That's the youngest there in the picture taking his life in his own hands by drinking the rest of my coffee. We'll get back to the later.
Okay, so I coerced youngest into coming with me to the antique store. There may have promises of hot chocolate and pizza pretzels involved. Of course, there's a better than decent chance antiquing with mom was his punishment for drinking the last of my coffee.
I'll never tell.
The point is we were spending Saturday morning together bonding.
We entered the large antique store that is my absolute favorite. It has tons and tons of booths all containing treasures from years past. I could spend hours in there roaming around. But Saturday we were on a mission. I needed a few decorative things for our bookshelves.
We began rummaging through the booths looking for a few antique books and knick-knacks. Youngest shares his mother's affinity for all things books so this was right up his alley.
While I was swooning over vintage cookbooks, I heard my darling son ask someone if they needed his help. I pulled my head out of the booth I was in and felt myself swell with motherly pride.
My baby boy, my precious one, the youngest of my brood, was offering to help an elderly woman who was purchasing an antique crib. She was struggling to get it out of its assigned booth and down to the cash register area.
I may have even blinked back a few tears as he guided the crib down the long aisle for the woman. She thanked me profusely and made sure to tell me what a spectacular job I was obviously doing raising my son.
Naturally, I thanked her and downplayed my involvement. I tried not to break my own arm mentally patting myself on the back however.
Look at my boy. Helping a sweet little old lady. She offered to "tip" him for his help. He promptly refused the money. I'm telling you by this point I was all but floating on air.
I praised him heavily and vowed to myself to reward his selflessness. All irritation over him drinking my coffee dissolved in heavy doses of maternal pride.
Don't you realize what this means? At some point, my child has actually listened to the things his father and I have been trying to teach him for years.
As I was praising him he blushed. "It's no big deal, mom. I'm kind of having fun with you."
Kind of having fun. Wow! My teenager was actually enjoying our day antiquing.
I'm clearly rocking parenting. Right?
I continued to revel in my parental prowess as we worked through the next few booths.
Suddenly, Free Fallin began playing over the sound system. Tom Petty and the parental highlife. What a day.
All was grand until my son, the very same one that had just pushed an antique crib to the front of the warehouse for an elderly woman, the very one that had just informed me that he was having a good time with me began singing.
Look at my boy. He even knows Tom Petty.
Only, a moment later, I heard something that didn't sound quite right.
He wasn't singing Free Fallin'. No, my creative childhood, my little sweetheart, was singing something else entirely.
A parody he'd crafted on the fly.
He was singing Free Balling instead. Yes, free-balling, like without undergarments. He was also laughing hysterically as he belted out his parody.
You know who wasn't laughing? The elderly ladies who'd just been praising his good deeds. They were not laughing at all. They were hovering somewhere between shock and horror.
I guess with parenting you win some and you lose some.
I still think he's a pretty great kid, and his parody-ing ability is bar none!
Makes mama proud. ;)