A few weekends ago, my kids and I went to visit my best friend Leigh.
As much as Leigh and I are alike, so are her 9-year-old and my 6-year-old. They are each very intellectual boys who are wise beyond their years—or maybe it just seems that way to Leigh and me because we’re dumbasses and they’re totally smarter than we are.
In any case, we jokingly and very endearingly refer to our sons as our little nerds, and while their favorite thing to do when they get together is to sort rocks and minerals (each has his own extensive collection and will carefully pack his newest finds or purchases when visiting the other) or dig into the current month’s Steve Spangler science experiment, my and Leigh’s favorite thing to do is to brag about our smart boys by posting pictures on Facebook while trying to mask our nauseating mommy pride with the hashtag #nevergonnabeinafraternity.
That weekend, Leigh and I were lounging on the couch, catching up over coffee while all of our combined four kids played contently. Here is the conversation that ensued as our older two, “our little nerds,” passed through the living room:
Leigh’s son: “Hey, mom, do you have a lighter?”
Leigh: “Um, yeah. Why?”
My son: “Oh, we’re doing a science experiment.” Then, over his shoulder, an afterthought: “With fire.” *Sound of bedroom door closing*
Leigh: “Oh, okay. Wait, what?”
Leigh and I looked at each other and blinked. Then Leigh turned toward the bedroom door and called out to the boys, “Alright. As long as you mix me a drink first.”
She didn’t really say that, literal readers.
What really happened is that, like the responsible parents that we are, we told the boys that any science experiment involving fire had to be performed with parental supervision, and we helped them with it.
The experiment didn’t work right, though, which led Leigh and I to agree that the time spent performing it might actually have been better spent teaching them to mix drinks.
That’s science experiment-y, right?