Motherhood is all about making sacrifices and supporting your children, no matter how outrageous their decisions may be. I’ve learned to accept the fact that my son Lawrence (whose friends rudely refer to him as “Chunk”) wants to be a “Goonie.” But this? THIS? Nothing in Dr. Spock’s many voluminous books could have prepared me for housing a nearly seven-foot-tall, three-hundred-pound slop-eating human wrecking ball known only as “Sloth.”
Look, I get it. Emotions were running high, the kids were all found safe, and they even grabbed enough of One Eyed Willie’s rubies to save our homes from being demolished. We were all overjoyed.
But then Chunk told Sloth in front of everyone, “You’re going to live with me now,” which totally put me on the spot. It’s like when he would ask if one of his little friends could sleep over right in front of them. Only instead of a seventy-pound child for one night, it’s a disfigured linebacker that could rip a normal man in half like a sheet of paper forever.
