Not Boring

Last night, after dinner, Dylan accompanied me on his upright bass while I worked on the chord progression for an Uncle Tupelo song. Gosh, he sounded great. The song I was working on is slow, and lent itself well to Dylan using a bow instead of plunking the strings.

Rhonda stood listening and smiling, until she announced it was getting near bedtime. Dylan walked to her and gave her a hug. He leaned back and looked at her with an impish little smile.

"Gosh, Mom, I'm sure getting taller than you."

"Yeah, well, I'll still kick your butt," she said.

She started throwing play punches at his chest and midsection until he collapsed in a chair, helpless with laughter.

The thing is, when Rhonda says, "I'll kick your butt," what we hear is, "You're acting like a booger, but I sure love you."

I took Dylan to school this morning, and during the drive, he repeated something he's said before: "I'm glad I don't have a boring mom." We laughed and swapped Mom stories until we wheeled into school.

I watched him walk into the campus, marveling at, indeed, how tall he's getting. I thought again about the mother of my son, how fun she is, and how easy she is to live beside.

As long as I don't forget the ice cream.