My son got hearing aids yesterday. A few people have been surprised to find out that his hearing loss was bad enough to warrant them, but trust my raised voice when I tell you that I have been answering the question, “What?” for years.

I won’t sugarcoat it and say it’s easy to have a kid with health problems or that I didn’t feel like getting new medical equipment was a giant step in the wrong direction, but this morning when he told me that he heard footsteps for the first time, my heart almost exploded.

Plus, there’s a chance he won’t sound so unpatriotic in the shower anymore.

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My son was doing his homework yesterday afternoon when, as usual, his mind drifted and he started goofing off. Focus is not his strong suit.

I looked up from my work and said, “If you want to be on time to your Cub Scout meeting, you had better concentrate and get your work done.”

He stared at me, then said, “Mom, why are you the B-word?”

Even for my kid, this was shocking. “The B-word? Why don’t you tell me what that B stands for?”

And, without hesitation he said, “You know…bossy.”

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Despite my fervent warnings, my 13 year old daughter is going to see her first scary movie today. I suppose I’ll need to make some room in my bed tonight.

It’s possible she will be like her father, who has no problem sitting in a dark house in the wee hours of the night while the TV flashes images unfit for my psyche. cough…Saw…cough. Popcorn and Paranormal Activity are not my idea of a good time.

My guess is that she’ll be more like me and won’t be able to wash the dishes without thinking someone is walking up behind her. Note: Always wash the steak knives last, so they’re within easy reach for a quick stabbing.

Maybe she will walk past a window and be startled by her own reflection, or feel the need to look in her closet and under her bed before she goes to sleep. Maybe she’ll be scared to go in the basement, or take a shower, or walk anywhere after dark. Where’s my Zoloft?

Though, I suppose it would be a good thing for this movie to scare her in the way Amityville Horror did me. I am cautious, aware, and I know how to wield a crucifix.

Not to mention that the last time my husband and I went to the shooting range, I was a way better shot.

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If you’ve been here before, you likely know that my nine year old son is one of a kind. For real. That thing about breaking the mold? He cracked that sucker straight in half.

When other kids would rather shuffle from classroom to classroom without making eye contact, I’ve been told that every time my kid sees his music teacher in the hallway, he greets her with, “La, la, la, la, la!”

He has no problem telling strangers that he thinks they’re pretty, he can convince anyone that he shouldn’t get punished for something and he has a way of wiggling into situations in which he has no business. Last week, when we went to get his new glasses, he got the technician to let him adjust his own glasses with that little heater they use.

He’s a nine year old used-car salesman in the body of a five year old.

Last night at his Cub Scout meeting, the boys played a game where they blew a ping-pong ball across a table. If they let the ball fall onto the floor, they were out. My son lost round after round.

When we were heading to the car after the meeting he said, “That game was fun, but I lost every time!”

I replied, “Well, somebody had to lose. As long as you had fun while you were playing and you tried your best, it doesn’t really matter.”

For a moment he considered my philosophy. Then he said, “Yeah, but I don’t think I could blow the ball across the table because I don’t have enough hot air.”

Really? Because I think you’re pretty full of it.

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