It’s Cancer.

Or the Second Coming.

One of those two.  Because why else would my son turn into a completely different creature (for the better) in such a short time period?  I mean, don’t get me wrong… the kid is still a pain in my ass.  He still knows the right buttons to push.  It’s just… he’s not pushing them so much.

Proof of Cancer diagnosis and/or Second Coming:

  • S is plowing through a collection of the last five years of Friend magazines.  He is so into them right now, he took the stack into his room to work on them while D had his best friend J and J’s little brother M who worships S, instead of playing video games in the garage with them.
  • I went to the store with Honey and left all three boys at home.  Normally, this would never, ever occur, because that would be the equivalent of WWXVII  (that’s World War 17 for you uneducated plebians), but things have been going so well between all three boys lately that I had a momentary lapse and forgot that little factoid.  I told Honey we had to hurry because “HOLY CRAP, I JUST LEFT ALL 3 KIDS AT HOME WITHOUT A GROWNUP!!!”; but when we got back the house wasn’t burned down and nobody was crying or bleeding.
  • At night, after we send the boys to bed, Honey checks in after awhile to turn off their lights.  Only a couple of times he’s discovered S reading.  HARRY POTTER 7 reading.  This is huge considering that S would rather poke No. 2 pencils in his eyes rather than read anything wordier than Junie B. Jones or Captain Underpants.
  • S has a friend.  That is not ghetto.  And her family doesn’t carry baggage for the playdate.

Now that the evidence has been presented I’m sure you can see clearly how the diagnosis was arrived at.  As I am not yet ready to die, I will be writing a will for real this weekend and if you send me $50 in small bills I will leave you a little sumthin’-sumthin’ in a secret, hand-written will that I will clutch in my cold, dead hands on my death bed for my family to rage and howl “Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!” at when Marcia Clark executes my last wishes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I have to go to bed now.  That line above, you know the one that goes ~*~ etc.?  That’s just there to indicate that this post is over and I am too weak from my Kirkland Chemo (it’s SO much cheaper online than at the hospital!)  to figure a better way to end it.  Nighty-night!

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