My conversation with my son yesterday morning went something like this:
Him: Can I go to Kareem's birthday party tomorrow?
Me: Sure. What time?
Him: 12 am.
Me: 12 am? At night? Or do you mean pm in the afternoon?
Him: I think the one in the day time.
Me: Okay. But we need to get him a gift.
Him: Okay because we're going to shoot guns.
Him: For the party, they're taking us to shoot guns.
Him: (looking exasperated) What?
Me: No. No way you're going to shoot guns with Kareem. I don't even know his parents.
Me: (I'm lying. I did meet his mom once and briefly spoke with his dad when he came to pick up Kareem. Mom is Lithuanian I think and his father is Egyptian)
Me: You can ask your dad but my answer is no.
Him: (walks off)
Me (now upstairs talking to my husband): Did you hear that conversation?
Other Him: No. What?
Me: He wanted to go to a birthday party for Kareem where they are going to shoot guns.
Other Him: Who's Kareem?
Me: You know Kareem. He came over here one time with Knife Boy. (Knife Boy. That's another interesting story. Gave my son a knife as a birthday gift.)
Other Him: I don't remember Kareem.
Me: Yes you do. You thought he was a girl. (Kareem is an extremely handsome kid with long, dark hair)
Other Him: Oh him. You know I think I actually called him a girl. I can't remember.
Sometimes I think I'm going crazy. Literally. I later explained to Will that I can appreciate that he wants to go, but there's no way I'm letting my only child go shoot a gun with somebody I barely know. And yet here I am up at 5:49 am still thinking about it.