'i wish the real world would just stop hassling me'

"Mom, do you have to go to work in this?" my oldest quizzed, one eye trained on the window to watch the truly torrential downpour we were receiving Friday afternoon, the other on me in what I'm taking as a genuine display of concern for my well being.

At least at that point in the conversation.

"Yep," I replied, my own eyes trained on the storm outside and a skyward plea for the electricity to remain on to enable the sump pump to keep churning away to keep our basement from flooding.

"Well, will you get to come home early? Do you think they'll close the store down? What if there is a tornado?" he continued, by now touching my heart with his thoughtfulness.

"Probably not, kiddo. If there does happen to be a tornado, they have a plan for us. I'll be OK, and I'll see you in the morning. Just like every other night when I work," I assured him.

"See, this is exactly why I think I NEVER want a real job!" he said, with exactly that much emphasis and with a hint of creepy disdain in his voice as he choked out that "real job" part.

Honestly, for about 60 seconds, my future flashed before me and all I could see was this boy - this boy whose only "real job" to date has been to put his dirty clothes in his clothes hamper and pick up his toys (a job, I might add, he'd have been fired from LONG ago based on his poor performance reviews but whom we apparently keep around because we have a quota to maintain) becoming a teenager and then a man. Still living in my house. Still shooting baskets in my driveway. Still turning up his nose at whatever I tell him we're having for dinner. Bringing home some girl he says is his wife now and a plan to share that bunk bed in his bedroom. Still thinking money is this little plastic card his Dad and I whip out like gunslingers at the grocery store and then fret about every 30 days when the bill is due to arrive.

I actually saw him as not fulfilling the true reason we had children in the first place, which is to take care of us in our old age. I think I actually hunched over and shuddered a bit at that mental image. It's bad enough I'll no doubt need to work until I'm 85 as it is, and now, because of some insane thunderstorm, my work-a-day out was being eliminated by this slacker boy I'd given life to.

"Well, OK, I mean, I'd probably get a job just so I could buy toys and candy," he concluded, maybe after sensing the little tear that escaped me as I snapped out of my though, but more likely after having done a mental checklist of all the Star Wars action figures he has yet to possess.

"Sounds like a plan, bud," I replied. Later, when the rain had slowed and I went to tell him goodbye, I told him I had to jump on my purple unicorn to gallop through the cotton candy clouds, all the while eating Snicker bars and peanut M&M's while not gaining an ounce and making out with Bono and Mike Rowe between delicious bites.

"Because those clothes you never put in your clothes hamper?" I said to him. "Yeah, they don't just appear when the elves don't feel like getting real jobs."

Note: I'm quite sure this was a stellar lesson in economics. In addition, I didn't actually mention that part about making out with Bono and Mike Rowe to my 9 1/2 year old son, but you can damn well bet I thought about it a lot while I was standing around bored at a cash register that night while covering a break for some teenage kid who probably thought they never needed a real job before, either.