So, as we're driving home after picking the boys up from school, the conversation ventured into the land of superheroes. My 7 year old says: "Mom is a superhero." And so it starts...
11 year old: "Mom's not a superhero."
7 year old: "Uh huh! Mom can see through walls!"
11 year old: "No, she can't!"
7 year old: "She's got x-ray vision."
Daddy: "Yeah, she's got eyes in the back of her head."
7 year old: "NO, she's got x-ray vision! I was trying to sneak a snack, and she was in her room, and she caught me. And, darn, I almost got that snack!"
It's so nice to be in the company of Superman, Wonder Woman, The Flash and Captain Underpants, but the closest thing I have to being a superhero is a poor excuse for the Lasso of Truth (a long piece of plarn) and a studded belt from 1985. And, frankly, I couldn't even pass for Iron Man's mate, unless holding an actual iron counted.
I suppose if I had to choose a name or superhero persona I'd call myself "Tide" -- not because I can control the ocean, but because I use so damn much detergent.
It'll be sad when the little guy figures out that I don't really have superhero powers, but for the time being, I'll use it to my advantage.