I was giving the Boy a bath before we went to 6 p.m. Mass. It was a lovely evening here and our neighbors were outside on their back patio watching the Saints game (apparently). Our bathroom window looks out on a fence that separates our property from theirs. We couldn’t see them but we could hear yelling and after a moment, I realized they must have been cheering the game as I couldn’t hear every word, but I’d hear “Stop him” or “get the ball.”
The Boy kept asking me what was going on over there. I told him they were having fun watching the game and they weren’t bothering anyone.
I was letting him play in the tub a bit – he has an amazing collection of yellow rubber ducks – and I sat just outside the door on my bed reading. Finally, it was time to get him out and I went into the bathroom again.
“Maybe it’s my imagination,” he said.
“Then why can I hear it?” I asked.
“Oh. Maybe it’s your imagination.”
I was in the carpool line to pick the Boy up from school. Our carpool line begins to move once the buses have left the area, but it only moves about six or eight car lengths when the front cars move to fill in the spots right before pick up begins. We sit like this for maybe five minutes before pick up actually starts.
I had moved my car to about three car lengths from the stop sign on the corner across from the school. This part of the line is in front of a house and just as the line began to move for the picking up process, I saw an elderly man approach the car in front of me. She started moving, so he waved her on, but he held up his hand for me to stop.
I didn’t start moving, and he came to the passenger side window and made a motion for me to roll down the window.
I was driving my husband’s car, for various car related reasons, and it doesn’t have automatic windows, which meant I had take it out of gear and put the brake on to roll down that window.
He leaned in and said, “I know you’re not the woman I talked to yesterday, but I told her that I had lost my little dog. I found him and I just wanted to tell someone.”
I was driving the Boy to school and he started talking about Egypt. I don’t know where this came from but he was telling me how they don’t bury people in Egypt. I told him they had to because people die there, too.
He told me they had pyramids but I explained that not everyone gets buried in pyramids and we talked about Pharoahs, like “King Nut” (his words).
Then at one point he told me that they sit “criss-cross applesauce” when they pray and put their pointer fingers on their thumbs or something.
I asked him how he knew this.
“I’m smart and you know that someday I’m going to be a mad scientist and take over the world.”
My life certainly isn’t boring!