The Big Brick House and Chopper Handlebars

My husband, sons, and I joke about a lot of things. This is one of those things; it is ‘age.’ It does not matter if we are young or old or anywhere in-between, we find humor in life. Another thing we do is create outlandish scenarios. At dinner…not all that long ago, I ask; “what will you do with me when I’m an ole’ grandma?” (I secretly hope)…

My husband and youngest son stay quiet appearing to mull the question over while they eat. My oldest son pipes up first, pointing his fork at me, he states. “You’re not old.”

I smile at the compliment, then answer, “I will be someday. Do you want me living with you driving you crazy?”

My witty son grins as his brother laughs. “Oh no! I don’t think so, I’m locking you up in a home to keep you out of trouble.” He teases me.

His bantering response causes me to laugh and follow-up with. “I want to be in a big brick house…” I narrow my eyes and point at him, “and not the one with three hots and a cot with Big Bertha!” I take a bite of chicken to a round of hearty male guffaws before I continue.

As I chew I think of my list of demands. He watches me and mutters “Uh Oh.”

I know he’s watching the wheels turn in my devious little mind. I smile at him. He raises that eyebrow (how does he do that? Do eyebrows really move independently?) I say, “Okay as long as I get to live in the big brick house with a great craft hour, good food, and wide hallways.”

“Done!” the eldest says. He pauses…thinking before he continues, “That could be the Fed’s Pen.”

“No, no, no.” I wag my fork at him. “It has to have crazy old folks like me.”

He laughs as the youngest decides to speak up. My husband is a wise man, he knows too well how twisted my mind can be. He stays quiet just watching the action, as my son asks, “Why wide hallways?”

“For the walker races of course.” They shake their heads and continue eating. Then I remember another important demand. “Oh, Oh!” I cry bouncing in my seat.

“What?” the sons with just a hint of exasperation.

I put my fork down (I don’t want to poke anybody’s eye out). I point to the eldest. “You like to weld stuff.”

“Yeah,” he replies cautiously as he drags the word out.

“Oh good…” I take a bite.

Now he’s suspicious, “what are you thinking?” he asks around a mouthful of food.

I finish chewing and swallow. Trying to look sweet and innocent I say, “I’ll need chopper handlebars on my walker.”

They chuckle as my eldest asks, “Why do you need that?”

The youngest joins in the fray, “for the wheelchair races!”

“Yes!” I cry with a fist pump!

Make wild my friends


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