3 Conversations With Franz

Here are actual conversations with Franz, my 9-year-old son.

Scene One: Apocalypse Lego

FRANZ: (Playing with his Lego Castle set and setting up a battle) All right, troops, we’re going into battle. Many of you will not survive and may even be blown to bits. But we’re doing this. We’re. Doing. This.

ME: What are you doing?

FRANZ: Obviously, it’s a war, Ma.

Sound of various machine guns and explosions. Franz tears apart Lego characters, decapitating them and sprawling them over the living room carpet. Then the sound effects stop and he starts singing this slow, deep song with lots of Ahhhs.

ME: What are you singing?

FRANZ: It’s an intense moment in the battle. It deserves a song.

ME: Gotcha.

Scene Two: This Is How It Works

FRANZ: Ma, I lost a tooth.

ME: Okay. Good for you. Lemme see.

FRANZ: I’ll show you in a minute, but first, hand it over.

ME: Hand what over?

FRANZ: The DOLLAR. I know that parents are actually the tooth fairy so let’s just make this real simple. I lost a tooth. You give me a dollar. That’s how it works.

I hand him a dollar.

Scene Three: I Don’t Need To Know

MOXIE: Mom, so on TV someone asked what sex they are?

ME: Yeah. That means are they a boy or a girl.

FRANZ: No! No. No. You did not just say that.

ME: What’s the issue? That’s what you say. Like, what sex are you, Franz? You’re a boy. And Moxie’s sex is a girl.

FRANZ: That….that just isn’t right. I don’t like the image that it brings up in my mind. I mean, that WORD.

ME: What? Sex? There’s nothing wrong with that word. And it can have two meanings. There’s “having sex” and that means…

FRANZ: Whoa whoa whoa! Just stop right there. I don’t want to have this conversation.

ME: Why?

FRANZ: Because I’m too YOUNG. I don’t need to know this stuff.

ME: Aw, you’re not too young. You should know how things work.

FRANZ: Eventually, Ma. EVENTUALLY. Just…change the conversation, okay? Like, NOW.

(pause)

ME: So you don’t want to know where babies come from?

FRANZ: Ma!!!!!

ME: Okay, okay. Do you want crepes or leftover Chinese food for breakfast?

FRANZ: Chinese food. And, thank you.

ME: You’re welcome.

-END SCENES-

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Conversation With Franz, 8, While He Studies My Face

ME:

What was your favorite part about the party last night?

FRANZ:

Well, I got to act.

ME:

Yes.

FRANZ:

And I got to eat like eight cupcakes.

ME:

Yes. I’m aware of that.

FRANZ:

And I got to talk to people.

(Pause.)

You need to be a man and shave your chin.

ME:

WHAT?

FRANZ:

You have, like, a beard.

ME:

I have a whisker. One. Maybe two. Maybe.

FRANZ:

More than one, ma. They’re like…

 

ME:

You never tell a woman to shave.

Women pluck and we don’t talk about it.

We ignore that little issue.

FRANZ:

I could make you look more like a man by taking your hair and making

it grow out of your ears and nose, like this.

ME:

Stop it! I don’t want to look like a man.

FRANZ:

And what’s THAT?

ME:

What?

FRANZ:

On your face. You’ve got a bump.

ME:

It’s a mole. Leave it. Just…Franz!

You’re making me self-conscious!

FRANZ:

I don’t even know what that means.

ME:

It means, you’re pointing out all my flaws and it’s freaking me out.

FRANZ:

What? Why? You’re pretty, Mom.

You’re pretty. You’re pretty. You’re pretty.

ME:

Say that again.

He said it like a dozen times more, whispering it into my ear until my arm broke out in goosebumps, and until it was almost like I was telling it to myself: “You’re pretty, you’re pretty, chin hair, spider lines, extra pounds and all. You’re pretty.”

God, I love that kid.

There is No Such Thing as a Foolproof Plant

I admit I am no green thumb. I want to be. I mean, I watch PBS dramas and I see those English gardens, and I think, man, I want me one of those. I also want a butler and a pretty dress and an accent. See? You can’t have everything. Except I could make some scones, and that's a comfort.  

My sister is a genius with plants. She has this garden that I’m pretty sure was grown on Jupiter and then space-shot here. Me? Well. You’ve heard my plight with zucchini. At least I can grow a tomato plant and other edibles. But give me flowers or indoor plants, and everything either dies of thirst or molds in a flood. There is no in between.

Okay. So here's what happened:

See, the poor kiddos have about two-dozen allergies and since we can’t have cats or dogs, they pleaded for something alive to take care of. Franz wanted a snake and Moxie wanted a hamster. We compromised. I bought my kids a couple of succulents. Or cacti without the prickers.

I know. I know. Giving a kid a cactus instead of a pet is a lousy consolation prize, but the kids have done well. I mean, they’ve been as happy as you can be with a plant for a best friend, although it is a little sad to see them try to play with the plant. The plant never catches a ball, never cuddles, never does anything except look slightly depressed.

Anyway. Nana came over to see the kids, and they happily showed off their cacti. Moxie’s plant was going crazy, mostly because I forget about it and leave it alone. She got lots of praise from Nana. Franz wanted to show off his plant, so he grabbed the pot, started to walk towards Nana and all of a sudden, the plant’s head POPPED OFF.

I mean, KABLAM! Off rolled its head.

Franz started screaming. It really was like we’d decapitated a puppy. Not at all pleasant.

Nana tried to soothe him by picking up the plant’s head. “Oh, this happens, honey. It’s okay. We’ll just take one of the leaves here and put it in some dirt and it’ll grow roots.” To show Franz, she ripped one of the leaves off the plant. Franz screamed harder, his eyes wide with fright. I mean, from his perspective, not only had the plant been decapitated, but now Nana was ripping it limb from limb.

THE HORROR.

We finally got him calmed down.

I don’t know what to do with the plant. Half of it is sitting in a bowl, and the part with the plant-body is by the window. I’m afraid to water it, not water it, breathe on it or what have you.

All I can say is, thank god it wasn’t a puppy.