A pod person has replaced my son. I’m serious. The little boy
living in my house for the past two weeks isn’t my kid. He can’t
be. Fourteen days ago,
the-little-boy-who-looks-like-Junior-but-isn’t, THANKED me for
dinner. And he said it was delicious.
A pod person has replaced my son. I’m serious. The little boy living in my house for the past two weeks isn’t my kid. He can’t be. Fourteen days ago, the-little-boy-who-looks-like-Junior-but-isn’t, THANKED me for dinner. And he said it was delicious.
I almost fell on the floor. First of all, nobody – and I mean nobody – with taste buds has ever said my cooking was delicious. The best that can be said for my cooking is that no one has died from eating it – yet.
So obviously, this little creature is not my son. My REAL son sits down to dinner, slips the dog any type of vegetable that isn’t spinach and pushes the food around on his plate until it looks like he ate something. Then my real son makes fake burping noises until I am so tormented that I excuse him from the table. My real son never, ever, under any circumstances actually THANKS me for dinner.
See? I’m living with a pod boy.
Just last week, Junior wore clothes that I picked out for him and he didn’t protest that they were dorky, ugly or uncool. And – this is the shocking part – the shirt didn’t have a Fox logo or a picture of SpongeBob SquarePants or Bart Simpson on it. And it was ironed.
So I ask you, what 7-year old boy willingly dresses in a nice shirt and pants to go to dinner with his grandparents? And doesn’t whine, cry or try to make ridiculous bargains in exchange for doing so?
A pod boy, that’s who.
Wait – I have more proof. For the past 10 days, Junior has been brushing his teeth twice a day for two minutes. My real son does not brush his teeth for two minutes unless I threaten him with the dentist – who incidentally is a nice person and probably would not do any of the awful things I’ve told Junior he would do if Junior did not start brushing properly.
And, if brushing for two minutes isn’t bad enough – Junior made his bed the other day without being asked. And I don’t mean he just plopped the comforter over the pillows and called it “made,” either. Pod boy carefully smoothed the comforter and then artfully arranged his pillows and five billion stuffed tigers and geckos on it.
More proof? It’s been days since Junior-the-gymnast leapt onto the couch. Or did somersaults over the living room chairs. Or practiced the limbo with the dining room table.
But this morning was the scariest. He woke up on time, got out of bed with a smile on his face, ate all his breakfast without slipping any to the dog, got dressed, brushed his teeth, made his bed and then requested baby carrots in his lunch. Yes, you heard right. He asked for vegetables.
But that’s not the scariest part.
No, Junior emptied the kitchen trash and took out the recycling. And he never once demanded cash for it. In fact, he even smiled cheerfully and said, “Sure, I love to take out the garbage.”
Now I ask you – is that a pod boy or what? It’s not my child. My son grudgingly takes out the trash – usually dragging the bag all over the house before going outside to dump it – and then demands his allowance.
But I think I just might keep pod boy for a little while longer. Maybe I can get him to help me clean out the real Junior’s closet. We can toss out all those stained SpongeBob T-shirts. And at least the trash will be emptied regularly.
