This is most definitely not a cell phone.  This is most definitely a problem.

For the last week or so, Elena’s been acting weird.  Or, at least, wierder than usual for your average tween.  We’re slowly getting accustomed to the mood swings, the tears, the grumbles and grunts.  But this week found Elena at the PC nearly every free moment.  Now, that alone isn’t suspicious.  Girl loves her screens, and it wouldn’t be unusual for her to want to spend hours perfecting her Minecraft worlds.

But this was different.  She didn’t want us coming anywhere near the computer.  There were hushed conversations with friends while she furrowed her brow at the screen.  Because I am my mother’s daughter, I naturally went to dark places.  She’s met an internet predator!  She’s started her own gambling ring! She assured me she was working on something “big and important,” something she couldn’t wait to share with us.  My anxiety level went down, as I realized she was probably just developing her own Pinterest boards.

On Saturday night Mike and I were escorted into the office for a serious presentation.  What unfolded over the next ten minutes will go down as both one of the strangest and most awesome parenting moments ever.

All those hours in front of the computer had gone into creating a PowerPoint presentation entitled, “Why I Should Have a Cell Phone.”

There were statistics.

There were promises and pie charts.

There were admonitions about what would and would not constitute an acceptable cell phone.

Finally, there was the realization that we are simply no match for this kid. I smell a cell phone in this kid’s near future, although I make no promises that it won’t be an “old people phone.”

I promise this picture will make complete sense by the time you finish reading.

Reading to a boy has proven to be a different endeavor than reading to a girl.  While Elena was up for just about any story, as long as you were reading aloud and simultaneously scratching her back, Eli tends to have an opinion about what’s being read.  And back scratches?  That would mean that he’d have to be sitting still next to you, which probably isn’t going to happen.

In order to preserve both my sanity and the beautiful ritual that is story time, Eli and I have struck a bargain.  We alternate between three genres of literature: Stuff Mom Loves (endured by Eli), Stuff We Both Like (a teeny-tiny sliver on the Story Time Venn Diagram), and Stuff Mom Endures (loved by Eli).

Eli endured Charlotte’s Web, a classic I wouldn’t budge on.  You simply haven’t had a childhood if you’re not exposed to Garth Williams’ illustrations.  Anything by Roald Dahl is bound to be a book we both like, especially The BFG. “Am I right or am I left?” is our inside joke that never fails to get us both giggling.  Of course, the category with the widest selection is the Stuff Mom Endures.  LEGO books, Super Heroes, or “educational” books about half-pipes and ninjas … I’d rather read aloud the furnace manual.

But I love that boy and would do anything for him, so the other night found us reading NG Kids Ultimate Weird but True book.  192 pages of weird facts and odd stories in very tiny print – it’s every  bit as riveting as it sounds.  We got to a page that had facts about animals and numbers.  Did you know that baby chicks can do simple addition and subtraction?  I didn’t, and neither did Eli.  In fact, he was very confused.

Eli: What’s addition?

Me: It’s when you add numbers together, like 2 + 2 = 4.

Eli: Oh!  You mean audition. Yeah, I do that at school.

(Side note:  Yes, Eli’s been doing addition at school.  Only he swears it’s called audition, and either no one is correcting him or he thinks we’re ALL saying it wrong.)

Me: Well, then.  Looks like you’re smarter than a chicken.

Eli:  Uncontrollable giggles.

What does 100 hours of reading LEGO Ninjago and Tony Hawk biographies + little boy belly laughs equal?  You do the audition, but my answer is priceless.  Looks like we’re both smarter than chickens.