The Lonesome Dove

I've never been a joiner. And with this I mean not even slightly. I adore my friends, and I love hanging out with them, but they know never to ask me to join anything. Except maybe a book club, or a wine group, my guiltless pleasures.

I'm becoming my grandmother, that's what it is. Books, the BBC channel, a heavy sigh when the phone rings. Sam actually asked me if I'd teach him how to knit--knit!!--and I jumped a bit, said, "Why, I don't know how...I don't knit!" Damn it. I'm sure that's just around the corner. (Note to self: Pinterest board.)

I've been dutiful, even industrious, given my nature, making certain that Sam grows up knowing and spending time with people. Real people: not action figures, stuffed animals, or characters in books, but humans. I've met at local parks completely against my will, always the mom who forgot to pack a snack (aren't we just here for, like, 20 minutes?), often the mom who--OMG--hadn't taken a shower yet (at 3:30!).

But this kid is funny. He's never been into "typical" things. He thinks freely, openly...and constantly.

When he was little, we'd meet friends at the Children's Museum, me playing my part, and another other mom would say something like, "So-and-so is really into dinosaurs (as if one might possibly lean over the glass wall and lick crackers right out of her hand). He just loves them, knows all about them, each and every one." I'd reply, "Yeah, dinosaurs are neat - and boy they're big, aren't they? Yep, we learn a lot about dinosaurs."

Not at all.

Pirate swords, daggers and death traps, maybe. The occasional Backyardigans' Super Spy episode, but dinosaurs? Never.

The other day Sam asked if I'd get him a toothpick. I asked why given that it's an old man, not child, thing to use. Got some broccoli in your teeth, do you? He replied, "I'm going to make a poison dart." While I was walking into the kitchen to fetch one, he said, "Oh, and Mom, bring some poison, too."

Today, I began another freelance gig, and while I was (kidding myself) trying to get work done with Sam in the room, he sat behind me, asking, "Are all ninjas dead? I mean, you said that there's really no need for a ninja anymore (after news broke that the Japanese had worked out their civil differences in the 17th century), but I was thinking that if I lived in Japan, maybe I could be a ninja and people would need me to kill their enemies."

What do I even say to this? I blame his dad. He's always wrestling, boxing, farting and teaching him how to punch. I've actually suggested, "Can't you guys just cuddle for a while?" met only by astonished guffaws and giggles about my obvious lack of insight.

Oh, dear god, another club. And damn, would you look at that: membership is closed.