Truthfully kid, I love you but I'm bored to death with your chatter

     Yes, I've read the e-cards informing me that if I don't listen to my kids now and instill the habits of family conversations, they won't talk to me in their teenage years about important issues. And I get it. I want my kids to trust me and talk to me about all their insecurities large and small because I truly care about them and their personalities.
     But does that mean I have to feign interest in all twenty levels of Geometry Dash told to me in mind-numbing detail while walking the dog? And am I expected to memorize each Minecraft YouTubers name and alter-ego? Because I really don't fricking care if The Diamond Minecart is now known as Dan TDM, and he loves waffles and makes fun of pixelated cubic pigs. Or that there are 15 bosses in Terraria.
     Yes, I'm a horrible person and mother, the kind that doesn't believe everything my kids say is pure Facebook posting gold. But I am pretty sure my own mom tuned me out after ten minutes of regaling her with every My Little Pony or Cabbage Patch Kid doll, or the how I finally conquered the spider in Mountain King (I miss my Atari). (Have I given away my age?)
     But sometimes having the deep, soft-lighting conversations I envisioned when I was six months pregnant and talking to my over-stretched, chocolate filled belly evade me. My kids aren't deep, at least not yet. Yes, they are six and nine year old boys who favor fart jokes and Simpsons references and recaps of Gravity Falls.
     Questions about school invariably result in answers of "nothing", "the teacher yelled", or "Aiden chased Kaden around the playground with a dirty sock". When probed, I get long-winded details about the color of the sock, what it smelled like, how many people touched it, and how funny everyone's faces looked. This story is then repeated at least five more times with me trying to paint interest on my face each and every time.
     But their chatter bores me the same way a trip to the grocery story or an account of the minutes of the P.T.O meeting bores them. I can't tell them this though. I don't want to hurt them or have them stop talking to me making me miss out on all those deep conversations waiting patiently to happen.
     So for now, I plaster on the smile, bobbing my head up and down, making the expected conversational responses all the while counting calories or planning tomorrow's dinner as I pretend to learn about the door activating properties of Redstone in Minecraft.
     Just being honest, at least to myself.