The ex dropped off the boys after their bedtime. Tornado E was wearing a white shirt. It was an emergency shirt. I never buy white shirts. Because they attract dirt. Tornado E was splattered with chocolate all down his shirt. He still had chocolate stains on the corner of his mouth, dribbling down to his chin.
Tornado E: Mommy, you were right.
Me: Say that again. Hold on; let me get my phone so I can record that.
Tornado E: Mommy, you’re funny. (No, I’m dead serious. I need the proof.) You were right. A brownie fudge sundae is too much to eat.
Me: You look like you’re an undead thing covered in blood.
Tornado E laughed.
Tornado E: I look like I ate chocolate.
Me: Let me take a picture. Don’t wash yet.
I snapped a picture.
Tornado E: Mommy, when you put it online, write, “I didn’t eat your chocolate cake.”
So I typed it into the post. Then I typed, as Tornado E read over my shoulder out loud to his brothers, “Me: Seriously, he looks like the undead covered in gore. But a zombie or a vampire?”
The boys broke into fits of laughter.
Tornado E: Mommy, you’re so funny.
Tornado S: You’re hilarious. (pause) But not as funny as Daddy.
Me: WHAT?! I’m like so much funnier than your Daddy. Like by tons.
The boys laughed more.
Tornado E: No, Daddy is funnier.
Me: Oh my god. Obviously I have been laxed in your comedic education. I’ll have to fix that. Movies. Music. Videos. Because seriously, I am so much funnier than your dad.
The boys: No.
By this time, I was gently pushing them up the stairs.
Me: Yes! And smarter. And prettier. Most definitely taller. And so much younger. So, so much younger.
They kept laughing.
Tornado E: Mommy, you’re hilarious.