My First Grader, A, had an assignment this week to bring in an artifact for their in-class museum. It’s a very cute event – each child “curates” his or her own station with an artifact and some basic information about it and how it relates to the current time period.
He spent most of the week trying to decide whether to bring in my sports Walkman or a few of my record albums. Apparently, I am an owner of artifacts. Things that I thought I used not that long ago constitute “artifacts,” just like pieces of the Parthenon and mummies.
After deciding early this morning to bring in a few of my albums (“Changes” by David Bowie, “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen and “Still Life” by The Rolling Stones, in case you’re interested), he asked me a few questions so he could fill out an information sheet about the albums.
“When did you use them? When you were a teen, right? So was that, like, late 1800’s?”
“I’m 43. I used them in the 1980’s. Not 1800’s. Not even close.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t more like the 1800’s? I know you were a teen a really long time ago.”
My only response to this last question was a dirty look.
After this bright start to my day, I had to take my oldest to school early for orchestra rehearsal. On the way back from dropping him off, my younger two asked me what would happen to our cars if both my husband and I died. Then they started fighting over who got which car. When I told them the cars would probably be sold, since they are not even close to driving age (N is 9, A is 7), they pressed me on how they would know the money was divided evenly. I felt like King Lear. Note to self – leave everything to the ASPCA.
After a few minutes of bickering over our assets, A then sweetly asked me not to die at the same time as my husband. I reassured him that I had no plans to die anytime soon and we would both do our best not to die together.
His response: “Good. If both of you die at the same time, I don’t know who would plan the funeral and drive us there.”
I then told him that in the highly unlikely event that both my husband and I were to die at the same time, his auntie Fafa would take care of everything, and would be responsible for taking care of them.
If you are east of the Mississippi, you may have heard the screams of delight that they let loose when they heard this nugget. If their reaction to this news is any indication, my eulogy will include the phrases, “This is awesome,” ”So much fun,” and “This is the best thing ever!!!”
So here I am, an owner of artifacts with one foot in the grave. I think I’ll throw my hair up in a bun for my run today. Bah, humbug.