No Matter How Good You Are, They Are Always Better

See, I think one must have kids to maintain one's mental acuity.

It's the constant struggle to stay one step ahead of one's offspring that sharpens our senses, keeps us dancing on the balls of our intellectual toes like a boxer waiting for the next punch, and teaches us to expect the unexpected.

It makes one preternaturally aware of danger, evil, malfeasance and fraud. It hones ones' ability to intuit, assess and avert disaster. Crisis management becomes second nature. We are always watching, always waiting, always prepared, even in moments of repose or reflection.

I've been doing this for 13 years now. I'm awfully good at sniffing out trouble. I don't even make a conscious effort most of the time, it's just this annoyingly pervasive awarness that is always with me. It's an internal voice that whispers constantly in my ear.

Sometimes it suggests in gentle, soothing tones that I go investigate the uncharacteristic quiet that has descended. Sometimes, it shrieks with an urgency to which every cell in my body immediately reacts, even before my mind can comprehend the danger.

And, still? I miss stuff.

Often that which slips beneath my maternal radar is inconsequential. And occasionally it is not. But it all gives me gray hair, because it comes with the horror of "what if?"

This week my children have absconded from the house in great haste each morning lest they be pressed into service. They want no part of the drugery that comes with home improvement, although Diminutive One was very anxious to try his hand at paint rolling.

Our house is sort of the neighborhood gathering place and often I have a crowd of boys in my yard and my home. Yesterday however, we banished the masses so we could work, and my kids disappeared with the rest of the pack.

At lunchtime, Husband called Pre-Pubescent One on his cell phone, which is something we rarely do, just because he's not often away from us for extended periods of time unless he's at school.

He did't answer, but we weren't concerned. He customarily takes it off while he's playing rough and tumble sports such as football. He takes care of that thing with singleminded sense of purpse that I wish he would demonstrate for his room.

What did concern and just stunned both of us, really, was the voice mail greeting he had recorded:

"Hi, this is Pre-Pubescent One. I can't answer the phone right now, please leave a message with your name and number, and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Oh, and while you're at it...

(cue .wav of Stan Cartman) "HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO SUCK MY BALLS?"

(WARNING: PROFANITY, RACIAL SLUR)



Oh no he di-nt.

I can't even figure out how to change the ringtone on my cell phone and my 13 year old kid is uploading dirty .wav files to his voice mail?

I never saw that one coming.

It rankled me something fierce.

As Husband relayed to me his discovery, he strove for a somber, disapproving mein, but the corners of his mouth twitched deceptively.

"It's not funny." I said accusingly.

"I'm not laughing." he said

"You're laughing on the inside" I said.

"Nooooooo. I would never."

Then he snorted. And I snorted. And then we were both laughing. We laughed long and hard. Because South Park is funny. And Cartman hollering "SUCK MY BALLS" through a megaphone at Mr. Garrison is funny. And the way he engineered the file to fit into his message, was funny.

The whole flippin thing was funny EXCEPT the fact, that it was on my 13 year old son's voicemail.

When he came home, he was told that the voicemail would have to go, and that furthermore, his download capability had been curtailed, until such time as he could be more responsible in deciding what is appropriate. He was warned that the next such abuse would result in the loss of his phone.

"Dude, what if Grandma had called you?"

He paled a little bit at that. It was not something he had considered, and truth be told, it's an extremely remote possibility. But it drove the point home. The horror of "what if", always does.

You see? No matter how good you are, they are always better.

SIGH. It's alright. Being on one's toes constantly results in strong shapely metaphorical calves.

Now...what to do about these metaphorical thighs?