Ah, Aengus...

I'm trying very hard to have this not be a blog all about my son's adolescent behavior. But really, with such rich fodder, it's hard sometimes. So instead of bitching about Noah again (which I would dearly love to do right now), I'll pull a Steph and tell you what Aengus has been learning today.

Aengus spent the morning going through his toys in the attic, pulling out items to sell at a Yard Sale. Never mind that it's a Thursday morning. Never mind that he has maybe two dozen toys in his sale, and nothing else. Never mind that he's asking $14 for a box of broken-ass TMNT guys. This boy is convinced he's going to make a lot of money.

So, he made a sign: I told him the letters, he wrote them on a scrap of paper and taped it all to shit onto a stick. We took the dog, the sign, and a hammer down the street to the main intersection and hammered his stick into the ground. People zooming by can almost recognize the red blob on the sign as an arrow, so he might get some traffic.

Fast forward to after lunch. No customers yet. Not easily deterred, Aengus whips out another scrap of paper and bursts into my bedroom. Little shit. I was sleeping.

"Mom," he says. "How do you spell car wash?"

OK, Adesa, time to get up. Coffee. Coffee.

So I got out the bucket for him (after unjamming the large coffee can he had wedged in the bathroom sink, trying to fill it up) and filled it with soapy water. We dragged out all the rags we could find and pulled out the hose. To jump-start business, I declared that washing our own car would be good marketing. Mwah-ha-ha!

After burning bunches of calories, soaking loads of rags and towels, and spraying each other to the saturation point, the task was finally complete. Or, as complete as it's gonna be for now. I still need to Windex the windows, Armor-All the dash, and vacuum the inside. But seriously, if it takes me 4 months to get this far, can't all that wait a few more months? Why kill ourselves doing it all at once?

Aengus totally loved playing with the hose ("Look, Mom! It's a whip!"). But nary a customer in sight. I'm hoping the distraction of his favorite shows will keep him from getting down about not making a cent. Ya gotta admire his self-motivation, though.

I realize that while Noah and I pretended to play store when he was little, Aengus really set up a store. How I wish I had unschool Noah.

Right now, my bright, cheerful, pleasant younger child is dressed in his new black shoes, black socks, too-short black cords, grey shirt hidden under his new black hoodie, black-and-grey beanie hat, and black fabric wrapped around his hands like gloves.

"And just what are you trying to be, my child?" I ask him.

"I'm being Emo."

Rock on, little dude. Rock on.