Officially Mom of a Boy

Oh, he's always been a boy, but yesterday Braeden proved, unequivocally and with great finality, his Boyhood.

Allow me to explain.

Monday evenings bring the great Grocery Trip. I sit at the table and plan out my menus for the week (that I rarely stick to, but that's beside the point), then dutifully prepare the list, adding food items in the order they appear in the store aisles. Last night, my head was bent to my task, and I was ignoring everyone else in the house. Jeff was playing a computer game, Buddy was barking at some unseen speck of dust, and Braeden was playing trains.

At least that's what I thought he was doing. Suddenly he appeared at my side, proudly waving. . .

Are you ready for this?

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A dead roach. Oh, yeah.

"Mommy!!! Look!!! This bug is DEAD!!!"

And he dropped it on the table in front of me. Right on top of my grocery list.

The bug was dead - and Mommy almost joined it. I screamed - twice - and sailed out of the chair, halfway across the room. This scared Braeden half to death, and he crawled under the table in retreat.

Jeff managed to peel himself from the computer long enough to see what the commotion was about. I was still hyperventilating - y'all know how I hate bugs, dead or alive, right? - and Braeden was still under the table. He promptly sheltered in Daddy's arms, baffled as to why Mommy wasn't utterly thrilled with his prize.

When I finally managed to speak, all I could say was "go wash your hands, Braeden."

On my post-traumatic to-do list for today? Call the exterminator. We don't need more dead bugs to tempt the resident 5-year-old.