Kids think they’re so damn smart…

First off, let me apologize for not blogging in almost two weeks.  I have a good reason for it, but I’m saving that for next week.

Anyway, let’s talk kids, shall we?  Now, when I say that, I’m actually talking about my kids, who are 18 and very close to 15.  And I have to tell you now, that they know everything.  They are much smarter than I am.  They have much more world and life experience than I do.

Yeah, well, that’s what they think, anyway.

Let me give you an example.  From this morning.  Early this morning.

So the Boy has a few chores around the house.  Cut the grass, clean the kitty litter, etc.  He just loves doing the kitty litter.  I mean, who wouldn’t right?

So I asked him yesterday, probably around three in the afternoon to do the kitty litter.  “Yeah, all right,” says the Boy.  And doesn’t do it.

You see, I’ve determined that my son is in a completely different time zone.  Somewhere in Europe, I’m thinking.  Everytime I ask him to do something, he sounds like he’s just on the cusp of doing it.  Like, right there…but not quite yet.  An old boss of mine from years back used to refer to this as SONY.

Soon.  Only, Not Yet.

So I ask him to do something, it sounds like he’s going to do it.  I walk away from him assuming he’s got the message.  Assuming he’s going to do it.

But he doesn’t do it.

He’s on Europe time or something.

And this is where the whole “I’m smarter than you” thing kicks in.  See, the Boy figures he’s got it all laid out.  He knows exactly how things are going to play out from the second he awakens until the second he lays his pointy little head down to sleep again.  He’s studied the landscape, taken a reading from the stars, tracked the spoor and made multiple compass readings.  He’s In The Know.  He’s Tuned In.  He’s Cosmically Aware.

He’s full of shit.

So, around eight o’clock, I noticed it hadn’t been done yet.  Now, I’m at the stage of my life that I am done with pleading, arguing or fighting with a fifteen-year-old smartypants about doing shit.  Now, I just lay out the consequences.

“Do the kitty litter.  If it’s not done by the time the garbage needs to go out at 7:00 tomorrow morning?  I’m hauling your ass out of bed to do it then.”

Of course, I get the “all right!  Jeez!” comment.

And he doesn’t do it then.  Flash forward to 2:37 AM.  I wake up when my wife makes her high-pitched “EEEEEP!” noise.  Why is she making her high-pitched “EEEEEP!” noise?  Because the Boy has woken her up.

Because he was just doing the kitty litter and the bag broke and spilled kitty litter all over the carpet in the Wife’s office and he’s been trying to clean it up on his own for a long time but he can’t get the kitty litter up and he needs help and really he’s tried his best and he didn’t want to wake her up but he doesn’t know what else to do cuz the kitty litter’s not coming up anymore…

Yeah.  Friggin’ 2:37 in the morning is when he decides to do it.  Because Nothing Can Go Wrong.  He’s Cosmically Aware.  He’s Seen The Future.

So much for Europe time and precognition, huh?

And why is it with the Boy that, when he spills something (which, being a fifteen-year-old, he does frequently) his first reaction is never to vacuum, but to get paper towels and ground that shit in!

So when we get downstairs with the Shop-Vac, even without the contacts in, I can see the kitty litter strewn and tracked everywhere.  God knows how much paper towel he’s gone through (somewhere, there’s a forest weeping, I’m sure) and the entire area smells…just friggin’ lovely.  As only used and abused kitty litter can.

I vacuum up what I can.  The Wife gets out a scrub brush to unground the ground in shit.

I admit I hurl strong words at the Boy.  I’m up.  The Wife’s up.  I know the Girl’s gonna be up soon from the sound of a 3:00 AM vacuuming.  Guess who doesn’t  need to get up early and go to work?  The Boy.

Seriously.  Sometimes you just gotta laugh at the comedic potential of random DNA pairings, don’t ya?

I love ya, kid.  But you ain’t got my experience beat just yet.


4 thoughts on “Kids think they’re so damn smart…

  1. Pingback: To my son… « Left to Write

  2. Pingback: This is Tobin Elliott – Station Identification 2 « Left to Write

  3. Pingback: The man inside the boy « Left to Write

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