Hey Santa? I could use a router-thingy...

I have a 12-year-old.

I have 1 computer.

We don't have any Wifi or a router-thingy-job that allows you to have more than one person on the internet connection at the same time. So, if I want to go onto my lovely internet and tweetle-ee-deet or post magnificent words of inspiration on my blog, there is a 94% chance that I will need to eject someone (namely, the 12 yo) off of the internet.

I can hear the envy from each and every one of you just oozing through the cyberspace.

Typical scene in the house of JAMB:

Phone rings. It's Melisa! We need to chat about Listen To Your Mother. This requires that I be able to Google and sit in front of my screen for a bit.* Seeing as how I was already ON the phone, I used a fairly kind voice and somehow maneuvered my way onto my comfy office chair. (For the record, Melisa found all of these interactions quite amusing as her own boys are older teenagers in high school and college. For the record, Melisa? It's NOT amusing. So stop snorting.)

We chatted and Googled and fretted and planned and, when I finally hung the phone up, there was Justin at the doorway; Ready to pounce upon the computer and all of its loveliness.

I sighed and, quite selflessly, I must say, relinquished the computer to my child. But not before I had to clarify a few details with him:

"You DO realize that this is like, my JOB now, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my friend and I will be co-producing and hosting a show. This is OFFICIAL work, Justin. We have deadlines to meet and people that will be counting on us. I will be needing to be online when I NEED it, not just when it's convenient for you."

Moaning and groaning at the imposition this entire conversation is having upon him,

"A show? Like, on stage? What's it about?"

"It's called Listen To Your Mother. People will read about motherhood and being a mom and..."

"No thanks."

"Wait... what?"

"No thanks, I don't want to go." (said as he stares at the shiny screen, getting sucked into the web's oblivion.)

"Um, you're going. It's not a question I'm asking of you. It's an obvious GIVEN that when your mother PUTS ON A SHOW that you ATTEND."

Huge sighs and eye rolls. He even HARRUMPHED. I kid you not.

"What day?"

"It's not until MAY, kid. Plenty of time to not think or worry about it.**"

"Aw, MAN!! It's just... It's just that we're SO BUSY. I just want ONE DAY where we aren't doing SOMEthing!"

I maturely rolled my eyes and left the room. Reasoning with a 7th grader isn't my Biggest and Best strong point. I mean, I COULD HAVE said what I was thinking which was "Listen to THIS Mother, kid: You're going and you'll be wearing clean pants, a shirt with NO 'funny' sayings on it, washed AND brushed hair and, to top it all off, I am not allowing the dreaded Flip Flops."

We'll save that conversation for a day near May. Or until he reads my blog. Whichever comes first.


*Admittedly, "a bit" can be anywhere from 5 minutes to 3 hours. I totally understand his frustration and lack of belief in my reassurances that it will only be a "little bit."

**For HIM. Me? I'll be thinking about it quite obsessively for the next 6 months, I'm sure.