Til’ Death or WiFi

KDBarnIf it’s the fourth Wednesday of the month, you can bet I’m sitting here at my keyboard engaged in a pitched battle to coerce our blog host into letting me upload a post before morning. Not that there’s anything wrong with our host. Mostly it’s because my internet out here in the back of beyond moves at the speed of an ox turning a giant stone wheel, which gives the blog server ample opportunity to time out my sessions, booting me to the virtual curb.

So in answer to the question of ‘have you seen…?”  No, I haven’t. I can’t stream Netflix or Hulu or even a freaking Youtube video. I have seen none of the recent movies. And television…well, suffice to say, I have a husband and a nine year old boy. I haven’t had sole possession of the remote control since Obama was elected to his first term.

Trying to explain the slowness of our internet to said child is an exercise in futility. He’s quite sure if I would just talk to the right people or pay enough money, I could fix this problem. Granted, thanks to his autism he has a more difficult time with abstract concepts than the average nine year old. He also possesses a delightful, if sometimes startling, naivete´. This is a child who will leave cookies and milk out for Santa in his college dorm room.

A prime example: last week we were waiting for wrestling practice to start, chatting with the coach and his wife. My son, in his usual blunt manner, looked at the woman and said, “Who are you?”

“I’m Coach Randy’s wife.”

“What’s a wife?” my son asked.

“Like me and Daddy,” I explained (not for the first time, by the way). “I’m Daddy’s wife. We’re married. That’s what you do when you get older.”

Logan pondered this, then asked the coach, “How old were you when you got married?”

“Twenty-three.”

“How old are you now?”

“Fifty-nine.”

Logan’s eyes went wide. “Wow. You’ve been married for a long time.”

“Forever,” Coach Randy agreed, and laughed heartily. His wife didn’t seem quite as amused. “When you grow up, you’ll get married, too,” the coach said.

Logan’s expression went panicked. “But Mommy, I don’t want to move in with someone else. I want to live with you forever.”

Coach Randy thought this was even funnier. His wife got a pretty good chuckle out of it, too.

“When you get big, you might want to live in your own house,” I said.

Logan shook his head emphatically. “I’m not getting married. I’m going to stay at our house my whole life.”

Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of. But I patted him on the head and promised he could stay as long as he wants, since by the time he graduates his parents are going to be doddering old people who need his help to get out of their recliners.

As I was lacing up his shoes, he gave me a thoughtful look. “Mommy, when I’m big can I pick my own house to live in?”

“Yes. You can live wherever you want.”

“Oh.” He considered, then nodded. “Okay. Then I guess I will move out. I’m going to live in a house with fast internet.”

Whew. What a relief. Who knows? He might even reconsider the wife if she owns a condo with unlimited broadband and 24 hour pizza delivery on speed dial.

 

Kari Lynn Dell – Montana for Real

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