Why Some Mornings You Just Shouldn’t Talk
Excerpt from an actual conversation with one of the Saffrines this morning. (If you’ve missed our earlier episodes, this is how I’m now referring to my spawn, in order to mask their identities. When specificity is necessary, they shall be known as Owodunni – Yoruban for “it is good to have money,” Hiccup and Potsticker. Or, for brevity, Hic, Pick and Otis.)
Anyway. The conversation this morning.
Me: “I’m going to Office Depot today. You need anything?
Saffrine: “Um, yeah, I need mechanical pencils.”
Me: “I think I’ve got some in my office. Have you checked there?”
Saffrine: “I usually just refill the ones I’ve got, but I’m almost out of the little lead refills.”
Me: “So you need me to get mechanical pencil REFILLS?”
Saffrine: “No. I need mechanical pencils.”
Me: “Are your mechanical pencils broken?”
Saffrine: “No, but I’m almost out of refills!”
Me: “I understand that. So, you’re telling me you don’t want to refill the ones you’ve got anymore, and you don’t want to use the ones in my office. Correct?”
Saffrine: “I just need more mechanical pencils.”
Me: “I don’t understand why you can’t refill the ones you’ve got, since you’ve been doing that already, and I can buy refills.”
Saffrine: “Fine. Don’t buy me mechanical pencils.”
Me: “I don’t mind buying you mechanical pencils. I’m happy to buy them for you. Nothing would give me greater pleasure at this moment than to dump a box of mechanical pencils onto your lap. I’m simply experiencing some confusion over the lead refill issue.”
Saffrine, looking at me with that mix of irritation and concern that makes you want to drop-kick them: “Mom. You do understand that when you buy mechanical pencils, they come with lead, right?”
That’s when I gave up.
Hic, Pik and Otis
People who blog regularly are divided on how much to share, how much to keep quiet. “I never post pictures of my kids,” says one blogger who refers to her kids as Freebird and Bubba online. That makes sense, with weird kid stalkers and all out there.
“I never write about health stuff,” says another. “That’s just gross.” See, now I find health stuff fascinating. The grosser, the better. Sorry, but sooner or later, I’ll write about my own medical adventures (I want “I told you I was sick” carved on my headstone.)
So the concept of overshare gives me pause. I decided that perhaps I need to censor myself occasionally, for the sake of my offspring, who may or may not have reputations they’d prefer to ruin themselves.
I mentioned it to my daughters, who shall hereby be known as Hiccup, Potsticker and Owodunni (Yoruban for “it is good to have money.” We believe in head starts.) AKA Hic, Pik and Otis.
“Oh god,” moaned Hiccup. “She’s gonna give us crazy nicknames.”
“Yeah,” added Potsticker. “Something stupid. Like Saffrine.”
Don’t worry, Hic and Pik, your identity is safe with me.
PS: Saffrine’s looking pretty good right now, isn’t it??
30 minutes post blog-publishing:
“Moooom,” complained Potsticker. “You screwed up our nicknames.”
“Yeah,” said Hiccup. “I said ‘Saffrine,’ not her.”
Yes, you read correctly. They are arguing over who gets credit for a non-existent pseudonym.
Right now, Saffrine is my favourite child.