Two days before a big family trip is always hectic; wash all the laundry and hide it so no wears anything, clean the house and forbid potentially dirty activities, charge devices or risk an airplane horror show, and begin the process of packing through the vast piling of clothes, so visually, I can assess whether the boys and I actually have enough to almost keep us covered for a week.  It is usually around this time, while I am sitting in the middle of my piles and the essential “of course we are on vacation and you got sick” medicine bag, that my husband walks jollily into the room and declares himself “packed”. And just like every other vacation, it ticks me off.

Yeah, it’s easy packing for one.

I throw everything in the suitcase, neatly, storm passed him and further declare, “Great! Well, I ain’t cookin’!”

A quick phone call to the local pizza joint for “pickup” and I peel out of the drive prepared to wait, and enjoy mental silence.

There is something about waiting for a “pickup” that I love.  The quiet. People talking breezily. And my favorite Olympic sport, people watching.  I call it people watching, the more sinister deem it eavesdropping.

Closing my eyes, I relinquished the past couple of tense days into the semi-uncomfortable red pleather bench, just as two teenage boys walk in. Keeping my eyes closed, they thudded onto the bench adjacent and began.

Boy 1: It’s going be a minute.
Boy 2: Yeah, well. Hey man, you going to that graduation party thing this weekend.
B1: Hell yeah. Last summer we are all together you know. It should be good.
B2: Hmm, should be.  You going with anybody?
B1: I think so.  I just need to check and see if she is going and then probably.
B2: Who?
B1: Jasmine.
B2: Oh man really!?
B1: What? Why?
B2: Nothing man, nothing. It’s just that, you know, I don’t know.
B1: What? What the hell? You can’t do that!
B2: I don’t know. Its just that, you know she strikes me as a chick with… some kinda a…
B1: With what? Some kinda… WHAT!?!
B2: For lack of a better word man, she’s gotta have something, like, like, cooties or something.
B1: For real. What are you seven?
B2: Ok, look. All I am saying is go to the party, have fun or whatever, but be careful. You do not want to end up with all that… cooties or whatever all… over you.

To my disappointment my order was called. Without eye contact, I slowly rose with a huge grin, took my pizzas and left.

There was something so appealing, about this horrid conversation that gave me joy. Perhaps the young being young. Or the fact they openly talked without fret of someone hearing. Or the stupidity of openly talking while naming names in the local pizza place with only half a  wall-divider and packed restaurant. No idea. But the fact remained… it made my stressful day. Oh, how I miss high schoolers.

Entering through the garage, I placed the pizzas on the counter and reveled in the chaos. Stewie was wrestling my husband in a match of “you only think you can change my diaper,” while Wheels and Malcolm destroyed another world as Mario and Toad in Mario Bros.

I slowly set the table and continued my people watching. Through the half laughing wails of Stewie and serious pantings from my husband, I absorbed a conversation.

Wheels:    Oh my gosh, we almost have her! Keep going!
Malcolm:  Yes! YEEES! We did it!
Wheels:    We freed Princess Peach!!! YEEEEEAH!
Malcolm:  Look at the fireworks!
Wheels:    Yeah… isn’t that awesome. They are dropping on us! You know what that is?
Malcolm:  No!?
Wheels:    That is her cooties!
Malcolm:  What are those?
Wheels:     It is what girls have, and when they get on you it means they love you, and you fall in love with her!
Malcolm:  Oh my gosh. Is that a good thing?
Wheels:    Oh yes, yes it is. You want cooties! You really do. I can’t wait to get cooties all over me!
Malcolm:  Oh my gosh… me too.

Now truth be told… that made my day. At least until they are high schoolers.