I HAVE RESPONSIBLE

*Updated below*


When Blake was in first grade, Paul and I were going over some things with him that he needed to take to school. I can't remember exactly what it was but I think there was something he needed to give to the teacher.

Evidently our reminders insulted him because he stopped our stream of parental advice by putting his hands up, palms facing outwards and said:

MOM. DAD. I HAVE RESPONSIBLE.

In a tone that let us know he thought he'd never get us raised.

We weren't really surprised by this because he was always one of those kids whose vocabulary was bigger than he was. And nine times out of ten, he used the words in the correct context, if not in the correct tense.

Last night, Blake approached me with a request. A few months ago, he had pre-purchased a video game at our mall and the game was going to be available at midnight. The store was going to be open and he wanted to know if he could go out at midnight and pick up his game. The mall is extremely close to our house; you don't even have to get on a highway to get there from here.

Remembering his assurance, at the age of six, that he did indeed have responsible, I immediately said "Sure. And why not stop at the pub and have a beer with the guys while you're out."

Oh stop. I'm kidding.

I actually said, "Well, I think that would be okay, since you're seventeen and you wouldn't be breaking city curfew. However, if your dad gets home and disagrees, then you'll have to wait until tomorrow. Also, you have to get up without prompting in the morning."

And he accepted that.

Then I asked him about the game and he said it is an alien war game - outer space aliens, not immigrant aliens. And, apparently, it's all about fighting off these alien invaders.

Well, why didn't you say so? Of course, I want you to have that game because I am all about educational activities. And I think it's hugely important for our kids to know as much as possible about our fight for independence from space aliens. History is important, you know.

So then.

As we all went to bed, he assured us that he'd be very quiet as he left and returned on his midnight run for his new toy.

I woke up at 1:30 and checked out the window and saw that his car was home and thought "Ah. He did it. He left and came home safely and quietly. What a big boy."

Turns out my little fella couldn't stay awake and he never made it out the door.

So this morning before school, he handed me his pre-paid receipt and asked me if I would go pick up his game. Because I am the best mom EV. VER. I told him I would take care of that and that I'm sure he wouldn't mind running to the store for me this afternoon to buy water so that he could do all the lifting and carrying. Knowing he had no wiggle room, he agreed.

However, he couldn't help himself from reminding me just how important this trip to the mall was to get his game. He couldn't help asking me a couple of times if I was sure I had the receipt. He even suggested he might call me through the day to see if I had picked it up "...not to remind you, mom, but to feel the excitement of knowing it's at home waiting for me."

Yeah, yeah.

And darn, if I didn't think to put my hands up and say "Blake. Son. I have responsible."

I am usually much more quick witted than that but I had not had coffee yet.

But I assume I will have a happy kid on my hands this evening.

Well, once he finds the game.

Because, since I'm the best mom EV. VER, I'm going to hide it from him and make him go on a scavenger hunt for it.

Maybe I don't have responsible.

Update:
This was the best part of my day. My normally well spoken son was completley flustered and without words when he walked in and found a note on the dining room table:

Blake, can you find your game. Clue: a peaceful religious sect.

I was at the comptuer when he walked in and I said "Hi Blake how was your day?" And I heard complete silence for a moment and then he mumbled "Is this a joke?" So I knew he had read my note.

Seriously, mom, what is this garbage? Where's my game? You HID my game? MOM! I cannot handle this today. Where's my game?

Think, Blake. What is a peaceful religious sect?

Mormons, Jewish, Jehovah's Witness....I don't know, where's my game?

Um...Blake, I know you've heard of the Quakers.

You DID NOT hide my game in a box of oatmeal.....(opens pantry door)

Ah, but what's your favorite flavor of oatmeal?

I don't know!!!!! Mom, I can't handle this.

Oh, your game is fine, just hunt for it...(desperately wishing I had made lots of clues to send him all over the house. This was much more fun than I imagined. I never knew torturing one's child could bring such satisfaction.)

Thankfully the twinkle in his eye and his obvious attempts not to laugh made me know he was having fun, which really didn't matter because I was literally doubled over in laughter. To see this big ole tough wrestler nearly fall apart over not being able to find his new toy was, for some reason, absolutely hilarius to me. I was just waiting for him to stomp his size 14 foot on the floor and say "I'm telling DAAAD-uh."

As he dug his game out of the box of instant strawberry oatmeal he said "Thanks mom, and I have to admit, that was pretty cute... but don't do that to me again."

I am going straight to hell for my fine parenting techniques.