Do you know what the hardest part of being a parent is? Do you? It's listening to everything–I mean EVERYTHING–your child has to say to you, with the raptness of a parent who is trying to be a good parent and doesn't want the child to know that the child is boring the living shortcake out of the parent. We all know that if said child does find out that the parent isn't 100% rapt on them, they'll go nuts, burn down a landmark or something, and blame the parent for never listening to them with the appropriate amount of raptness.
This sounds easy. It should be easy. These are your offspring. You love them. They came out of your body. (Unless you are a man. And don't live on a planet where it's the men who have the babies and the women hang around telling the men that their butt is getting fat, and drinking ice cold xchxslx [a popular drink on another planet]. If you're a man and that's not where you live and your butt is not getting fat, the part about the baby coming out of your body isn't about you. You can love your offspring without all that mess.)
But I will say that it takes extraordinary skill to listen to every fine detail about the Kawasaki Screaming Ninja X427Z motorcycle with the built in jump-ramp that your kid wants so badly his skin hurts, and not run screaming like a ninja out of the room. I was an English major, with a HEAVY emphasis in theater. I can't even spell "morterciecle". And lest you think I am being sexist, I feel the same way when my girl-children want to give me the syllable-by-syllable breakdown of the latest mermaid/muscle-chested-norse-god-superhero/romantic chick-mash-up movie. With outtakes. And director notes.
But I know listening is important. So I try. And it often ends up like this:
Offspring: Hey! You know that dirt bike I wanted?
Me: Mmmmyeessssss?
Offspring (hereinafter referred to as OS, since my fingers have carpal tunnel today): Well I saw one online and it's a really good deal. It's got a two-stroke engine and a throttle bodyyyyyybzzzzzzzbzzzzzbzzzz
Me: zzzzbzzzzzwonder what I should make for dinner tonightzzzbzbbbbzzzzd
OS: zzbzzzbzbig throttle openingsssssbbzzzz
Me: zzzz bottle opening? Ohhhh, I think I left that bottle of drained tuna fish oil on thezzzzzz
OS: zzzbbzzzzzand then she like totally said, "I don't know what happened", yeah right. And then he said "You love him." Which was so painful yet romantic of himzzzzzz then she said "I love you more"zzzzbbbbzbzbzzb the clutch takes care of extra RPM'ssssszzzzzzand it only costs–
Me: COSTCO!
OS: What?
Me: What? Wait. What do you mean "you love him"?
OS: You weren't listening.
Me: Yes I was. You said . . . I have to go to . . . Costco. I think. Isn't that what we were talking about? You want the latest Dirt Biking magazine from Costco, and . . . um . . . a . . . Twilight dvd?
OSes : Right. Totally into the Twilight thing.
Me: Rrrright. Well. I'm glad we had this little chat. Um. I'm off.
OS: (whispering to self) *Psh. She wasn't listening.*
Me: *smiles while envisioning self winning Parent Of The Year award*
Well. At least I KNOW I don't ever talk about anything that doesn't interest my kids. I mean, I've learned a thing or two over the years about parenting. Luckily my kidlets are as interested in all the stuff I talk to them about as I am. Whew!
Please. No. Twi. Light. Ever. Eeeeevvvvveeeeerrrrr.
fin.
Yeah, my kids have this little trick they like to use on me to prove that I’m not listening. It only works sometimes. Not usually. I think.