Good Mothers own the TARDIS Tent

One of my New Year’s resolutions was to have funnier blog titles. Between why parenting is a like a glade plugin and why a owning the TARDIS tent makes me a good mother? Nailed it.

A recent conversation with my oldest child.

Z: “Mom, I’m going to invent a time machine, that way I never have to go to school”.

Me: “You’ll need to know a lot about physics, which you learn in school, to map all of those wormholes.”

Z, without missing a beat: “yeah, but they don’t teach science in kindergarten, so I’ll just go ahead and skip to high school. It’s really for the best.”

I’m fielding this shit at 8:32 in the morning– the exact moment when everyone should be dressed and smoothly transitioning from the house to the car.

Instead I’m screaming “you’re still not wearing pants! at a kid trying to invent time travel so he can skip school.

In kindergarten.

I love the vivid imagination of my kids, partly because it’s something the three of us share, but mostly because Entertainment by Daydream inches closer to extinction with every technological advance. Without clinical boredom, there aren’t any daydreams; and one cannot transcend into clinical boredom with an electronic device.

Of course I need to take my own advice; y’all are missing my point. That point being that I’m supportive mother, dammit.

I’m also a Doctor Who newbie. In fact, I’m only 5 episodes into the 9th incarnation and my own fantasy about being Christopher Eccleston’s companion.

Cough. Sigh.

I guess my parents didn’t watch The Doctor when I was a kid? Too busy populating my nightmares with the brain-eating eels from the Wrath of Khan, I suppose.

It was easter, and I was seven. Thanks, Dad.

Thankfully (and deliberately) I’ve filled my life with fellow geeks and playing their facebook statuses backward plants subliminal Doctor suggestions.

Which is why the TARDIS will exist in my home. I’m not committed to the where yet, as JB quickly (and unfairly) vetoed my plan for a TARDIS-shaped bed.

I planned to just build it anyway, because, really, THAT’S WHO I AM.

But then someone showed me this TARDIS tent. . . And I thought about the symbology of TARDIS and how I can’t even pee without one of them asking me a question through the door.

All I have to do is convince them that I’m NOT HERE when inside the TARDIS. Which will make my oldest child even more determined to solve the time travel problem– since he’s all about how awesome I am.

His understandable attachment to me (remember, I’m in a parallel universe) can only encourage his love of science, eventually leading to him winning the nobel prize for his work in physics.

This, friends, is how buying myself a TARDIS tent makes me a good and supportive mother

All of you? You’re welcome.

2 thoughts on “Good Mothers own the TARDIS Tent

  1. Pingback: Getting Lost in the Hyperfocus | Scattermom

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