Last year, when D was in second grade, we were heading somewhere when she said out of the blue: “Mom. I felt really sorry for Tiffany today. She told Devan a secret and he told the whole class.” We were at a stoplight, and I remember my heart dropping to the pit of my stomach as I thought “oh my God,” and worried about what I was about to hear.

Of course, I immediately asked her what the bombshell was.

“She still watches Dora.”

A wave of relief washed over me, and I started to laugh.

“Seriously, D? Is that so bad?”

“Yeah, mom. Only little kids watch Dora.”

Do-do-Dora! Do-do-Dora!

B piped in, “Dora’s head looks like a football.”

It seemed like just yseterday I was buying Dora bubble bath, and caught myself singing “Backback, backpack! Backpack, backpack!” while driving alone in the car.

I got it, though. Of course, I think it may have been more like fifth grade when the Smurfs became uncool – not second!

When did one of your childhood heroes become embarrassing? Who was it?

Call me bad, but I’ve never really corrected their mispronunciation. It’s just one more way to retain their babyhood, as they mature at dizzying speeds these days.

Yesterday, Boo and I were driving along and he excitedly stated, out of the blue: “Mom. I know why they call it Pizza Hunt! It’s because when you go there, you are searching for Pizza.”

I had to smile at his logic, but I also decided I better let him know it is actually “Pizza HUT” before he proclaims his new realization on the bus, in front of fourth and fifth graders.

“Honey, that is really good thinking… But, did you know that it is actually called Pizza Hut? H-U-T?”

I saw his face in the rear view mirror, and he didn’t smile or frown.

“Hmm.” He said, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t like the name as much anymore. It makes no sense.”

Once, while I was chopping an onion, he came up and asked me what it was.

Me: “It’s an onion.”
Boo: “I LOVE yun-ions. Can I have a bite?”
Me: “It’s pretty spicy.”
Boo: “No it isn’t. I looooove yun-ions.”
Me: “Okay.”

Looking victorious, Boo picked up the unchopped portion of the yun-ion like an apple, sinking his chops into it with fervor.

Suddenly, there were tears rolling down his face. I said not one word. He looked up at me, through the tears, and hissed out (under his breath, with a forced smile) “I LOOOOOOOVE YUN-IONS.”

Today we bellied up to the Subway at Walmart to order him a sub. I always tell those guys to load it to the hilt with veggies. The sandwich artist went through the extensive lineup, asking us which selections we’d like for this turkey mini sub.

I suggested all veggies, except jalapenos. Boo immediately declared that he LOOOOOOVED jalapenos, so I asked the guy to give him a sample.

He popped that sucker in like nobody’s business, and chomped away. Half a second later, he started to visibly huff.

“HHHhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh.”

Silence. Tears.

“Waaaaaaaaa-teeeerrrrrrrrrr… HHHHHHhhhhhhhhauuuuueusuuahsaaaaaa”

Pink splotches on the face.

Sandwich artist throws me a paper cup. Sandwich artist #2 comes out and says “MILK! You need MILK!” We get a bottle, and hand it to B.

The kid emitted about 24 ounces of tears, but never actually cried. When it was all over, Sandwich artist gave him two thumbs up and said “Whoa, you’re a cool dude.”

At the end of the day, he said “I’d do it again.” Sigh.

The aftermath…

I’ve written about one-on-one time in the past, and I’ve been thinking more and more about how important it is.

My daughter was having a sleepover at her dad’s house on Friday night, so I planned a “date” with Boo. Yes, I took my son to see the Justin Bieber movie. My six year-old boy (who I just want to cast a spell on lately to freeze him in time, he’s so freaking cute) was so excited to see that movie and go spend his Book It certificate on his personal pan pizza at “Pizza Hunt.”

Work ran a little later than I had hoped, so he spent some time down the street playing with a friend. When I called to say I’d pick him up in 20 minutes, I learned that he was watching the clock per my previously communicated goal of 6:15, and was already bundled up in coat and boots. (Oops!)

We arrived at the theater, and I was astonished to see a line of bustling teens spilling out the door. (SMACK in the forehead – I haven’t gone to a weekend-night movie in AGES!) I worried that our Bieber fever would be broken by previously-ticketed masses, but nope… The theater was not too packed. I let Boo pick out the seats, and we settled in to dodge 3-D objects and laugh our butts off at the Kung Fu Panda staring contest.

The movie started, and I mainly watched him watching the young Justin Bieber smacking away at the drums with more skill than a toddler usually displays.

The movie went on, and Boo started to get restless. I did my best to keep him comfy as I watched the movie, riveted.

Boo fell asleep. I enjoyed the film. I chuckled at the girls interviewed in the movie, and the ones who popped up to sing and dance during the confetti-filled 3-D finale.

Suddenly, the movie was over, and I sat with a 45 pound boy sawing logs on my lap. His boots were kicked off on the dark floor, and I couldn’t find my keys.

I bothered a teenage couple to help me get his boots on, as he bobbled, dead weight on my arm. They politely complied, but I wasn’t about to ask them to look through my purse for my keys. No, no – I waited until the kids came in with the brooms to clean the theater. They were very sweet, and one of them shined his flashlight into my purse, where my keys stared back at me instantly, as if I hadn’t been digging for them in a panic for at least 3 minutes.

Finally, I slung Boo over my shoulder and carried him through the masses. The glow from my amazing teenage interactions of the evening was dulled (if only momentarily) by a couple my age who dropped the door on me, looking back without apology, and I made it through the March rain to the car.

We never got to “Pizza Hunt” that night, but the second thing B-boy said to me the next morning was “I had a really nice time last night, Mom.” The first thing he said was “Mwahhhhh – we didn’t go to Pizza Hunt…” I told him the whole story, and he repeated it to his sister almost verbatim the minute we picked her up. I’m pretty sure he’ll repeat it again, somewhere.

We used his pizza coupon later in the day.