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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Moxie and the Case of the Missing Underwear

Sometimes, as a mom, you have to become a detective, questioning your child boldly, using techniques that would rival any interrogation scene in Castle or Law & Order. Here is where I demonstrate those skills. July 30, 9:03PM

CHARACTERS:

Moxie: 7 year-old, blonde girl, wiggles a lot, loves fairies and animals, wants a hedgehog for a pet, hates pants.

Me: 40 year-old, multi-colored hair woman, too tired to wiggle, loves cooking and cats, has a stuffed buffalo next to her bed, hates pants.

SCENE: ME, in bed, about to fall asleep. Sound of footsteps. MOXIE approaches bed, wearing a nightgown with Jurassic-sized flowers on it.

MOXIE: Can I cuddle with you?

ME: Okay. Just for a little bit.

MOXIE: I just want to warn you, though, that I’m not wearing any underwear.

ME: Uh, okay. What happened?

MOXIE: They fell off.

ME: Your underwear fell off.

MOXIE: Yes.

ME: Wait. What? You mean, you were wearing underwear and they just randomly fell off?

MOXIE: Well, I was wiggling a lot.

ME: So what you’re saying here is that you took your underwear off.

MOXIE: Yes.

ME: That’s okay. I can deal with that. Come here and cuddle.

CASE CLOSED.

Open Mic Night at La Cantina Pt 5

(If you've missed the earlier sections in this blog/story, please click on the "Open Mic Night" tab at the bottom of this post.)  

MELODY tries to stand up in the little adobe, but hits her head on the ceiling.

MELODY

It’s like being trapped in a Mexican womb.

CONNIE Now, Melody…

MELODY I’m just saying.

Melody sits down at the table.

MELODY Okay. I didn’t want to write a poem because I’m sixteen and Grandma C over there thinks I haven’t had sex yet and I don’t want to give her a heart attack because she feeds me and shit and all of your poems were like, hello, sex in words.

CONNIE

Uhm….Thank you.

MELODY

So here’s a short story.

Melody clear her throat and begins to read, loudly, so that everyone in the restaurant can hear her, even over the sound of crunching tortilla chips.

MELODY

I’ve made an intricate plan to kill my grandmother. She takes care of me because my mom is all hopped up on meth and is now residing in the local penitentiary where she gets free dental care.

CRICKET Excuse me? I thought this was supposed to be a story.

MELODY

It is.

CONNIE (growing nervous.) Of course it’s a story. Rule #1 is that we must assume it’s made up. Melody has a very active imagination.

MELODY So anyway. Killing my grandma, whose name is Constance Carol Calhoun…

Cricket turns to Connie.

CRICKET: But isn’t that your name?

MELODY …involves a lot of deception and intrigue. First, I had to research poisons online. I found you could grow certain plants and then put them in tea. I’ve been poisoning my grandma for three weeks now, and tonight I gave her the final dose in a margarita. In about half an hour, she’ll start sweating and will die, probably face first into a gigantic burrito. I ordered one to cushion her fall. When she bites it, literally, I’ll inherit everything and I can throw porn parties and move to Alaska if I want to. But first I’ll sell off her Hummel figurine collection. The End.

MABEL I like Hummel figurines. They’re so cute. Sorta liked they dipped a bunch of miniature children in wax.

 

CARL You okay, Connie?

CONNIE I’m fine. Just…fine.

CARL You look like you’re sweating. And your face is all red. How long ago did you drink that margarita?

CONNIE Now, don’t be ridiculous. Clearly, Melody is using real details from her life, but enhancing them. All writers do this. In fact, I think it’s a strength of the piece. What else is working in it?

MELODY That you die in it.

CONNIE You’re not supposed to comment on your own work. We’re supposed to give you feedback and you just sit there and listen.

The Waiter appears.

THE WAITER: Okay, four combos and a gigantic burrito. Who gets the burrito?

MELODY She does.

CONNIE No, no. Really. I’m fine.

CARL: Well, I liked the piece but I think you’re one twisted little punk. You need therapy. Or a good ass-kicking.

CRICKET There isn’t anything about God or Jesus in it. I think that would help. Maybe God and/or Jesus could talk to you and encourage you to kill your grandmother.

CONNIE Now, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Maybe the ‘character’ shouldn’t kill the grandmother because the grandmother clearly adores the granddaughter and has given up everything to take care of the ungrateful child, even the hot house yoga, and swing night with the over sixties club, and dating on Sexy Seniors. So maybe the protagonist should try to back off a little bit and recognize the grandmother is pretty much a saint.

MABEL The grandmother sounds annoying. Now, when I killed my grandmother, I just got a sharp knife from the kitchen drawer and I went in when she was sleeping and…

CONNIE Bean dip! Who needs bean dip!

They all raise their hands.

CONNIE Good. I’ll go get some. When I get back, why don’t I read a poem to you? Let’s just focus on our meals for now.

Connie gets up and exits.

MABEL

I’m just saying that I liked your story and I know lots about killing so just come to me with any questions.