Randomness

Looking over the last few posts, I realize that my family has a way of conversing with each other that occasionally goes off into flights of fancy. A comment will be commented upon, and once again, until it reaches into obscure territory that has nothing to do with the originating comment, or often, reality. Sometimes we'll say things just out of the blue.

My son has a word for it: random.

For instance, quite a while ago, I was sitting at my chair spinning yarn (I have a spinning wheel), when I looked over at him sitting on couch watching TV and said, "Derek, are you taking drugs?"

He looked at me, his attention slowly weaning itself from the tube to me. "What?"

"Are you taking drugs?"

His brow furrowed. "No."

"Oh, okay." I returned to my spinning.

A commercial came on and he switched his attention to me again. "Why do you ask? Do you think I am?"

"No," I said, and it's true; he finds the smell of alcohol disgusting, and is probably as squeaky-clean about drugs and cigarettes as any kid could be. "I'm asking because I'm a Mom, and Moms have to ask things like that on a routine basis, just in case. It's their job."

"That's really random, Mom," he said.

"I know," I said. "But it has to be done."

"What, the randomness or asking about drugs?"

"Both," I said. "Parents should keep their kids on their toes. It's good for them. It keeps them alert."

"Alert? About what?"

"About things like that blue shirt you're wearing," I said after frantically casting about in my mind for something he should be alert to right now, but failing.

He looked at his shirt. "It's not blue, it's yellow."

"Precisely," I said. "It's good that you're alert about what color shirt you're wearing."

He gave me a long look. "You're weird, Mom."

Now that I think of it, his whole riff about fulfilling a wish to jam with Eric Clapton via the Make A Wish Foundation was probably revenge.

--Karen H.