PARENT/CHILD HUMOR

My Son Wanted a Remote Control For Christmas That Lets Him Mute Me

This guy is hard to buy for, but this would make him happy

My son, my sister, “the funny one,” and I are sitting in the movie theater. At 10 minutes in, the two of them get up and move several seats away from me.

According to them, I talk too much in movies. I also laugh too loudly.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been accused. Every grade school teacher I had marked “Talks too much” on my report cards. Hey, I’m an extrovert.

I had a stepdaughter who accused me of laughing too loudly at stage plays. I informed her that the actors on stage appreciated laughter. Especially if it’s a comedy.

I can’t use that excuse in movie theaters, or in my home theater that consists of my couch and a couple of oversized, comfy chairs.

At home, one of my cats, while curled in my lap, will lift her head, look at me and meow loudly when I laugh “too loud,” or yell at the T.V. I explain to the kitty that I must warn the heroine not to go into the dark room, because T.V. characters are stupid like that.

When my son is watching with me, which is rare, because, you know, I talk and laugh, he laughs when the kitty gives me glaring looks and meows her annoyance. After a while, the cat, like my family, will get up and move away.

Recently, my son granted me disposition to talk during Matrix 4 which we watched at home. It was a Christmas miracle, and we had a grand time.

He “allowed” it because there are so many easter eggs in the movie that he knew we would both want to point them out to each other. He was right, and I will savor the experience forever, since I’m positive he will never allow it again. Unless there’s a Matrix 5.

With my son, and maybe most sons, annoyance with my over talking doesn’t end with movies. He claims I include too much exposition in all my talking to him. My screenwriter group gives me a similar critique.

Once, he told me he only listens to my first sentence or two. Since then, I’ve put the most important stuff at the beginning, especially when I’m asking him to do something. I’ve added nonsense at the end to see if he really isn’t listening.

Me: “The elephant in the room needs a bath. Will you give him one?”

Son: “Maybe later.”

He’s either not listening or being a smart ass. Hard to tell.

It’s the cycle of life. When he was little, I begged him for ten minutes of no talking about Pokeman. Or even just five minutes of silence. To little avail. If I was lucky, I’d get a minute.

I was a school counselor when he was growing up. One day when I pick him up from school, and he starts chattering, I ask for a minute of silence. He answers, “But you listen to all those other kids.” Score one for the boy child.

Once, when he was even younger, he stood up in a movie theater to go to the bathroom, and yelled, “Pause it.”

Now he wishes he could pause me.

In a MuddyUm editors meeting recently I said I was muting myself. He was in the next room and said, “I wish I could mute you.” Cue canned laughter.

When I reported it to the Mudditors, they liked it and wanted to use it as a prompt. And here we are.

He also poked his head in and asked, “Are you the people who let her think she’s funny?” But they didn’t hear him. Sigh. I was hoping for backup. What else are Mudditors for if not riding to the rescue of damsels in distress, and mothers with smart-aleck sons?

Lest you think less of my amazing son because he would like to be able to mute or pause me, I must admit my other fault. Yes, there’s something worse than talking in movies and laughing too loud.

I’m a mom. Maybe too much of one. When I ask if he is okay, and he says yes, I truly cannot help myself from asking at least three more times. The same is true for whether he’s feeling tired, depressed, sick, or any other negative. I want to fix it. The same goes for my asking if he’s hungry.

“Are you hungry?”

“Are you sure you’re not hungry? It’s dinner time.”

“I can make you a snack if you’re hungry.”

“No? Okay. Want a bite of what I’m having?”

Never mind that he lives in L.A. and I have no direct visual of how he’s doing most of the time. If he’s close by, I will ask three or four times, and/or offer solutions at least three times. I can see how that might be slightly annoying, and a mute button could come in handy.

Maybe it’s my subconscious way of getting back at him from when he was a child. A guy I was dating asked him, after I told him to do something and he didn’t do it, “How many times does your mother have to tell you to do something?” Without looking up from where he was playing on the floor, my son answered, “Three.”

Three times must be the magic number.

I couldn’t get him a remote to mute me for Christmas. Maybe he’ll be the one to invent one someday.

I did buy him a sweatshirt that says, “Say Less.” He wears it every day.